Of all the drugs, anticipation enlivens me most.
In recent days and weeks, I’ve noticed something about myself: the frantic, desperate sensitivity to disappointment, to broken promises, to poor communication, with which I tortured Marina – and V – and myself, most of all – seems to have abated somewhat.
Charlotte has promised much. She promised a shot of her thighs every day before noon (as recompense for some previous failure to deliver). On the first day, the shot arrived a few minutes after noon. The second day, it arrived on time. No more followed. That was 3 days ago.
She signed on to this giant “queen of orgasms” project, but I fear she may have bitten off more than she could chew. She added one entry to my index (Marina, as you heard). And then, vanished into a vortex of work.
Well, she didn’t vanish entirely: we had made a plan to meet. I had violated my usual objection to meeting when sex is explicitly off the table because…. Well, because in the past, that’s been a wall a small handful of women (but 100 percent of that handful) have erected to protect themselves from having to say no to me, because they already suspected no was where they were headed. And, in every instance, where they have landed.
Most of the women I’ve dated since 2010 have known, deep in their cunt, that they would suck my cock before our first date ended. That’s a strange fact made possible by some combination of my ways of interacting and this blog. The women I connect with best, most reliably, know all they need to after a week of interacting by text or email, and reading a bit of my blog.
So if there are two types of women, the ones who explicitly eliminate sex from the realm of the possible on date #1 are just a bad bet for me. Something close to a sure no. In comparison to my much more familiar sure yes.
Charlotte is different. Charlotte, I believe, knows she wants my cock, knows she wants to give herself to me to do with as I please. But she. Is. Nervous. She told me that she gets very anxious when sex is ON the table at first dates. “So let’s take it off the table,” I said.
A day or two later, as our texts were heating up, I reminded her that, though our date approached, it would be several weeks before she tasted my cock, given my schedule, if it wasn’t to be that night. And, like that, she softened. It seemed not only was sex back on the table, but suddenly I felt a lot like Walter Gibson.
I’ll keep you posted….