Mining for disappointment

Charlotte likes what she calls “24/7”. I think I’ve come to understand that what she means by this, though, differs from what I have in mind.

What Charlotte means is, “PAY ATTENTION TO ME ALL THE TIME!”

She doesn’t mean that she is necessarily available to pay attention to me all the time. And she doesn’t mean, in fact, anything relating to “control” on my part.

I’m glad we’ve clarified that. It’s helpful. Disappointing, a little, but helpful.

I’m a miner for disappointment: I look for, and create, opportunities to feel let down by people. Women, in particular. But people, in general.

My father has two basic stories he tells, over and over: in the first, he is confronted by incompetence but, through some combination of tenacity and cleverness, manages to overcome that incompetence and to obtain his ultimate goal. (Ex: pretty much any bureaucratic run-in with, say, Verizon.) In the second, he puts distance between himself and another person who has slighted him in some way. (Ex: a friend or family member or acquaintance who doesn’t reciprocate social interest.)

Many of us have these template stories – stories that capture an essential emotional truth for us – that we tell, usually oblivious to the repetition they represent.

I like to imagine that while I am no different from the average bear in my tropism toward such tropes, where I differ is in my awareness of them.

Recently, as I gazed at four photos Charlotte sent me in response to this post, I managed – in spite of their manifest hotness, to be bereft. I had asked for five photos; she only sent four.

I had a couple of possibilities in this instance, but it’s revealing – and an example of my trope – that my first, primary reaction was, “FUCK! She fucked UP!”

It’s true. She did fuck up. And yes, punishment of a small sort is merited in such an instance. My request had been clear; her follow-through had not been perfect. But.

I made Charlotte feel bad. I took some of my bad feeling, and I put it into her.

Charlotte deserves so much better than this. Especially – especially – after making my cock as fucking hard as she did with the phenomenal photos of her phenomenal body that she sent. [And yes – it’s true – compliance makes my cock infinitely harder than do sexy images; had she executed perfectly, my cock would have been exponentially harder.]

What I wouldn’t give for a healthier, more fun, response: those four are fucking phenomenal. But you missed one. So, sorry to say, ten more. Now. Please. Minus the drama. Minus the pain.

I came close in this particular instance – I wasn’t too harsh, and I was playful: I extracted five more photos from her, and deprived her of a much-needed orgasm. Partly because of the photo miss, but more than that, because of a sort of bratty non-apology apology she offered.

But there were six other examples in the course of the day where I didn’t come so close to my ideal. Worth working on. For my benefit. For Charlotte’s. And, for yours.

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