I gave him another tiny surprise yesterday on following after. “Just as I felt safe with you, you frightened me,” he remarked of the much bigger one. “You made a good recovery.” He said I was flamboyant, liking that I was.
We talked of many things: his psychosis from drug-taking at university, the icing on the cake of his obsessive-compulsive disorder. Is it any wonder I so desire him? We reached the Kew roundabout. “Which way?” he asked. “We’re way past my place. You go that way,” I pointed. He asked if I had tea. Of course.
OK. There’s too much to report. He said he did desire me. I asked how he knew what I was angry about that time he made himself available for me to take it out on him by his not leaving the building but going into the library study room where he was doing nothing but wait because afterwards he did acknowledge me when it was the lack had made me angry. He didn’t know. I was citing this as an instance when my man ie unconscious will, the one behind the persistent desire, was informing us both. I could’ve cited the big surprise or his ready response to my unhappiness at the editing of the foreword to my book.
He didn’t want the v-neck sweater which would show his chest hair. He has hair on his back too. He looked beautiful looking down at the bowl of green tea cupped by his slender fingers. “You look beautiful.” He wants a dominant woman. There is no woman more dominant than mine and I have a prick too. He commented on the fact we have cunt equivalents as well. It’s not as if any other who desires him is up for the position.
But the main thing is he’s been at my place a second time. The first was not a one-off. We’re on-going.