He met her at her office shortly before lunch and asked for her keys. She gave him an uncharacteristically dumbfounded expression. "Huh?"
He whined a little. "Just give them, okay?"
When she dug through her purse and handed them over, he handed over the keys to his Jaguar. He gazed down at them in her hand and turned pale. "Be . . . be careful. I'll be right back."
She never drove his Jaguar; she was never allowed to even sit behind the driver's seat. She was surprised he allowed her in the passenger seat, and even then it was no drinks, no food, no dirt, no fingerprints.
She was actually scared to drive it, knowing how precious it was to him, but he had given her the keys, so taking her friend to lunch in it was a thrill and a half. When they got back, he was waiting. She expected a lecture or at the very least of interrogation, but he just kissed her and returned her car keys. "You're all inspected."
She smiled and thanked him and before she could say another word, he was gone.
She stood there with her thoughts in a whirl. Had he just given up his lunch hour to get her car inspected?
When she arrived home after work, she was exhausted. It had been a long day. He was there, in the guest parking spot, grinning.
She got out and smiled at him and he pulled bags from his car. "I got supper for you."
She laughed. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, and it's not bad either. I went to that vegetarian place you like."
She had to admit, the attention, the pampering was addictive. All this, just because he hadn't had an orgasm in a few days?
They ate dinner and he did the dishes. She spread herself out on the couch and thought about where they were. She had an urge to go text her friend and tell her she was right about the change in behavior, and wrong about the inevitable temper tantrum. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
He slipped under her legs and began to massage her feet. It was heaven. She moaned. She sighed. She smiled and went all warm and melty on him. "Thank you so much, Jim."
He leaned over and kissed her. "It's my pleasure."
He kissed her again, and again, and deepened the kiss. He panted, "I want you so bad."
She blushed and nodded. "I want you, too . . . but I'm sorry . . . I'm still just so tired from work."
Concern flowed over his face. "But . . . it's Wednesday."
She nodded, sharing his concern. "I know, and you've been so good."
His eyes dropped. "It's because I didn't get your dryer fixed?"
She hadn't even thought about it. Honestly, in her eyes, everything he'd done had been enough, getting her car inspected, pampering with dinner and the foot massage. "No, really."
He interrupted her. "I ran all around after work looking for that little clip for the door, but no one had it or would sell it to me. I finally had to order it off the internet, but it's going to take a week to come in."
She smiled. "Well, that's okay. I just--"
"Don't I even get a little credit?" He was practically pouting.
She nodded and patted his cheek, then thought about the advice of her friend. The cock, the cock, the cock controls the man. She sat up, snuggled next to him and placed her hand over the crotch of his pants.
He stiffened, his breath suddenly ragged.
She whispered in his ear. "You've been a good boy today."
He turned and kissed her forehead, binging like a starved man on her buffet of scents, her perfume, her hair, her skin, her makeup. "Thank you. I'm trying."
She patted the hard lump in his pants, drummed her fingers. "So, I'll leave it to you. I love everything you've done, and I promised you Wednesday, but you did break the rules, and then you tried to make up for them, which you did, even if my dryer isn't quite fixed yet. If you absolutely need to do this tonight, then okay. If you feel you deserve it, then okay."
He was quiet for a long time, his breath warm and flowing down her face. "You really are tired?"
She turned her face up to his. "I really am exhausted. I'm ready to fall right into bed."
He nodded. "Okay."
She checked his eyes, seeing the disappointment. "Honey, are you sure?"
He smiled. "It's not that I don't want to. I need to, but I'm not as desperate as I was before."
She shook her head gently. "No?"
His eyes dropped as he considered his feelings. "I mean, I need an orgasm in the worst way, but that thing you did last night, you know, cumming without, um, orgasming, sort of . . . relieved some of the pressure I think. It's a weird kind of emotional need now. It feels a lot less like pressure built up and not so much like a physical need."
"You have an emotional need?" she giggled. It always seemed to her that he worked hard to have nothing to do with emotions whatsoever.
He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. I do need it. It's weird. I'm like split right down the middle. Half of me wants to just have you, needs to have you, but the other half . . . wants to make you happy."
She reached for his lips and moaned softly when they met, soft and warm and tender. "I'm very happy tonight."
She couldn't be sure, but she thought she was his throat bob. Was he getting emotional? He whispered back. "I'm glad."
Her head went all dizzy. She practically swooned when the thought struck her. 'He just gave up what he wanted most in the world right now . . . to make me happy.'
* * *
On Thursday afternoon, he met her at her door with takeout. She smiled and patted his cheek and thanked him. He hadn't just brought dinner for them, he'd brought her a low-calorie meal. He'd gone healthy. Even for his own meal.
"But don't they have those wings you love so much?"
He nodded, setting the bags on the kitchen counter while she closed the door and greeted the cat. "Yeah, but I didn't want to get all loaded down tonight. It's so heavy, you know."
Of course, she realized, he was expecting sex. He'd willingly sacrificed his own pleasure the night before. Again, she had a sense of obligation which she'd been promised she wouldn't have anymore. Before she could second guess this whole Divine Tantra business, she remembered what her mentor had said, 'It's more work at the beginning, like dog training or potty training, but if you're patient, you'll never have that obligated feeling again.'
She wondered when 'never' would start.
He lit candles, put on soft music and transferred all the contents of the Styrofoam to plates. If she hadn't known better, she could easily have believed he'd cooked them both a wonderful meal. He wasn't much of a cook though, but it was a nice fantasy.
He was his normal, attentive self. Well, his new normal, attentive self. She was amazed at how quickly his new behavior had become "normal" to her. It was starting to feel almost a little routine for him to dote on her, to tend to her every need, to jump up from a chair in order to attend to her needs, refill her water glass, bring her more soy sauce. She barely even had to ask.
Afterwards, tired from work, they retired from the couch. He kissed her and kept kissing her. He could barely contain himself. He whispered desperate, needy things into her ear, how bad he needed her, wanted her, how good she smelled, how beautiful she was. They moved to the bedroom, shedding their clothes.
He didn't last long.
It was nice, but short. He apologized and they laughed a little.
He offered to take care of her, but she was already feeling sleepy.
He leapt from the bed, the second he realized she was okay, and parked himself before the TV. As she nodded off, she thought she heard him in the kitchen again. How can he be hungry again?
She was an open book to her friend, texting all the details.
'So,' her friend texted back, 'you see how he changes once he's had an orgasm?'
He'd been gone early in the morning, and he hadn't left her a message or called. She'd resisted calling him or texting him. She sighed with disappointment. 'So . . .' she asked her friend. 'The only way for him to be a good boyfriend is for him never to get off again?'
Her friend sent her a smiley face, followed by, 'He's only going a week at a time without one. Once you extend that time, you'll see that his drops don't last as long. Even on this one, it only takes a day or so for him to re-charge. After he's conditioned to depend on you for his orgasm, his drops will become almost non-existent. He's still getting it, remember? You're still training him. It takes time.'
She didn't have the chance for more time.
Things went swimingly for the next two days. While he didn't call or text her at all Friday, he was back on Saturday, attentive, thoughtful, adoring her. It was very addictive; it was so easy to get used to being treated with such high regard. In all her years of dating boys, she'd only received that kind of attention at the beginning of her relationships, the courtship phase. Within months, the boys always seemed to change; she always became second in their lives. She didn't mind, because she knew they had their own lives, but as hard as she always worked to please them, she never saw her efforts reciprocated. She had realized long ago, that men were just like that, and that she would only disappointed if she expected anything else.
Now, for the first time, she had glimpsed the possibility that they could be like that. It was both hopeful and horrible. She felt like she'd wasted so much time accepting and expecting less. Still, this "program" seemed so . . . dramatic. Could she really go along with it all?
They renewed their "game", and Jim was once again hanging on her every word, being sweet and romantic, but everything came to a screaming halt a week later. He was properly "charged" up by now, having not touched himself, having had no orgasms and she was preparing to extend his time, but she didn't get the chance.
He stopped responding to her calls, stopped responding to her texts. She felt that old sense of desperation. She tried to resist the urge to nag him, to text him repeatedly with messages like "Are you okay?" and "Where are you?" and "I'm worried about you." It was difficult, like fighting a demon inside her that was dedicated to making her sound and feel desperate and needy. She knew from experience that those kinds of messages drove men away.
When he finally called, he was cold and noncommital. She asked if there was anything wrong and he told her there wasn't, but then followed up with, "I just need some space. You know . . . for awhile."
A cold pang of sorrow splashed through her.
Her friend had a different take, sending her text that said, 'It's a tantrum. He's fallen off the wagon.'
She shook her head in complete disagreement. 'No, he would've just told me. He knows he can. It's worse than that.'
'Don't panic. He was feeling out of control and he got himself off. I promise you. Rather than tell you, he needed to take his control back for awhile. You have to be patient and let him have it. You can't force anything. Forcing it will make it worse.'
She thought about it, felt tears in her eyes. 'So, then, we're right back where we started?'
Another smiley face. 'For awhile. If he's a better boyfriend, then you don't have anything to worry about. If he's not, then he'll either come back to the game again, because of how it makes things better or he won't.'
