You Didn't Choose Me

You didn’t choose me.
You could’ve had my body under yours.
You could’ve had your cock down my throat.
You could’ve had my oil slicked hands sliding over you.
You could’ve used any of my toys on me.
You could’ve been
on me,
in me,
under me,
next to me
fucking me.
You could’ve seen, and tore off, my red lace thong and matching bra.
You could’ve hurt me in all kinds of ways.
You could’ve kissed me until my lips were bruised.
You could’ve absolutely fucking wrecked me.
But you didn’t choose me.
You also could’ve fucking told me that you had other plans.
You could’ve told me not to waste time shaving, smoothing my skin with lotion, putting on make up, changing my outfit three times, making my bed, putting on perfume, making sure we had water bottles on the bedside table.
You could’ve told me that you weren’t going to be mine tonight.
Or, you could’ve chose me.
But you didn’t.
So the fingers that will curl inside my body will be mine
And the thumbs that will rub my nipples until I arch and pant will be mine.
And the finger that will rub my clit in perfect circles will be mine.
And the hand that will be holding my toys against my body until I scream will be mine.
Because I choose me.
But you have fun staring at a screen alone.
And be sure to let me know which one of those people on that screen is going to suck your dick like I would have.
Let you play with them like I would have.
Let you hurt them and hold them and break them and put them back together like I would have.
Let me know which one of them would have chosen you like I would have.
None of them?
Hmmm.
Maybe
you should’ve
chose me.