The last three or four women I’ve dated have been beautiful, intelligent, interesting, three-dimensional women close to my age. And try though I might, I haven’t been able to muster any sort of chemical, bodily reaction to them. I’ve registered them in my mind as hot, but my body, my cock, has barely twitched.
The most recent, I’ll call her Tina, has lots and lots of qualities speaking for her. But the best is one of my favorites, it’s her voice. I don’t even know how to describe it except to say that it’s smoking hot. It’s got a vulnerability, an openness, a curiosity that is like catnip to me.
The problem is, you see… she’s not my sub.
When I proposed to her after our second date that she wear something green the following day and show me, her response – “I don’t think I can, I’m really busy,” couldn’t have been better calibrated to put me off. I don’t think she meant to be rejecting. I think she simply was honestly responding. But her honest response revealed something about her that set off all my warning bells. Not warning bells about which I’m proud; warning bells that were configured in my infancy and that I spent much of my adulthood trying to disconnect with little success.
After our third date, or rather on our third date, Tina actually wore something green.
Was this for me? Was this an attempt at an apology? She didn’t say.
If it was, it was a little too subtle. In order for it to have worked, I think she would have needed to be quite explicit. I needed some abjection.
For me to feel safe, I need to know that I can ask for what I want and – while I might not receive it – the mere fact of my having asked itself will have been a plus, will have been registered as the gift it was intended to be.
That’s just not how things are with Tina, at least not yet.
And in my current state, I’m ashamed to say, it just makes me want to run.
