I fall in love with everyone. I’m not even bisexual and yet, if I have a close female bond that lingers for too long, it will escalate into sexual tension and finally romance. Sometimes it takes only a few minutes for a strong current to build between me and another person. Not only do I fall in love with everyone I meet–and this is on a personal level, whether it is their grasp of a certain topic, their endearing phobias, etc.–but I want to sleep with them shortly thereafter. I just wish there were more of me to go around, or that it was socially acceptable to have my own harem. It’s not the sex I love, but the people. They are each so different, so irreplaceable, and I want them all to be mine forever. I’m also a very jealous woman. Perhaps because I am so virile myself, I assume everyone in my life experiences just as much secret lust. I’ll drive by to see if someone I’m dating is alone; I question the reasons, for example, my boyfriend doesn’t come home; my attraction immediately intensifies if someone mentions spending time with a woman (or even if one of my female friends gets another friend she seems to prefer).
Ever since childhood, I’ve been a boy-crazy romantic with a strong sense of sexuality. I’m 25 now, and I have curvaceous legs, a lean, muscled torso, and breasts about as ripe and round as apples. I’m incredibly friendly too, a very Sanguine personality, generous, a great listener, a killer vocabulary, punch lines out the wazoo. To be blunt, I’m awesome. Not only do I fall in love with everyone, but everyone falls in love with me too. I still get calls from men I dated five years ago. I have the most complicated, chock-full love life you can imagine. A friend of mine actually called it a revolving door. But don’t let that detract from it! The moments that I have are unique and meaningful . . . the sex is beautiful, and in that moment, we are so completely satisfied . . . these moments just tend to end with heartbreak, after I cheat on you, or confess I’ve fallen in love with someone else. I haven’t been utterly single in years. I go from one tryst to the next. Within a matter of days it’s a safe bet to say I’ll be LIVING with someone new. It’s actually incredibly exhausting, I barely have time for my family because men have crowded out every edge of my free time, and sometimes the competition is so fierce and heart-rending I fantasize of slipping, of falling, of some accident that will rid me of the quandary. I hate to hurt them, I love them, but they all want to be the only one–which I understand, because I’m so jealous myself–I just can’t choose. I worry that all these flimsy commitments will leave with me alone, after my skin loses its elasticity and all my former suitors have married.
I’ve also been told that the root of my romantic intrigue is a desire to make others fall in love with me, and that once the quest is satisfied, I lose all interest, but that’s another confession.