“I’m just trying to be really candid with you,” I said quietly, staring down at the ripped, black upholstery of the taxi floor. “I love hanging out with you but I don’t think I want to sleep with you.”
We’d been on three dates. We met at a bar at last call and talked for an hour before I drunkenly decided to go home with you. You were interesting and we had chemistry. It wasn’t until I was half naked in your bed that I realized I didn’t want to have sex with you.
And guess what? That’s my fucking prerogative. I can decide at any time, however inappropriate or frustrating, that I don’t want to have sex.
I started to call a taxi to take me home, but you insisted that I should stay. You said it was fine, you liked me and wanted to “kick it.”…
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