SEX ON THURSDAY | We Must Get Rid of Hickey Culture

Long passionate French kissing, our sweaty bodies grinding against each other, everything was perfect. He started to go down and kiss my neck and I was overdosing on oxytocin. 

His warm lips and soft small kisses turned into long impassioned ones; I was having a blast. I was feeling generous and decided to indulge in the art of my famous fellatio — he couldn’t last more than 10 minutes without finally giving me some sweet “secret sauce.” Of course, some aftercare kisses were needed for good measure. 

It was a pretty solid Thursday night hookup, I would have rated it an eight out of 10. That was until he pulled away from kissing and gave me a weird look like looking at my neck, and, as luck would have it, it was like the scene of a crime. A thick and dark spot had already formed, he had given me a giant hickey.