My fantasies had kept me company and created an expectation that William could never live up to.
I’m still not sure if it’s normal or if there is something wrong with me, because I long to be tasted, to be touched for hours, in every place forbidden and otherwise. I want passion like you see in the movies or even the dirty, all positions sex that you see in porn videos.
The lust, the need, the raw, rough touch of a man who wants to devour me.
It’s maybe because I’ve grown up in a household of men who all look like they walked from the pages of a fitness catalogue or straight off a movie set. My four guys set a high standard in the looks department.
I’ve had crushes on them since they walked into my life six years ago. They were the reason I bought my first vibrator. I’d been having naughty dreams about each of them and sometimes not separately for as long as I could remember. I’d ordered the toy online, then it became my best friend and probably the reason I didn’t feel pain with William.
It isn’t just that they’re all handsome, though.
Each of my guys are also unique, offering something I’ve always needed. Attention. Affection. A listening ear. Protection. But above all of those…company.
Just knowing they are around, somewhere in the house, makes me feel less…alone.
I didn’t have the typical upbringing, so friends were sparse and boyfriends weren’t allowed until I turned eighteen, and even then, he was picked for me by Dad’s security team. Background and social media check to make sure he was not only worthy but not some secret creep. Dates arranged and organized, my outfits chosen for me until I reached nineteen and grew a backbone. That was all thanks to Ford, who snort laughed at my cardigan one day. It had rabbits printed all over it and I looked five, not a nineteen-year-old woman ready to lose her virginity. Ford took me shopping that day, letting me try on anything I wanted. I changed my entire wardrobe that weekend and never looked back, much to Marjorie’s horror. Apparently having a backbone also means you’re a PR nightmare. I’m a good daughter, though, and play by her rules when it counts.
Clothes hold power. When I need to be who my father wants me to be, I can put on a skirt and blouse and pretend I’m that girl. When I’m feeling bold and want to shed that expectation, I can replace the blouse and skirt with a flirty dress and become more carefree. But best of all, when I need to feel special and sexy, I can be just me in lace underwear. William never once has taken off my bra during sex, which I find weird and wish I had someone close I could confer with. I’d say he never takes it off because my breasts look so appealing in the lacy number, but he always frowns when I wear sexy underwear. He told me that a lady doesn’t wear items like that. He also told me it wasn’t like girls to want sex.
I’ve always felt shamed by him.
I read up online that it’s normal to have a high sex drive when you’re young, but not sure if it refers to the person being single or in a relationship. Your hormones go crazy, the articles stated. Well, I’m twenty-three now and I’m still horny and frustrated.
Looking down at my left hand, I sigh deep. My thoughts are weighted with the information slipped to me by his sister. A proposal is coming. The thought of being married to William leaves a pit in my stomach growing wider each day. I can’t marry him.
Things with William just won’t work out. I can’t keep fooling myself into thinking it will.
Just visiting him has become a chore and it’s not fair to either of us to carry this on when we have the media’s eyes on us all the time, creating a perfect couple when we’re far from it.
I come to a picture of him with his family and sigh at the affection his mother’s eyes hold as she looks up at her son adoringly. I miss my mom and yearn to be looked at with such affection.
Mom’s death was six years ago, but the grief of it whenever I think of her is like salt being poured into a raw wound.
So much has changed since her death. She died in a car accident when Dad was running for governor. Instead of it stalling his career, it launched it. The media coverage and magazines all writing pieces on his strength and single fatherhood did wonders for his vote. But the truth was, his staff raised me. And when I say raised, I mean looked out for. I practically raised myself. Now he’s heading for the White House and his time for me is less than before. I adore him, however, and he does me. I just wish our time together wasn’t forced into his schedule. He’s asked to meet with me for coffee at a local shop later, because finding time within our own walls is impossible.