I run my hands over my breasts, my hip- bone, and down my thigh. I’ll bend for him. I’ll be his prize and his pride and in return he will keep me safe. I stick my fingers inside myself and think of all of his money.
I can do this. I can be someone I’m not, because I understand the inclination.
The other night I was provoked by my liberal- minded date who had the audacity to hope.
“After the election, I buried my feminism right along side my independent spirit,” I told him and then steered the conversation to my newfound lust, cushion-cut diamond rings.