He said, "I want to be in control." He liked her, you see, all along, since the very beginning. He liked her. But she was slippery like a fish, she was there one moment and gone another. He knew that she was married, he thought that she wanted a relationship, but all she really wanted was to fill up the gaps of her time, her time of being alone, and when he was being difficult, she brushed it off, because she had others she spent time with. But she was never too far away from his mind. For nearly a year they corresponded and she was never too far from his mind. When she left him the first time he thought perhaps it was his old age, that she lost interest. When she came back into his life, he was excited about the prospect of meeting up with her, and then she slipped away again. He had a team of people to make him look good. He was wealthy, successful and powerful.
He wanted her because he was selfish, and needed her because she was such an adorable thing, but then he was busy, working, and traveling and when you were fifty-one, life's priorities changed. He did not always have a very strong sex drive and when he did, he looked at her photos and masturbated. It was easier. On rare occasions, he met women that he liked, and he pursued them. Inevitably these relationships ended and he would resort back to contacting her, he needed her, because she was someone he never really could have.
She told him that she had not had sex for eight years. She was lonely and wanted to please him. She told him that her love for sex resulted her becoming addicted to online porn. She was looking for that right chemistry, and she was not really available to date, but she made exceptions for him. She catered to his needs. She wrote to him when she was in Germany, and then in Thailand. She said that they needed to meet up and have dinner. But they couldn't have dinner. He needed her close, so close that he could touch her behind the table. He needed to touch her, fondle her and make her come under her skirt with his hand. So she entertained the idea and made herself available, she saw him in dark places and she dressed the way he wanted her to dress, a corporate girl with hair up and she wore glasses and pencil skirts, without stockings or underwear.
She had created this imagine just for him. When she was not with him, she dated other men, fucked like rabbit, but he did not know that about her, it was just a game, a game which she played expertly, she was his fantasy girl, and she never revealed her card.
He wrote recently to suggest that they'd meet up. She replied, "Sure." It was a dance between two very non-attached person, neither one of them had vested interest in making this work. Except that he wanted her, and from time to time, he wrote to her, and wanted to know how she was doing, and asked her to send photos of herself to him.
He has not figured out if they did meet up again, what they'd be up to, but he knew he wanted her, in his own ways she was the one person he knew he must have, the less she wanted him, the more he wanted her. And one day, one day, he thought to himself, "I'd make her all mine."
He wanted her because he was selfish, and needed her because she was such an adorable thing, but then he was busy, working, and traveling and when you were fifty-one, life's priorities changed. He did not always have a very strong sex drive and when he did, he looked at her photos and masturbated. It was easier. On rare occasions, he met women that he liked, and he pursued them. Inevitably these relationships ended and he would resort back to contacting her, he needed her, because she was someone he never really could have.
She told him that she had not had sex for eight years. She was lonely and wanted to please him. She told him that her love for sex resulted her becoming addicted to online porn. She was looking for that right chemistry, and she was not really available to date, but she made exceptions for him. She catered to his needs. She wrote to him when she was in Germany, and then in Thailand. She said that they needed to meet up and have dinner. But they couldn't have dinner. He needed her close, so close that he could touch her behind the table. He needed to touch her, fondle her and make her come under her skirt with his hand. So she entertained the idea and made herself available, she saw him in dark places and she dressed the way he wanted her to dress, a corporate girl with hair up and she wore glasses and pencil skirts, without stockings or underwear.
She had created this imagine just for him. When she was not with him, she dated other men, fucked like rabbit, but he did not know that about her, it was just a game, a game which she played expertly, she was his fantasy girl, and she never revealed her card.
He wrote recently to suggest that they'd meet up. She replied, "Sure." It was a dance between two very non-attached person, neither one of them had vested interest in making this work. Except that he wanted her, and from time to time, he wrote to her, and wanted to know how she was doing, and asked her to send photos of herself to him.
He has not figured out if they did meet up again, what they'd be up to, but he knew he wanted her, in his own ways she was the one person he knew he must have, the less she wanted him, the more he wanted her. And one day, one day, he thought to himself, "I'd make her all mine."
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