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Dating is Waiting Until I Want to Fuck
“Let’s take it slow” is a declaration of war for many
I was washing dishes when that memory fucked with my head. Ironically, I was scrubbing a coffee cup while remembering how he made me feel like shit for simply not being ready to spread my legs. A decision that for me was about self-respect and timing, for him became a sentence of “next.”
“My previous relationships moved much faster,” he spat out, as if speed in bed was some fucking trophy. As if the time until we drop our underwear defined a relationship’s worth.
Words that still turn my stomach, not for their truth, but for the brutality of his hypocrisy. The same son of a bitch who days before sweetly whispered that he loved my boundaries, respected my timing, understood my desire to wait.
There’s a fucking violence in promising understanding only to later mess with your head. For weeks, we built something that seemed special. Six fucking dates full of deep conversations, genuine laughter, moments of real emotional intimacy. With each date, sexual tension grew naturally, and I allowed physical barriers to be crossed gradually — kisses, caresses, increasingly intimate touches.
But when it came to the crucial moment, I explained I wasn’t ready to fuck. I wanted to build something solid…
