When I started dating J, he was all sweet and innocent — sensitive, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and waiting until we were safely ensconced in bed before he made a move.

More often than not, something soft and romantic was playing in the background, like the Shins or some other sort of quiet indie rock. I loved the tender, intimate moments we shared. But I needed to mix it up. I needed him to just pound me.

“Babe, next time we have sex, I need you to do one thing,” I said one morning over breakfast.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Just screw me,” I replied. “No soft caresses, no acoustic rock. I want loud music, and I want you to just give it to me good.”

Thankfully he obliged.

The next time we had sex, J was... Read More