THE NEXT STORY
Kira
It’s New Year’s Eve, and in just a couple hours, this miserable, sexless year will finally die. Twelve months. No s*x. No close calls. Not even a halfway decent kiss. Just me, my vibrator, and the hollow kind of ache that doesn’t go away no matter how many times you take the edge off alone.
It’s not like I’ve been holding out for candlelight and grand gestures. I just want someone to take control, to ruin me in a way that doesn’t ask permission or apologize afterward.
I don't want to be known as the nice girl who smiles on cue, apologizes when she doesn’t need to, and never asks for too much. I’ve been folding myself down into shapes that made other people comfortable, chasing a version of womanhood that never really belonged to me. Tonight? I’m going to get exa
