Charlotte asked me to write about my feelings about comparing women. I’ve written, many times, that I don’t, generally, compare. I don’t think to myself, “A is hotter than B,” or “I like C better than D.” What I think is, for example, “I love how game Charlotte is to try new things!” or, “I loved how compliant V was with my every request.” I remember positives fondly; I think less about areas of lesser satisfaction.
Charlotte asked “how and why [I] don’t compare,” but this feels like the wrong construction to me. It’s not that there is a why – I just don’t. As far as how: it’s hard for me to describe this all further without going into details about specific women, and Charlotte has told me she doesn’t, generally, like to read about herself alongside other women.
I will, though, address one woman in particular, about whom I’ve written, and about whom I’ve written with regard to comparison – because she always wanted me to compare her to other women. She was hungry for me to tell her that she was prettier than others, that she was sexier than others. Luna was her name. You can go back and read about her. I have a continuing fantasy about Luna: that I will, one day, tie her up and ravish her with the Hitachi Magic Wand I bought her. That I’ll make her say a safe word because she can’t tolerate any more orgasms. I can’t really say why this fantasy lives on in me years after I last saw her, but it does. Powerfully. Luna has full lips. She’s very slender. More slender, generally, than I find appealing. Her breasts aren’t small. Her ass isn’t, either. She’s got WASP-y good looks – she is quite beautiful, in a very conventional way. She looks a bit like Uma Thurman, circa 1993.
We came a-cropper over her demands that I tell her she was the prettiest woman in my harem, that she was prettier than whoever else I was seeing at the time. I just couldn’t give that to her. I couldn’t give it to her not because she wasn’t prettier. I’m sure many would say she was. But rather, because I just don’t even think that way. Maybe I don’t allow myself to think that way. To think that way, to say that Luna was the prettiest, would mean I was saying of someone else, I thought she was less pretty. And that’s just not something I’m really prepared to say aloud. And my internal censor has enough strength that the thought doesn’t arise.
So I don’t compare.