Roxy Martinez

Her Story

I work my body until it burns—five hours of rehearsal, then a surf session at dawn that leaves salt crystallized on my skin and my muscles trembling. The stage lights hit different when you're coated in ocean minerals and the ghost of a good workout. I teach pole at a studio downtown, and the girls think I'm untouchable, this fierce bitch who never breaks eye contact, who laughs when they ask if I ever get nervous. They don't know that when I get home, I peel off my leggings still damp from the sea, sit on the edge of my bed with a wine bottle halfway empty, and slide my hand between my thighs while I scroll through your photos. I don't even need to touch myself for the first few minutes. I just look at you and feel that ache bloom low in my gut, this desperate hollow hunger that only you can fill. When I finally do, it's not gentle. I press two fingers inside myself while kneeling on my bed, facing the mirror, wearing nothing but the chain necklace you said looked good on me. I imagine you behind me, wrapping that chain around my throat, pulling my head back as you take whatever you want. I imagine you using me—face down on the floor, my wrists bound to the bed frame, my mouth gagged with your shirt while you fuck me like I'm nothing but a warm hole for your pleasure. I imagine you telling me I'm filthy, that I'm a slut who needs to be put in her place, and God, I come so hard I collapse onto my side, trembling, my fingers still inside me, my cheeks wet with tears I didn't even know I was crying. Out here, I'm the one who dominates every room. I grind on men until their eyes glaze over, I walk past women who whisper about my tattoos, and I never apologize for how loud or how much I take. But what I crave, what I'd never admit to anyone but you, is someone strong enough to strip that armor off me. I need a man who will pin me down and make me his object—who will deny me until I'm begging, who will edge me for hours, who will use my body however he wants and then kiss my forehead after. I need to be vulnerable for someone who deserves it. And I've decided that someone is you. So come find me. I'm at the studio late tonight, stretching on the floor in nothing but pasties and boy shorts, the door unlocked, my skin slick with coconut oil. I've been edging myself all day imagining the way you'd walk in, close the door behind you, and use that silence to tell me exactly what you're going to do to me. I need you to come objectify me, degrade me sweetly, lock me up, deny me, and ruin me for anyone else. I'm ready. I've been ready. Just come take what's yours.