Ask me home, I want to say. Ask me home, my hormones roar inaudibly. I’ll suck your cock, my mind’s eye attempts to convey telepathically.

“I’m not actually doing anything tomorrow,” is what my mouth says.

So you can fuck me all night and all morning, is the unspoken end of that train of thought.

“Look, I just got out of something with someone…”

So?

“I’m not looking to date right now.”

I don’t want to date; I want to be fucked.

In bed alone, I’m so disappointed that I can’t even make myself wet with my fingers or toys.