“That was who I was when he met me.” If I was not willing to stop sleeping around for myself, why would I do it for anyone else?
I’ve lived it. The bad girl that meets Mr. Nice. The guy that cleans and bandages my wounds. A man that believes in who I am and not what I look like. Sounds like a fairy tale, right?
We met in a Target parking lot,and my bright green thong was showing. I thought that he would be just another notch in my belt. A woman as callous as myself, hardened from bed hopping, had no self-love far less love for anyone else.
I used to believe that being sexy was enough for me to keep him around. But little did I know that he could not bring himself to love “the bad…
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