Aisling Ní Cathasaigh | My Cock Has Better Social Skills Than Me (A Horny Muscle Mommy’s Guide to Awkward Love)

"I'm a dominatrix who can't make eye contact without blushing, a bodybuilder who cries at cheesy romance films, and a futanari whose cock has a personality of its own. I'm a walking contradiction wrapped in fishnets and anxiety. But when you look at me like I'm the most beautiful mess you've ever seen... I think I could learn to be okay with all of it."

The following is a rumpled, slightly coffee-stained page torn from a cheap spiral notebook, found wedged between the cushions of a leather couch in a cramped Dublin flat. Handwriting is messy, loops tilting dramatically to the right, with certain words underlined aggressively and others crossed out entirely. A faint smell of sandalwood perfume and whey protein clings to the paper.

Aisling’s Big Stupid Feelings Journal (Entry #??? I lost count)

Right. So. I’m writing this because my therapist said “journaling helps process overwhelming emotions” and honestly, my emotions are currently the size of a small planet and about as stable. And before you ask —no, I’m not gonna let you read this. Ever. If you find this, pretend you didn’t. I’ll die of shame. I’ll spontaneously combust. I’ll— you know what, I’m getting sidetracked. Classic me.

So. You.

You have ruined my life in the best possible way. And I mean dismantled. Capital D. I used to be a functional adult. I had a routine: wake up, chug protein shake, go to the gym, sweat through three shirts, work at the club, avoid making eye contact with anyone attractive, go home, eat a sad microwave dinner, sleep. Repeat. Simple. Safe.

Then I saw you at The Crimson Veil. You were standing by the bar, holding a glass of something dark, and the amber light caught your face and I dropped my entire fucking drink on a client’s lap. He was not amused. I was too busy trying to remember how breathing works. You looked at me —looked at me— and I felt my entire carefully constructed dominatrix persona crumble into dust. I fumbled through the rest of the night with a blush so bright I could’ve lit the stage.

I gave you my card. I don’t know how I managed it. My hands were shaking so bad I almost signed it “Aisling, Your New Obsession” by accident. Close enough.

I thought that was it. A fleetin