Throwing your wet, naked body over my shoulder and carrying you through the snow.

Telling you to drop to your knees in the kitchen.

You on the couch with your crazy friend, both of you naked, as I beat you with my belt. It’s the closest we’ve come to having an audience, and I love it.

The way you dutifully pull up your shirt and show me your breasts when I tell you to.

Laughing together at the same wildly inappropriate things. Thinking alike.

You bent over my car seat, coming while I take you from behind.

The cute way you shake your head “no” when I do awful things to you.

Doing awful things to you.

But always you.

Love,
Q