“She had made peace with it all.
With the fact that her bed was a revolving door for the commitment phobe,
for the broken ones,
for the heartbreakers,
for the incubi.
Each one brought their own variations of pleasure upon her
till she became a fiend at their mercy;
a victim of their prowess
A willing slave to their desires.
Yet they always left her,
taking with them their primal need,
and leaving behind ebbs of their essence on her thousand thread sheets.
Ebbs that tortured her daily,
but mostly at night”