That’s what Luna told me, half explaining her own behavior, half explaining that of other women.
She gave me an ultimatum: Never mind my existing date that night. I had to see her. (If italics could communicate a whine effectively, that’s what they’d be communicating right there.) She was willing to meet me before that other date. But I had to see her, too.
When governments say they don’t negotiate with terrorists, they’re never telling the whole truth. I will make no such claim here. But I will say, I didn’t cancel my plans. I didn’t see Luna. And she warned me that I was making a big mistake, that I’d never see her again.
Those are two different assertions. They were one and the same in her mind. But in mind, they were very different. I like Luna. She’s fucking gorgeous. Her face is pretty, her lips are pouty, her body is spectacular. She sucks my cock expertly, she allows me to use her exactly as I see fit, and she fits, nicely, on my cock. So it certainly would be disappointing if I never see her again.
But was I making a mistake?
That’s a very different question.
Luna’s hungry to be told she’s the prettiest, the most desirable, girl. And she is exceedingly pretty, exceedingly desirable. But I’m not really in the elative business. If giving Luna what she wants means telling some other woman, implicitly or explicitly, with or without her knowledge, that she’s less pretty, less desirable than Luna, then I have no interest. “Just lie to me,” said Luna.
I’ve lied a lot in my life. It’s not really so much what I do, nowadays. I don’t mean to be a dick. I don’t mean to be a stickler for honesty, of that sort that no one wants (“Yes, that outfit makes you look fat.” “No, I don’t like your haircut.”). But I explained to her: “When I’m with you, you are the most beautiful woman in the universe. When I have sex with you, it’s the best sex I’ve ever had. If you want me to say more than that? I can’t help.”
Anyway, days have passed.
Threats only work if you’re prepared to carry them out. It didn’t seem she was.
The power dynamic hasn’t switched entirely: she knows I want her. A lot. She knows precisely what I want to do with her, with her mouth, with her breasts, with her cunt. She knows just what I’m capable of.
And I know that she wants me to do those things.
The only question, now, is when….