Big T

So I've been seeing Big T since January, and it was a typical hot couple of months before he was caught cheating. Against my better judgement I carried on seeing him, but the trust was gone and I made it clear that it was only down to certain fantasticly huge attributes of his I continued to see him. With a slim London black book, I'm not in a position to go cutting off my clit to spite my pussy... Occasionally I'll ask him if he'd just fuck me - I'd happily quit my other men if I could have him regularly enough - but he won't promise me anything.

Me: "Tell me you won't lie, and tell me you'll just fuck me?"

Big T: "I can't say I won't lie, and I can't say I won't fuck other women."

Me: "ok..."

Now the feminist voice in my head begs me to say what comes naturally but my hungry pussy contests the opinion and shouts it down... 'please! please! I need him, I need him...' And we all know which voice wins everytime.

Humiliation. Shame. Embarrassment. These are what I made to feel like in order to sate the hungry pussy's demands. I don't realise at the time, but when I notice I am hiding the fact I am seeing Big T from my friends, I know this is what I feel.

Wet. Throbbing. Swollen. These are what I made to feel like when my phone rings and it is Big T calling...

Flourishing

Approaching 28 and I can only describe myself as flourishing. Perhaps it has to do with living in London. I've been here one year, and never felt so sexually confident. Originally from an affluent town in a large city, I felt stifled... and was beginning to run out of men.

I don't have that problem in London. And I will share it all here.