Belle told me this morning before she went to work that I’d get to make her come tonight. Plus, I’d get to choose how. All day I thought about that. I thought about my tongue in her snatch and flicking over her clit. All day.
After work, I had to cart the kids all over hell and back and started to feel really tired. Was I going to be too tired to get her off? By about 8:00, I was running on empty but then the last kid was carted home and I changed out of my day clothes and climbed into bed and the prospect of Belle’s wet pussy seemed to be recharging me.
But Belle was tired. She took off her glasses and placed them on the nightstand. She was easing into her “going to sleep” mode and there were still kids awake and I saw the light at the end of my tunnel, which had been rushing towards me minutes ago, start to recede.
Then she turned over and closed her eyes.
“I’m tired, Thumper.”
I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. Felt heat on my face. Loss.
Her prerogative, I thought. Embrace it. You’re powerless.
Now I’m tossing and turning and so tired but the stupid fucking penis keeps swelling and filling the Looker’s cage and squeezing its insert and the very sensation of impotent frustration is fueling my horniness. I am not in charge at all and I don’t even get to complain because she gets to arbitrarily withdraw earlier commitments and I have to accept it. There are no promises. I can expect nothing. I deserve nothing. And she carries no guilt. Nor should she.
Denial is more than just absence of orgasms.