Your fantasy

I want to fulfill it.

I want to be everything to you, everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve ever dreamed of, everything you’ll ever need.

You want me to fuck you from behind for hours? I want to do that to you, for you.

You want me to lick your pussy for days? I want to do that to you, for you.

You want me to fuck your face, to fill your mouth with my cock, until you gag? I want to do that to you, for you.

In days of yore, this was a handicap.

I was confused.

I thought you would want to tell me your fantasy, to have me fulfill it, that my receptivity to your fantasies was a strength.

But I misunderstood.

You wanted to fulfill my fantasy.

And we were caught, forever, in an endless loop.

“Tell me what you want?” I would say.

“I don’t know,” you would say.

Behind my openness, my eagerness, I was scared. Worse, I was cowardly. Rather than face my fears (my desire), I tried to hide behind yours.

What if what I wanted wasn’t what you wanted?

I might disappoint you. I might fail to please you. I might, god forbid, disgust you.

Years passed.

I learned.



Now, I know what I want.

May I have it, please?


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