Sometimes you just need someone to fuck your brains out. Fuck you so hard and with such ferocity that all you can do is scream. Scream, dig your nails into him, sink your teeth into him, wrap your legs around him and scream.

You’ve got to agree that sex is animal. It’s as animal as we get and no amount of candlelight dinners or Eric Clapton music is going to change that. Sex is human. It’s two bare bodies trying to understand each other, please each other, sometimes just communicate with each other.

He held his hand over my mouth, digging deeper, sinking into my skin. There is no time to think of messy hair or undone lipstick. I part my lips and rub him against me until he’s hard, then slowly let him in. There’s nothing like being in control, in control of the speed, the rhythm, the timing.

It’s easier than you think. It’s less of a big deal than you’ve been told it is. It doesn’t change your life forever. It makes your body simpler and easier to understand. It makes relationships sustainable and healthy. It’s good for you in more ways than you know.

They say it’s usually the one on top who leads, who paces the ins and outs of it. But I’ve experienced a man in control even with the wildest of women on top. She can do everything to pin him down, seduce him into obedience. But this man knows her too well and for too long.

Sex becomes a habit, a ritual, a way of saying Good Night or Good Morning. And then sometimes, just sometimes, you need a man to fuck your brains out.