‘‘Oh you are freaky. You came so many times’’, he grinned down at me, giving my chin a gentle caress. 

I gave a small laugh but didn’t say anything as he slapped me gently on the ass. I watched as he got up to remove the condom, and struggled mentally to keep a neutral face, not wanting my thoughts to appear on my facial expressions.  

I had came?

My vagina was soaking wet, my body felt worked, and my man was grinning boastfully, yet I felt disconnected. It was as though I was a mere onlooker to the sexual experience I had just engaged in. 

A part of me wanted to cry and another part of me wanted to go and see a doctor. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, in fact there was only three times I could remember in our sexual history that it DIDN’T happen. And it was those incidents which kept me hopeful and prevented me from thinking my vagina was broken completely.


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