The trickiest thing about Steampunk Guy is that he leaves
before he leaves. For 95% of the time I’ve ever spent with him, he’s been more
present than most other guys. I’ve only ever seen him answer his phone once, which
shouldn’t be that special, but is. When it gets close to time to go home,
though, he detaches all the way and triggers a really annoying don’t-leave-me
response in my gut. Maybe it’s just something in me, but since he used to be
one of those Pickup Artist guys, I wonder if it’s something he does on purpose.
The Game is waiting dauntingly for me
at the library so maybe I’ll find out.
Anyway, after that switch flipped, we were still having fun,
but it felt a little sad. I cuddled back and forth between him and the Boss of
Me couple. I wanted to go upstairs, goof around a little, and get aftercare,
but he wanted to wait and see if he’d won the castle-shaped cake he’d been
bidding on.
“I’m better than cake.” I said and he shook his head thoughtfully.
“I think that’s why we broke up in the first place...”
“Yep, I wanted to be better than cake.”
He talked about not doing aftercare, went on a little
half-joking diatribe about why can’t it just be meaningless sex, why does there
always have to be snuggling? This was an odd stance to take after two hours of
on-and-off snuggling and he claimed to be kidding, but there was real emotion
there. Maybe he’s just as frustrated about me not being Meaningless Sex Girl as
I was back in June about him not being the Dream Guy. It’s amazing that we make
good things happen with such opposite mindsets. Credit the smell of him, I
think.
I was hurt and didn’t know whether to prevail upon him to do
aftercare or just do it myself—the night was already a win, and it’s not like
I’d been traumatized. I was all sadfaced but he met my eye and said “Just
funnin’”
I perked up a little and he started unwinding the ropes
there at the corner of the downstairs bar, and we bantered some more, getting
oddly braggy with the other pair about our not-superconvincing broken-upness.
Actually, we were never officially a thing, so I guess it was one of those
not-really-a-breakup situations. We both hyperbolized and laughed about the
many, many, women who are ahead of me in his queue. (All of whom were absent
from the dungeon on this particular night, because sometimes the universe loves
me.) (Not that I wouldn’t have welcomed a chance to co-snuggle with at least
one of them.)
He went to see about the cake and I went upstairs to sit with
my blanket, (blue fleece with cartoon monkeys this time) figuring if he got
distracted downstairs I’d just leave as soon as I was alert enough to drive. He
came up soon after, cake triumphantly in hand. He sat down next to me and said
“Okay, come on.” and I crawled into his arms. This was the first aftercare time
we’d had in the BDSM way, before it was just awesome postsex cuddling. But this
was nice too. While I was wrapped up with SG, The Boss of Me came over and
kissed me goobye. I thanked her and she told me very emphatically to friend her, and I
said of course I would.
Once aftercare was done, my head felt a little yucky with
confusion. I sat at his feet, put my head on his knee and said “Make me not
confused,” but he’s not a top who’ll tell a girl what to think. Kneeling at his
feet and wistfully kneading his lap, I talked myself through it:
“You’re still the same guy.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re never gonna, like, ask me out.”
“Haha, no.”
“And you’re never gonna know on Tuesday if you can see me on
Thursday.”
“NOPE.”
“So nothing has changed except, we can be a thing that
happens sometimes?”
“Exactly, like a happy accident.”
“Okay. You’re the “Thrift Shop” of humans.”
We talked a little more, debating whether the fucking had
really been the thing that made me fall in love with him. I really don’t want
anything to mess up the fantastic momentum I’ve got going, but let’s face it,
(I didn’t say this at the time) probably I’ll fuck him a bunch more should the
opportunity arise. I know my ass would thank me for it.
I got back into my rained-on dress and he paid me the rare
compliment: “Oh, I like it. I liked naked better, but this is cute.” Praise
like a shiny good luck charm to take home.
He walked me to my car and I made him put down the cake and
kiss me in the drizzle. I drove home happy and proud. There was still a lot of hurt
in my belly about the Cutest Boy, but I’d taken control over the evening and helped
make it better than I’d hoped it could be.
The next morning, first thing, Steampunk Guy texted to see
if I’d written about it yet and to say he hoped I’d gotten home safe.
(Supergentlemanly, meaningless sex guy!) I thanked him again and told him to
stay tuned.
So here is my new resolution: Accept the awesome. Whether it
comes from him or any other member of this growing cast of characters, from a
trusted pal or a stranger, I resolve to get out of my own way and let life
lavish me with wonderfulness, often in the form of kisses and spanks.
No comments:
Post a Comment