losing my way

It was just about the sex. It was. I wanted to fuck him because he was cute, naughty and he liked the arctic monkeys. He wanted to fuck me because... I don't know. Because I'm cute and naughty and like the arctic monkeys? Who knows, or cares. We just wanted to fuck each other. That was all. Strange, really. Don't know where it came from. Threesomes - that was why we were here. But with him, it was different. He was my discovery and I suppose I didn't want to share him. Or something. Who the fuck knows?
So we met. Just for a drink - there would be no fucking on the first date. We might hate each other when we're standing next to each other in a pub. Or, we might be holding hands within a few minutes like it was the most natural thing in the world, and sticking our tongues down each other's throat. I think it was a test. To see how far he could push me. How far I'd go. Stupid fucking idea, that. I go very far indeed. Had never gone quite as far as getting a face job in the street before, but fuckit. It was fun. Edgy. Wipe the spunk off my face and let's go and have a burger. Crazy night it was. Made me want to fuck him even more. There would be a second meet, and I felt like I'd passed the test, and woo. We would fuck.
And we did. Me standing up, bent forward - jeans round my knees. Him behind me, holding onto my hips and banging his cock into me. Bloody gorgeous, it was. Completely sordid, but all the better for it. I was out to be a slut, and I was doing a very good job of it, as far as I could see. And he was doing a very good job of it too. Making me be dirty. I love that. I mean, I can be absolutely filthy of my own free will, but when someone else makes me do it, it tips me right over the edge.
And he did. But post-fuck, things changed. Of course, I'd love to fuck him again, but now that I'd done it and had the itch scratched, I started to see him as a real person as opposed to a *ahem* toy, I guess. I looked in his eyes and saw a soul, for fucksake. I listened to his voice, how it changed when he was horny or pensive or just plain moody. Not really noticed that before. But there was alot of things I hadn't noticed before. His shoes. His hair. The way he looked so mean when he was about to come. I should've also noticed that I was going off the beaten track when I was supposed to be focussed. Sex. That's all. Not a person with feelings and expressions and a mind of his own.
Alas, it was too late. He was telling me what was on his mind. I, rather than running away, was soaking it up. Stupid, stupid woman. The six thousand texts a day, the instant messaging well into the night... I soaked it all up. Totally off track now. Now I just had to see him, and the fuck - if there was one - would be a bonus.
We had a threesome. It was weird. I don't think any of us came. I certainly didn't. I looked up and saw him kissing her and I thought oh please don't use me just for sex. I mean - WHAT THE FUCK WAS I ON?! He wasn't using me for sex, I knew that. He was just kissing this girl. But he should've been using me for sex. We should've been using each other.
Nobody would've got hurt, then.