She’s young. Younger than I generally am attracted to. (Though I should note: of late, nearly all the women with whom I’ve connected have fit this bill.)
Her body is exquisite. Toned. Fit. Slender. Curvy.
Her face is enigmatic. Cute, sometimes. Pretty, others. Something else? Sometimes.
We’ve met twice, so far. There’s zero chemistry. Zero conversation, even. She has been providing a little Pilates instruction to me. Not stretching. Pilates. She has me in downward dog. Pedaling my feet. Reaching up, out, back. The views of her are good, but not great. She’s instructing, directing; not posing. She pushes me – in ways some of which are good (I sweat, I’m working), and others of which are… less so. I definitely prefer to be, um, on top.
After our first session, she told me, “I just needed to make sure it was pure intentions!”
“My intentions are never pure,” I said. “But I am a perfect gentleman….” I added, “I’d love a little more conversation… if you’re game.”
“Yeah totally,” she wrote back. “Just have to get comfortable.”
She’s not yet comfortable, I sense, though she’s getting more so. In text, she’s a bit more… well, if not flirty, at least, accessible. But in person? She’s ALL business.
I haven’t pushed back. I’ve let her drive. Uncharacteristic for me, but it’s what I’ve done. Soon, this will come to an end. Soon, I will take control. Gently, but firmly. I will tell her what I want, instead of her telling me what to do. There’s room for her to direct, to instruct, to lead. But it will, soon, need to come under my umbrella.
Meanwhile, here are some photos – not of her – but reminiscent of her:
