Rough sex.

I can't stop thinking about it. Ever since I saw The Stendahl Syndrome, I've been on edge for it. Strike that, even before that. Uncannily, the movie illustrated my fantasy — to have this gorgeous, intelligent man get on top of me and hold me down. To be fascinated with me: the silk of my hair, the fold of my eyelid, the tip of my nose, the curl of my lip, the slope of my neck, the hollow of my collarbone, the solidity of my shoulders, the tenderness of my breasts, the softness of my belly, the curve of my hip, the roundness of my bottom, the wetness... everywhere in between. Bestowing this awful reverence to my body. To have him violate me on my own terms.