When she talks about sex, it’s all about what she can do to you.
She’s a good-looking girl, and smart, but there’s not a shred of romance in her, and it’s like, at some point, her life has become all about control.
She talks about dancing for you… about driving you wild. She never talks about how she feels about you, only gloats back with the adoring words you’ve blurted at her. A conversation with her becomes like porno… the same structured bullet-points; the strip, the hand-job, the blow-job, two positions minimum, cum-shot. Tick the boxes, win the prize.
It’s all about her on you. Her making you feel a certain way. Forcing you into it.
But it isn’t about sex… it’s about power. And the equation doesn’t balance. Because she gets to feel in control, but she doesn’t get to feel good.
Sure, she can make you hard with a sentence, with a particular type of wiggle. But making a guy hard is like making a baby drool… or making the sky blue. If you’re doing it for sport, you clearly don’t like a challenge. It’s not the same as making him care.
If the cut and thrust of lust isn’t going two ways, what’s the point? You try to enjoy it, but after a while, it just makes you sad and frustrated. Because the fun part of this particular game is about losing control, not fighting for it.
The dancer may own you for the few moments between the beginning and the end of the song, but you’d be a fool to fall for her.
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