Playing the Game

We stood under the lights in a back alley, talking. Once again, I was in my dress blacks. Once again, we played pool and drank. This time he won, 3-2. The encounter did not last our normal length; he had to go to work early tomorrow morning, and technically I was still on the clock. Just three hours for tonight's interactions.

I attempted to take a photo of him. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get a shot that wasn't blurred or looked good. For such an attractive person, he is really hard to photograph. Of course there is the fact that he enjoys my struggle at getting the shot. Everything is a game.

He commented that a dark corner across the street behind some cars would be a good spot for us to fuck. I agreed it was an ideal location, as long as it was on the hood of one of the cars. He suggested doggy style. I didn't like the prospect of gravel on my hands and knees. He seemed confused. What he envisioned was more bending me over and my resting my hands on the hood. I explained I viewed this as hitting it from the back, not doggy style.

He asked why I wanted to take a photo of him. I said to attach it to his contact info in my phone. To... He interjected as I was about to give the real answer. I gave it after his interruption. It was an obvious answer. I still don't have a good picture of him.

He mentioned how I often, casually, slip into our conversations the fact that I find him highly attractive. It hadn't occurred to me til he said it how often I've mentioned his looks. I guess it's because I'm not used to someone as handsome as he having an interest in me. I made a mental note to try to break that habit.

I asked him what he thought my over-under was. How long did he think I would last? He said I was already done. I didn't understand his logic. He said I had already gone past the point where I'd be mad if I fucked him, therefore it was just a matter of time. He said it was a pity my submissiveness kept me from having what it was obvious I wanted.

I stood up straight, squared my shoulders, popped my hip, and prepared to tell him the truth. I told him what I thought I never would. It wasn't that I didn't want to fuck him; that much was completely obvious. It was that I was not going to ever ask for it. I wanted him to take it. I wanted him to grab me by my hair, drag me to that dark spot behind the cars, and fuck me til I screamed and beyond that. I wanted him to take it; I was not going to give it.

He made the point that this put all the power in his hands. This made it his decision. He had to want to fuck me. He asked me when I thought he would want to fuck me. I told him never. He thought this was sad. I explained my logic.

He enjoys tension. He enjoys the build up. We have these both in leaps and bounds. I can't foresee him releasing when he enjoys the suspense so.

He disagreed. He said he would fuck me when I needed it. When my desire to fuck him outweighed my enjoyment of our game, then it would happen. I pointed out there was a flaw in his logic. There is a vast difference between need and want. Also, either way, I could fulfill my desire by seeking out another.

He noted this was a possibility. But, more than likely, it will happen, sooner or later. Either I'll beg for it or he'll want it enough that he'll just take it. He supposed it would happen randomly.

I noted the two possible outcomes: my begging or his taking. I then inquired if I begged, did that mean he won? And if he took, did that mean I won? He found my conclusions to be too rigid. He assured me, when it happened, it would be obvious who was the victor.