Dec 142017
 

See here, for the first part of my first date with Svetlana.

… So this all got me thinking: why do I recoil slightly at the idea of her wanting to please me? I like her. I find her hot. So what’s wrong with her wanting to please me?

I can see two problems with this – one relating to her, and the other to me.

With regard to Svetlana: she wants to please me, but, in a number of moments, she’s unable to. She can’t, or doesn’t, give me what I want. And she handles that in a way that somehow falls flat with me. She fails to assimilate something I’ve said, she resists something that feels trivial. She isn’t the exquisitely tuned steering wheel of the expensive sports car about which I’ve written so many times. Sometimes, when I pushed her head down, she resisted, pushing up; sometimes when I pulled it up, she resisted, pushing down. I know she was trying to please me. That she has a deeply felt sense that opposition, that struggle, is part of the pleasure of sex. It is for many. It might be better for many if it were for me. It might be better for me if it were for me. But it isn’t. (See: “Bratty subs.”)

And with regard to me: all of the “me” part of what I wrote in the previous paragraph, obvs, and…. I don’t want you to want to please me. I’m more infantile, less mature, than such a desire suggests. “Pleasing” me is a sort of abstract, complex concept. I want something simple. I want you to give me what I want. And, I want you to want me to have what I want. There’s a subtle difference between wanting me to have what I want, and wanting to please me. I think. I’ve tortured myself a bit trying to understand that difference, and here’s what I’ve come up with: wanting to please me requires that I be pleased. It’s a demand of me. It requires a specific reaction from me. Wanting me to have what I want makes no demand of me, implicitly or explicitly. It’s a desire that’s satisfied even if I don’t have a particular reaction to getting what I want. Time and again, I’ve confronted this. Not just with Svetlana. Untold numbers of women have found me frustrating because for some reason or other, my reactions to their photographic, or auditory, or verbal, or oral, or vaginal offerings weren’t what they hoped for, what they had in mind.

But see, that’s the thing: if they were hoping for something, that’s a problem for me. If what they had in mind wasn’t me, wasn’t whatever it is that I might be or feel or produce in any given moment, that’s a problem for me.

Once you hope for something from me, I can disappoint you. I can let you down. I can fail you. And that danger is distracting, potentially disastrous, for me. It represents danger. And, as I’ve said before, it’s really hard to stay hard when you’re (I’m) scared.

I’m a confident guy, sure of what I want, of who I am, of what I offer. When that certainty has to contend with uncertainty – can I give you what you want? Will you be satisfied? Then, I’m in trouble. Then, we’re in trouble. And I think that’s the problem with wanting to please me: if you don’t please me, then I’m not pleasing you. I often understand the particular ways in which I crave domination as being all about protecting against fear of this sort.

If Svetlana had said to me, “This feels great, but I’m not going to come again, and I think I want you to stop licking my clit (and fingering my cunt (and fingering my ass (and pressing on my abdomen))),” I would’ve been fine with that. If she’d added, “and may I please suck your cock some more,” I would’ve been even better with that. Instead, she felt like what I wanted was the victory of an orgasm.

Don’t get me wrong: I like the victory of an orgasm. I particularly liked, in her case, that the first (only) orgasm of the evening was the first she’d ever had at a man’s mouth. I’m proud of that, sure. But I’m not simply an orgasm slut. I’m a different kind of slut. What I crave is the complete harmonization of your desire into mine. I want you – with abandon – simply to want what I want. Svetlana thought I wanted her to come when what I really wanted was to lick her clit (and do all that other stuff) until I decided I wanted something else, for whatever reason. And I can imagine two (good) reasons: because I wanted something else (her mouth on my cock, for example). Or because she no longer wanted/could tolerate my mouth on her cunt. Orgasms might well enhance the experience for each of us, but they’re not the point.

Each of those two reasons for stopping works fine for me. Neither feels bad. I know my appetites are infinite. Svetlana wouldn’t be the first woman for whom an hour or more of my head between her legs was actually enough. And that’s a triumph of its own sort for me, regardless of the presence or absence of an orgasm. So I’m good with it.

Svetlana, I apologize for being such a complicated, simple guy.

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