I was making out with a dude. And with my sister'sboyfriend (or whatever), at that!I'd freaked out, and insisted he drive me home.But here's the thing...- I couldn't tell any of that to my sister."He is not," she said with an indignant flip of her head."He really, really is," I said, and diplomatically left it at that.*That night, I had some of the most confusing dreams I've ever had. I wasmaking out with Dan, who turned into Brad Pitt (a man whose appeal Isuddenly very much understood) who. But I can't help but think, this woman is fit and gorgeous.I look at her legs, her exposed breasts, her whole body, and sexual thoughts race through my head. Months ago, it would be nothing but fear and anger. But they drove out any feelings but sexual urges. They made me a horny slut. They made me ashamed to be a horny slut. They made my shame a turn on. The more I'm demeaned, the more I love it. I used to be dominant in bed, but they trained me, like Pavlov's dog."You urge to be fucked. More

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