Polina and I met, in person, at an upscale pizza place.

Polina was delicious-looking – tight black jeans; a tight, pastel blue, ribbed top – one that made her breasts impossible not to stare at; black platform heels. Her hair – blonde, with darker roots – had a part in the center that I couldn’t peel my eyes away from. Other than to stare at her pretty, narrow, eyes. Or, those breasts.

Not what she wore. Not so different – at least on top. Her breasts are better. Smaller. More fun.

It’s so different to encounter a human in person than it is to see them on Zoom. Polina and I had stretched together all of four times. I knew her to be hot. I knew her to be smart. I knew her to be interesting.

I had zero sense for the physical chemistry I would feel, the attraction, the powerful pull, I would feel to her (pleasantly, surprisingly) petite body. When we kissed hello, I had to resist my (powerful, close-but-not-quite-irresistible) impulse to pull her a bit more forcefully toward, into, my body. To grab her waist firmly, to let her feel my strong hands press into the flesh of her ribs, to let her feel my cock straining against my maroon Bonobos khakis. Ditto when, after a lovely (brief) meal together – one that featured natural, easy, fun conversation – we kissed good-bye.

I didn’t do any of that. I’m many things, but one thing I’m not is physically forward with someone who hasn’t explicitly given me permission to be so. My M.O.? I collect that permission in advance. I deploy it after having collected it. I don’t presume its presence in the moment, or create it by collecting it. That’s just how I roll (and how I don’t roll) – for better and for worse. I have no doubt that I err in favor of “respectful.” There’s a cost – and a benefit – to this. The number of women who feel I’ve violated their wishes, physically, even incidentally, accidentally, momentarily? Fewer than five. Several standard deviations below the mean for men of my (certain) age. And of those women – those who feel I’ve violated their wishes, even for a moment – the majority of incidents took place in the century prior to this one. [And presumably even more important: the number of women who’ve explicitly rejected me in my lifetime? Similarly small.]

On the downside? There’s a substantial number of women, surely, whom I might have bedded had I been more forward. Alas….

Polina and I have not (yet?) established a D/s dynamic. She’s read a number of posts on my blog, but not an overwhelming number. She hasn’t fallen down my rabbit hole, hasn’t revealed herself to be powerfully seduced by the power of my words. And yet… she did like me, she was, in spite of herself, in spite of her expectations, at least a little attracted to me – even if I don’t offer anything like what, in general, she craves. (I definitely don’t.) I think she was surprised at the combination of my looks and my… comfort. She said I’m comfortable to be with – and I am. She allowed me to order for her. Sort of. Next time, perhaps, she’ll really let me order for her. Never mind, let me choose what she wears, from top to bottom, from inside out….

My hunch? Polina doesn’t want to sample what I have to offer (beyond what she already gets of me). She doesn’t think herself submissive, doesn’t crave an exploration of the dark (and the not-so-dark) corners to which I might lead her. Or, if she does, she craves it with someone who’s bona fide dating material – not an unavailable man in a place she’s just visiting.

My accompanying hunch? If Polina wanted an adventure, if she wanted to push herself to try something she hadn’t previously contemplated – giving herself to me, to do with as I wish, for just an hour, or three, or seven – she would end up feeling a great deal of gratitude. And pleasure…. My fingers are crossed. As much as I imagine Polina has to learn from, about, me, I suspect the trade would be more than fair.

I won’t, here, offer visions of what that all might look like. Polina told me she likes the idea of being written about, and so here are some words. The next round of words – imagining what might be? – she’ll have to ask for that, specifically. And she’ll have to express interest not just in reading my thoughts, but in bringing them to fruition. 😉

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