Contrary to what some may think, I don’t require my insignificant other to clean, cook or wipe my ass.
While I certainly would hope that he feel the gentle push of motivation towards helping me out as far as domestic duties go, being 50% of a modern-day relationship and all, I don’t expect it, nor do I impose it.
That’s just how I roll.
I don’t need a doormat (has no thoughts of his own).
Or a zombie (eats people and generally repeats the same few things over and over again).
Or a twihard (sparkles and tries to look a bit goth).
And just for the record, I’m not really into orgasm control, foot worshipping or anything to do with bodily fluids.
That’s also how I roll.
But, hey, aren’t I the one supposed to be making all the decisions?
Oh, that’s right. I am making the decisions.
I actually am.