Being Demisexual

Let me tell you something, my thing wit H fluctuates between a dirty affair and love affair.
Every time we experience something new, I feel closer, and something right after makes me step back a little- I am too old to have my heart broken in a million pieces.

Having him jerk off and finishing inside my mouth, having me swallowing all his cum, woke something on me, not as a good bitch that I am, but as his lover, as a woman that loves to please her man.

When he was waiting in that house and opened the door taking me by the hand and guiding me upstairs, he was nervous; I could feel his pulse, he doesn’t take me for granted, he loves me, even if he didn’t tell me with words – even tho he does, and often- I could see it inside his eyes and the way he looks at me.

H loves me, and I love H.

It doesn’t make things easier; I find it hard every time we say goodbye and a sad wave consumes me every time I think we won’t be able to live things that I would like to live.

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a Demisexual creature, and I could be able to have sex without some kind of emotional connection. It would be easier, much easier, but maybe not as fulfilling as it is.

One thought on “Being Demisexual

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