I get so disappointed it’s overwhelming. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t need to. My desire runs through my fingers like sand. It’s not wanted. I am frivolous.
I ask him to command me to do things. I’ve been asking a long time, and he’s obviously not comfortable with it outside sex. I say: You should make me do things. But you have to give me something, too. Hold my head like a dog who you have to train. Treat me like a dog you have to train. I start barking and sniffing and kissing his cock and balls through the fabric of his underwear. He laughs but it’s a melancholic laugh. I can see he’s somehow out of it and I don’t know what to do. We are sitting in the sofa and I’m upside down, my feet on the side of his head, my head in his lap.
He pulls my hand from his cock. I say he can restrain me. It’s hot and funny when he pulls me right close to the mount in his pants and keeps me there. But the way he says it, now. The way he does it. It’s not a game. He really can’t handle me at all. I feel undescribably sad. Where is he? I am working so hard and nothing is helping.
I know, I know. I’ve been lying on the couch the whole day, reading scripts and sipping coffee and he’s been working the whole day. He’s cycled almost two hours. He’s sleepy and tired. But I can’t take it anymore. The reason is always so good that there’s nothing I can do. So, what about the future? With kids and a bigger place to clean, more things to worry about. Will we ever have sex, then?