The windows of your 1967 black chevy impala were fogged, the car filled with soft pants of want and need between you and your new found fling Shauna Shipman. She sat straddling your thighs, some of her baby hairs sticking to her forehead from the humid air of your car, lips flushed and cheeks as red as ever.

Having random flings came easy for you, it didn’t feel like just a fling with her—the other girls you indulged in were suddenly pushed to the side like they never mattered as much as she did. The first time you and Shauna had been intimate; you noticed her sudden eagerness to try anything but be vanilla—she wasn’t a fan of the boring intimacy and you fed off of it.

She loved how much you came back for more, she loved how obsessed you became with her and her crazy in bed activities.

Her fingertips were gripping your shoulders as you planted light and feather like kisses to her exposed skin, she had tucked some strands of her hair behind her ear as her arms snaked around your neck so desperate to keep you close.

“God just make me yours already,” She spoke breathless as her hips were pressed against yours to get more friction for hers, your ears had perked up and in the heat of the moment from the desire and need between the two of you clouded your judgement.

You weren’t one to be tied down.