What turns me on isn’t just touch.
It’s the voice — a little rough, a little confident.
Fingers moving slowly, like they’re learning my skin.
Eyes that undress me before hands do.
And the silence between words, full of tension and unspoken wants.
I love when restraint is only at the beginning.
Turns Off
A lack of sensitivity.
When he rushes — not me, just the act itself.
When it’s all about him, and he forgets I’m not just participating — I’m half of the experience.
Roughness without permission, silence without emotion.
Chemistry isn’t just bodies.
It’s awareness. It’s rhythm.
