Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Does he really know all that about me? Or are those lines he uses with everyone?
I believe this is personal. At least to some degree. I believe I’m getting a part of him.
He knocks before I can consider the matter further.
"Come in," I say, from my spot on the bed.
He does, and once again, my desire for him overwhelms every rational thought in my brain.
How can the man look sexy in a black silk robe? He should look like a cheesy Hugh Hefner wannabe, but the silk hangs off his shoulder just so.
And, well, the way the robe falls a little too high on his thighs is just… sexy as fuck.
"You look way too good in that.” I stand and move towards him. Meet him in the middle of the room.
"I was thinking exactly the same thing about you." He smiles.
My hand goes to the edge of the robe. The spot over my chest. I want to tease him. Toy with him. I almost do. But something stops me.
A shyness.
Or maybe a desire to get through this. To play on my turf. Conversation with clothing on.
That's what I know to do.
That's how I know how to do this.
And, well—
Something tells me a little roleplay is exactly what we both need to let go. Since he's used to pretense. And I'm used to intellectualizing everything.
"Do you want to go first?" I don't quite tease him with a flash, but I do slide my fingers over the fabric, drawing his attention.
Pride fills his eyes. And something I don't expect. A defiance. Like he knows I'm daring him, and he can't wait to dare me back. There's a playfulness to it.
Or maybe I'm projecting.
I do that too much.
"I can," he says. "If you want." He moves to the bed and takes a seat. "Any fantasy?"
I nod. "Preferably one you've had for a while. Preferably one you've never filled. But any will do."
His eyes go to the wide window. With the sheer blinds down, you can't make out the image of the backyard. Only a blur of blue sky, palm trees, and ocean view.
"How honest can I be?" he asks.
"As honest as you want," I say.
"And you won't judge me if I say, I fantasize about coming on your face?"
"Isn't that a pretty typical fantasy?" I ask.
He nods in agreement. "Wouldn't you think I watch too much porn?"
"Probably," I return. "And I'm sure that's why some people have it. But it can be about acceptance too. Wanting your partner to accept you fully. Even the parts that society deems gross."
"That's a deep read on facials." He laughs.
"That's my job."
"You don't sound judgmental. You're good with that."
"You too," I say.
"It's not that."
I have to admit, even though I know why people like the act, I can't totally get on board. There's a difference between understanding something intellectually and getting it on a gut level.
And, well, things with my ex were complicated.
He didn't want to have sex. But it wasn't a lack of libido exactly. He still watched plenty of porn. He masturbated all the time.
He just preferred to experience sex in that one, single way. By viewing it from the other side of a computer screen.
A real flesh and blood woman who expected him to participate was too much, after a while.
Now, I understand the psychology of it. It's a common problem. Sometimes, it's not so severe. Sometimes, a man has trouble with stimulation or finishing. Sometimes, he needs aids to have sex at all.
And sometimes, he's even worse than my ex-husband was.
Sometimes, he's in search of more and more hardcore content.
It probably happens to women too. I've just never had any of their partners show up asking for my help. Men are far less likely to stay in difficult relationships. Men are far less likely to suggest couple’s therapy. Men are far less likely to try to change their partner.
It’s smarter, probably, to accept people as they are. To give them a chance or two to change their behavior and leave when they don’t. And, usually, they don’t.
"Where are you going?" he asks.
I don't want to talk about my ex. Not yet. And I don't want to talk about facials, really. The mental image isn't exactly a turn on.
But it doesn't disgust me as much as it usually does.
I guess it's different when someone respects your boundaries.
When you like them.
"I'd be more surprised that you hadn't done that," I admit. "I imagine you've had clients ask."
"Not often," he says. "But I have, yes."
I don't like the thought of him with other people. Which is ridiculous. I hired him to spice up my life. I’m using him for content as much as he’s using me to fool his family. This is all a game, like the ones his mom is suggesting. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.