UnderCover Lover


Dear UnderCover Lover, we're all grown and sexy here. I don't want you to be my boyfriend. I don't want you to be faithful. I don't want to talk on the phone with you all night or go to the movies. I don't want to hang out. I don't want you to take my car to get washed or cook me dinner. I don't want you to do my laundry or wash the dishes. We don't need to share our hopes and dreams. Our fears and doubts. I just want to sex you up. Biweekly as my schedule allows. Hard and strong, fast and good.

What I don't need to see is any evidence of your other women. I know they exist in the back of my mind. And I don't want to be exclusive, so that's fine. But I don't want to find their bra under your bed, their earring in your couch or their tampon applicator in your bathroom trash. I don't want to find their panties in your glove box. Seriously, ew. I don't want to run into these women in the bank, the grocery store, biology class, the gym or at work. I don't want them to be related to me, or know me, know of me, have heard of me, have breathed on me and vice versa.

Here's my only request. Don't shit where you eat. Simple and plain. Now feel free to fuck the billions of people I don't know on the other side of town, the state, the country, the world, the universe.

This is not rocket science.