“I can’t get you out of my head, so I’m out of my bed at four in the morning wishing I was dead. God, I fucking love you and I hate myself for falling in love with you.”
Going on a date with the condition that I have to answer everything I’m asked, casually being interrogated with invasive questions over a nice dinner. “So what do you do? Oh that’s fantastic. What was the last thing you had up your ass?” Flirty jokes and sips of wine between “how big are your tits?” and “who’s the oldest person you’ve fucked?”
I can blush and stammer and avoid eye contact all I want but I’m not allowed to dodge or lie or change the subject. Just sit there with a smile and try not to draw the waiter’s attention while I describe the last porn video I came to. And if I’m lucky my date will take me home at the end of the night and tease me about all my spilled secrets while they fuck me.