She didn’t mean anything, and a small part of me felt bad. I did it because it was easy.
I did it because I could.
I did it because it had been a while since anyone threw themself at me; even longer since I could do anything about it.
Even longer still before I actually did.
And once the seal was broken…
She could have been one of a half dozen women, and within a few weeks, she was.
She was older, younger…A mother, a student, a hipster. Big boobs, small boobs, covered in tattoos and pure as summer dew.
She was a cowgirl, a missionary, a dog, and a half-dozen other positions I was probably too old to be doing, but did nonetheless.
She was crazy, intelligent, gullible, independent, needy, fucked like a badger, great at blowjobs and an awful lay, all rolled up into a series of tests of my drunken charm and ability.
More than anything, she was a little reminder that I wasn’t as worthless as I had been feeling.
As I was made to feel. By her.
They didn’t matter, and I didn’t care.
So I did my best impersonation of the man I was when I was with her.
It was, at least, enough to keep them coming.
However you want to spell it.