I stare at Vance, wearing a navy blue turtleneck with gray pants, and I could scream. Sometimes we make decisions that we later can’t understand, and I can’t figure out what the hell made me decide that Vance was the one for me. Even after being told that it’s over, he still doesn’t listen to me. He has all the words in the world for how he’s ready to spice things up, but not a single one for respecting me. I may be lonely, but just like DeShaun told me, I’m not lowering my standards for mediocre men.

“Give you a chance,” I say, looking down as I shake my head in disbelief. “So, you’re ready to spice things up, Vance?”

“Yes, I am. I love you, and I’m willing to do anything to prove it to you.”

“Yeah? You ready to tie my hands and feet to a cross so you can have unfettered access to my naked body?”

“What? A cross?”

“Yes, a Saint Andrew’s Cross. Are you ready to tie me to it so you can beat me all over my body with a flogger until I’m on the verge of tears? Are you ready to choke me until my face turns blue, knowing that if you wait another second I’ll lose consciousness? If I do lose consciousness, are you ready to slap me until I wake up?”

“Alina, what? Are you ser—”

“Are you ready to chain me to a bench, secure a vibrator to my pussy, and fuck my mouth hard until we both come at the exact same time? Are you ready to call me a whore, and tell me I’m disgusting for wanting you to brutally fuck me? Are you ready to roll a pinwheel over my flesh until I bleed? Are you ready to sneak into my apartment, and play out a graphic scene where we mimic sexual assault and rape?”

“Alina, what the fuck?”

“You’re not ready, Vance. You can’t be ready for something you don’t have the first clue about,” I say.

I don’t have a single ounce of care in my voice, because I’m so fucking over all of this. I’m over denying myself what I want and need, and I’m over being quiet about it. None of us would even exist without sex, so you’d think it would be the most celebrated thing on the planet. Yet, we talk about it as if it is the worst thing in our existence. We demonize anyone who dares to be open and proud of it, and society saves its deepest hatred for women who enjoy it. I am fucking over it all.

“Alina, I’m pouring my heart out to you and you’re making a joke of it,” Vance says, and instead of getting mad, I simply laugh.