Cleo broke up with me, stating (accurately) that we’re looking for different things.
I feel a mix of emotions: sad, disappointed, relieved, and happy. Cleo was making me anxious, and I was making her anxious. It’s true, we did want different things. She’s spectacularly attractive, and enormously compliant – once the bedroom door is closed.
However, if I’m honest, even then, things were far from perfect.
Cleo has a sensitive jaw, and her appetite for oral sex is limited in a way that I suppose is reasonable, but honestly, it’s unprecedented among women I’ve dated. I’ve never been with a woman who tired of performing oral sex after only ten minutes. She confessed that this is a limitation she laments, that it’s not personal to me, and that it affects her in her sex life, her love life, and even in her professional life, which is unrelated to sex.
I often say that a woman’s orgasms don’t matter to me, and I mostly think this is true. But Cleo put this to the test in a different way, in that the only way she can achieve an orgasm is with a magic wand on her clit. Ironically, this is one of my favorite ways to deliver an orgasm to a woman. But there is something, a wound, I suppose, that I felt with Cleo when my tongue and my fingers weren’t enough. Not always. Not often, even.
I’ve been with women for whom this characteristic was true, women with whom I have not experienced this disappointment. With Cleo, though, I found myself wanting to be able to deliver her an orgasm in a way that I’m not accustomed to. I’m not sure what to make of this.
I suppose it’s because I was so hungry to feel even a slight modicum of power over her. Something I never achieved in our brief, hot-burning relationship.
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