My desires

I sit in a bar.

I drink my scotch.

I match with a cute, not hot, Indian woman. Verging on girl. She’s 23.

“Can you suck?” she messages me.

Conversation ensues. Against my better judgement. I explain that, if we are to meet, she’ll need to understand she’s there to please me, not the other way round. That she’ll certainly get what she wants, but that she needs to know her role.

She’s desperate. Horny. Some guy surely will fuck her before the night is through. But not this one. I bow out. As she protests.

And this, right here, is, in some ways, the crux of me: I want what I want. I’m simply uninterested in not getting it.

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