I want to be your dirty secret.
No, not that kind. Not the shameful kind. Not the kind you pretend doesn’t exist in public view. Cloak and dagger in the shadows. Motel rooms vacated hours before checkout. Not that kind of dirty secret.
I want to be your shameless dirty secret.
The “you know she’s not wearing panties under that dress” in the upscale restaurant. The “I’m watching her eat that hot dog knowing exactly what she can do with a fat sausage in her mouth” at the afternoon BBQ with friends. The “sweet” smile as you squeeze my inner thigh under the table at the family dinner.
Because there’s no shame in what I do for you, and I wouldn’t want anything to make me feel like there is.