Enough?No, you silly man. “Enough?” he asked me.I could’t catch my breath. We were in our favorite cheap motel. It was two AM, a few days after my birthday. I nodded my head, yes, enough, and he tried to withdraw from me. I shook my head vigorously and pulled him closer to me. I held him there, keeping him inside me.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
“Why can’t we do that more?” I pouted, weeks later (this morning) the morning right after he used his tongue in delightful ways until I had to bite the pillow. “Can’t I have you inside me?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You are stingy and mean!”I pouted.
He didn’t say anything.
“Why can’t I have your cock?!”
“So that you’ll enjoy it, when I do give it to you,” he replied.
“But if I get more I’ll enjoy more!” I whined.
“It’s quite simple,” he explained. “By conserving this energy, by re-channeling it, we can use this energy in our own way. It preserves you, if you will exercise the discipline. You are getting as much as you really need. Once a month, or so.”
So, the reason I’m not getting enough is that I’m getting the exact amount I need but not as much as I want? “I don’t fucking WANT to exercise any discipline! Will you at least do me? When I need it? Like tonight? I know you didn’t come last night.” I looked at him.
He looked away, tried to change the subject smoothly, but I just had to keep asking.
“I know I’ve asked you this, but is there something about me?”
No, he says, he’s just like this, he thinks I’m beautiful and very sexy, which is what he always says, and that should have been fine.
“Do you think you’re getting away with something?” I asked him. “When you’re with me? Like, you’re doing something bad?”
“Something bad?” He looked uncomfortable. “Like what”
“Like you’re doing it,” I said, grinning with emphasis, “with your baby sitter, who is like, nineteen,” I ran my hands over his chest. “And oo! your wife is so jealous but she’s kinda hot for her, too? It’s OK, you can have fantasies.”
“Don’t be … don’t be crude,” he said, hoarsely, almost like a whisper. He got out of the bed, and looked out the window.
“I’m … really sorry,” I said. “But that’s it, isn’t it? You were attracted to me when you first saw me just like I was?”
I continued. Why did I have to keep going? “And I was like, twenty, and I had just moved in with [your sister]? I was only twenty, and you felt that, like I did….”
“No,” he said. “That’s not quite right. You were only nineteen.” He turned around. “You were nineteen, beautiful.”
“Maggie hated me when she met me.”
“Maggie did not, but she thought you were immature. She was very demanding of young people. She liked you, instantly. She just didn’t like your effect on me. She enjoyed my effect on you, though.”
“I loved her, Monsieur. I always felt like she was this ideal of excellence, a role model. But we had our fights. Over meaningless stuff, but also over you. She didn’t like me to talk to you.”
“Maggie didn’t mind unless you and I were to speak to each other alone, or on the phone, If she were to be present for the conversation, she didn’t mind at all.”
“Do you feel like you’re cheating on her still, being here with me?”
“That’s ridiculous,“ he said, and turned away again.
That’s as close as I got. I finally got him to come back to bed, regretting opening up that whole door.