yummy ...

There is something about an ex-boyfriend that makes me wild. The way he smells of nights so long ago; knowing that the only reason for touching him is to extract the ore after the impurities have all been leached … no more fights—nothing to fight about. No more expectations; no hope for repossession. The taste of newly forbidden fruit, as sweet as the first time, every single time.

The other plus side is that you can't be held liable for future activities; he can’t ask where you've been, or where you're going when you leave, or why you're such a greedy whore, or where you learned such filth in bed. And when you go to him, you know exactly what you’re getting.

Add to that, a dash of slight jealousy, and you have a recipe made in heaven … or hell-- and you can have him your way, anyway you want – rare, medium, well-done. And if you say the wrong name, hey, it doesn’t even matter.

The most perfect specimen created. The Super-ex. If ever someone could make you say the name of god and his son so many times, it's that son-of-a-bi@tch.

But there's more to an ex than the way he does what he does, he may have been a hero in your eyes at one point, and then your greatest pain in the end; the boy who broke your heart ... your cherry -- and other places inside you. I guess the best afrodesiac is finally knowing that you don't want him anymore.

i can't help myself ...


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