I hope you’re doing well. I’m reaching out for insight about someone named Chris. He’s supposed to come to my apartment tomorrow to exterminate it—he does this regularly—but every single time he - question #8086

comes, we end up having sex. It’s become our ritual, like an unspoken agreement between us. No words needed. When we’re in the moment, it feels so personal. He gets on top of me and props himself up with his arms. He doesn’t just thrust and leave—he looks at me sometimes, then looks away. I’ll be underneath him, smiling, and he’ll glance down at me, and his mouth will twitch like he wants to smile back—but he doesn’t. There’s something he holds back. One time before I could even lift my legs, he grabbed both of them and slid me down the bed like I weighed nothing. I couldn’t help but laugh, and when I did, he looked at me and almost smiled. That moment stuck with me. It felt like he was showing his strength… and softness, too. When he finishes, he doesn’t rush out. He takes his time cleaning himself up.He wipes himself slowly, then pulls his pants back on, zips them, picks up his toolbox, kisses me on the cheek, and smiles at me before walking out like nothing happened… and yet like everything just did. When we first started texting, I told him: “Neither one of us can fall in love or get jealous.” And he double texted me saying, “I don’t get jealous anymore,” and, “You might just be that good a f*ck.” That was the beginning, before this bond between us deepened the way it has now. For context: My name is Vernita, and I was born on January 30, 1993. His name is Chris, and he was born on February 1, 1976. So here’s my question to you and the angels: Is he looking forward to seeing me tomorrow? With love and anticipation, Vernita