Christ, I love how he fucks me.

I’m usually only marginally aware of the power dynamics when I’m in the midst of fornication, but with Matt it’s very clear. He holds me down, and when he fucks me, it’s with absolute abandon – I wish more men were this feral.

He’s blunt, like my fuckbuddy. He doesn’t mince words or tread lightly on challenging topics. When we go out, he asks me where I’d like to go and invariably I respond with ambivalence, offering one or two suggestions. He responds with cool certainty, ignoring me altogether – “We’ll go to Smith, on 10th street.” If any other man did this, I’d be pissed. When he does this, I want him to bend me over and make me his bitch.

He’s tall. Lean. He calls me ‘kitten.’ When I come, he runs his broad hands through my hair and says ‘good girl.’ If any other man said this, I’d recoil from the condescension. When he says this, I purr.

He bucks during sex – when I’m on top, he nearly throws me off, but then catches me and holds me down. He throws me off balance and just as I start to steady myself, my momentum is used against me until I’m pinned with my thighs spread .

I’ve had men try to be dominant with me in the past and nearly every time it’s made me dominant in response – I want to flip the dynamic and take control. But Matt’s got me in the palm of his very strong hand.

This is something I’m not going to question.