It’s not your kind of thing
*“I don’t think you’d like it,” I said. “It takes a certain kind of person, and everything I’ve seen. Well, it’s* *just not for you.” I didn’t want to freak him out about how I liked to deal with my boys, my hookups. I’m well-aware not everyone wants to be told when to cum, how to cum, if they can cum. It’s not for everybody. And I can usually tell right away. There’s a look, or a set to the shoulders. And I just know. If I put a hand around the throat. Or grab the balls. They are down on their fucking knees for me.*
*And he agreed. “Not my kind of thing." And it wasn't. Until it was.*