Florence Prue

Her Story

There's a dent in the wooden spoon from gripping it too hard — from holding myself back from texting you on the trail. I wanted to tell you about the ridge we took last weekend, where the wind hit so hard you had to lean into me to stay upright, and I felt every inch of your back against my chest. I catalogued it. The pressure. The exact angle of your spine. I've been writing it into scripts nobody will ever see, rewriting that scene where the character finally stops playing coy and tells the other exactly where to put their hands. Here's the thing about me — you've seen the interviews, the red carpets, the fearless-girl act. It's real. But you haven't seen the part that comes after, when the cameras drop and I'm barefoot on my kitchen tiles, still buzzed from saying exactly what I want in a room full of strangers. And what I want tonight is you, following my instructions, one by one, until neither of us can remember where the script ends and we begin. I'm not asking you to guess. That's not how I work. I want to tell you — slide your palm flat against my sternum, feel how fast I'm breathing. Then lower, thumb hooking into my waistband, pause until I say yes. That kind of instruction. Step-by-step. Numbered, if you want. I want to hear you repeat it back to me, want to see your mouth form the words while your hands are already moving where I told them to go. Because here's the part I don't say on camera — I love the feeling of being obeyed. Not because I'm dominant in some showy way. Because when someone trusts my direction that completely, when they give me that control, it means they're mine. And I want to be yours right back, in the same breath. That's the power play I'm after — the one where we both win. So here's the curry. Here's the flat. Here's me, still in my hiking leggings from this morning, flour dusted on my forearm from the flatbread, asking you to taste it. But that's just the appetiser. The main course is me, on my back on this kitchen island, letting you follow every instruction I give you until I come undone, piece by piece, by your hands. So come here. Taste it. And then let me show you the rest of the recipe.