I asked Charlotte for a writing prompt about her. And a photo to accompany the post I wrote.
1) my pussy (since we were on the subject that you don’t know what it looks like, just everything else)
2) my new sexual journey through your perspective
3) the evolution of our relationship/ things you’ve learned about me
4) how you get me off
She said, “I can’t wait to see which you pick!”
I pick… a bit of 1, a bit of 2, a bit of 3. [So I’ll be needing three photos for this post, Charlotte. ;-)]
This all happened in the midst of an exchange we were having about a little… slip-up… yesterday. Charlotte has granted me 24/7 control for a short period of time. But. She also really likes messaging men. It’s kinda her equivalent of scrolling through Twitter or Instagram or Facebook: it’s how she kills time/refreshes her dopamine. A sort of habitual/addictive medication for bad feeling (or no feeling).
While I have control, I’m seeking to limit her messaging with men. Not to prevent her from connecting with men. But to cause her to be a bit more disciplined, a bit more thoughtful, a bit more… productive….
There’s a man, call him Al, she “met” on Feeld. She’s shared their exchanges on the app with me – and recently, she petitioned to move off the app with him, to move to text. I granted her wish, even though he seems… boring… to me, based on what she’s shared.
My jealousy is funny. I won’t like it – for sure – if she hooks up with this (or any) guy. But it does feel much better for me to be involved from the outset. And, I’m not interested in tanking someone promising. Charlotte likes Al, but… I think she likes him for un-good reasons.
So anyway – I had asked Charlotte not to text Al unless she came for me first. And then, I found out, yesterday, that she had been doing a whole lot of texting with him – after I made that request. AND, after I had asked her to stop doing it.
So I. Was. Pissed.
Of course, Charlotte’s a big girl, and her submission to me is entirely voluntary, and can be withdrawn at any time she wishes. But in fact, Charlotte is, at the moment, intending to be complying with my requests. Which makes her failure all the more a failure. So. Charlotte won’t be coming any time soon.
Charlotte is on a bit of a journey. Part of that journey is healthy and fun – she’s figuring out what she likes sexually. Women? Check. Submission? Check. Switching a bit and playing the domme? Maybe! Based on the threesome she had the other night. Her pussy is an interesting companion on this journey: because she comes so easily, it provides a barometer of the suitability of mates very quickly. Someone who can’t get her off? Um, no. Someone who doesn’t make her drip? Um, no.
I don’t know if Al makes her drip – we haven’t discussed that. [He certainly hasn’t written her anything remotely drip-worthy.] We have discussed some of her family pathology, her relationship to men generally, and one thing that Al seems to have tapped into in her is her desperate longing for men to be… better… than we are. And not just longing, but hope. Even expectation. I should be clear: this isn’t a criticism. We all have our pathologies. I’ve written endlessly on this blog about mine, for God’s sake. About my pushing women away by demanding too much. About my rejecting rejection and by so doing, courting it exponentially. And all sorts of other things.
So I’m not saying anything negative about Charlotte. In fact, it’s quite endearing. And I suppose I might even be a bit of a beneficiary of it. But. Al? Has given her nothing to go on. If he were just a little more edgy, a little more interesting, a little more exciting? I think, then, I’d be a bit more encouraging. But in fact, he’s none of those things.
Prior to last night’s slip, Charlotte had asked him, at my suggestion, what his vision for a first date might be. His answer (I told her) could have been written by an A.I.
I suggested she say, “Nice try. And nice. But try again.”
She didn’t say that. She said something like, “Oooh, NICE!”
I gave her my possible answers. The better of which was, “Do you REALLY want me to answer that question honestly? Because I will. But you need to give me explicit permission.”
“That’s such a YOU answer,” she wrote.
Well, duh. I am, actually, me.
So part of my punishment for Charlotte was to tell her not to text Al any further that evening – to explain to him she was going to be offline, that she would talk to him the next day. And, I curtailed her texting men generally for the evening. And instructed her, instead, to write in her journal, or to record a journal entry for me. [She chose the latter.]
And the next day, she wanted to message Al. “Can I?” she wrote.
“Well,” I said. “Yesterday, I said that I wanted you to come for me before messaging him. But now, I don’t want you to come.”
“Why not?!?” Charlotte asked. It was like she hadn’t been paying attention.
“Why do you think?!?”
“Because I fucked up,” she wrote. With a little emoji I can’t describe well. Maybe shy? Contrite? But wearing sunglasses?
“Yes,” I wrote. “It’s gonna be a bit.”
“Let’s start here,” I continued. “If you want to message him, please edge for me for a minute. Then, tell me what you propose to say to him.”
Charlotte, ever eager, responded nearly instantly:
I gave her two possibilities:
“How would you feel about… Telling him that you are in a relationship with a dom-ish guy who’s concerned that he might be a little too timid, too shy, too … bland?… for you? Or…. Tell him that you’ll tell him about your threesome after he tells you a recent wild sex story of his.”
“I like the second one,” Charlotte wrote.
We had a little exchange about how she was being so forthcoming in the absence of, really, anything from him. “Right now, you’re just a slut offering titillating entertainment for him.”
“Oh God. I don’t want that.”
There was an aside about how to produce bold and italics in WhatsApp.
She showed me her message to him. “So before I go and tell you about my amazing threesome story, I want to hear a crazy sex story from you. Lay it on me.”
“And edge for me…” I wrote.
“I’ll let you get away with 25 seconds on that one,” I said. Feeling magnanimous.
And, I commented that in a previous text to her he shown how he spells the word I might spell “you,” and that some (but not people I text with) might spell “U”. He spells it, distressingly, “ya.”
“I get it,” Charlotte wrote. “He’s lame.”
“He may not be,” I wrote. “He just hasn’t showed you that he’s not.”
Here’s hoping he does.
So ends my response to three of the four prompts – the evolution of our relationship (seen from one angle, with respect to one aspect of it); her pussy (as a barometer of connection); and her new sexual journey, through my perspective.
And now, here, three smoking hot photos from Charlotte:
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