I knew it. Statistically it made sense. Until this moment I was just excited to be having sex at all, even though I knew I was just being used. But I shouldn’t be surprised that it was a woman. What should surprise me is that right in the middle of it all, I wished that it wasn’t. Or did I?
It was all over so quickly, and my initial reaction was a warm, fluid heaviness; I felt full of emotion, but that emotion quickly dried and soured as I was tossed aside. I had served my purpose. What plagued me wasn’t so much that it was a one-time thing, that it could never happen again. It just felt like it was all a waste. I only had one opportunity, and I’m not even sure it was the one I wanted. I don’t know if it was the right person. I don’t know if I ended up in the right place. I felt like I wanted to be held tighter, and I thought that more lube would have been nice. I don’t know.
What’s done is done. It’s all over now. At this point all I can do is answer the critical question for myself: do I need a man?