I Have An Idea Ch 03

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.'

She felt the anxious dread nestle in the pit of her stomach. 'And if he doesn't want to continue the game again, what then?'

There was a pause that spoke volumes. 'It's up to you then. You either stay with him and make the best of a bad situation or you break up.'

She sighed. 'And if we break up?'

Yet another smiley face. 'Then you have learned something really important, which is you don't have to settle. You can expect more and you know how to get it.'

She felt like anything but smiling.

Another text appeared. 'I've done a dozen of these and I can honestly tell you, so far only one has led to a break-up. All the others ended up going back to some version of the game, some more modified than others.'

'Thanks,' she replied, not feeling much better. Leave it to her to be that negative percentile.

'And the guy that didn't work, was not exactly a winner. He lied and cheated on the plan constantly. From what you told me, Jim has been honest.'

As far as she knew, he had, but who could know for sure.

She let it all drop, didn't mention the game, and Jim, as predicted, returned to his old self. He didn't call, didn't text, hardly communicated except to see her on the weekend. He was better than his old self, but not by much. She could see that he tried a little harder, but just tended to fall back on his old habits.

***

It took almost a week of her sad sighs and weak smiles before he brought it up in the car on the way to a movie.

Sounding heartbroken, he said, "We're not working again, are we?"

She shrugged. "We're okay, I guess. I mean, it's better than it was. Don't you think?"

He shook his head. "Maybe." After a long silence, he added, "but you're not happy again."

She let the quiet sounds of the car answer for her. Familiar thoughts ran through her mind: maybe it wasn't him; maybe she expected too much, was too critical, was never satisfied; maybe she wanted to change him and should love him for who he was instead of who he could be.

"What if--" he interrupted her thoughts. "What if we started that little game of yours up again?"

She froze, staring at him. "Um . . . I don't know. Is that something you'd want to do?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. It seemed like when we were doing that--it seemed like you were really happy. I mean, you just gushed all the time, you know? When you saw me, you just smiled, a big happy smile, a big beautiful smile. I miss that."

She put her hand on his leg. "But what about you? I mean, what about your happiness?"

He glanced at her with a big, wolfish grin. "Honestly, I was pretty happy, too. I mean, I was miserable. I wanted to get off all the time, but it was a kind of good misery, like an exciting misery, and it's weird, but I felt like I was doing something, you know, for you."

She knew what her lines were; she'd been well instructed, well rehearsed. She didn't know if she could pull it off though.

"What happened?" she asked, before she embarked on the mission agenda her friend had given her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we were going along with the game, and then suddenly you stopped it, but I mean, we didn't talk about it or anything. It was like you were mad at me."

He shook his head, his shoulders sagging. "I . . . got myself off."

She waited, but that was the extent of his explanation. "That's it?"

"No, I mean, yes, but . . . I don't know. I just felt like I totally blew it. I went home. I was stressed and I just said, 'fuck it' and sat down and looked at a bunch of porn and got myself off, and then I just felt bad. I felt, just, empty and stupid."

"But, we said you could be honest about it. I mean, did you--"

"I felt ashamed, Ella. That I couldn't control it. All my life, I've always told myself that it was just masturbation. It was just something I did because I wanted to do it, not because I had to. I mean, I quit smoking for God's sake, and I did it without the patch, without anything. I just did it. But this, this was just like I couldn't stop."

"Jim," she smiled and leaned into him, "you told me that you fell off the wagon with smoking, too."

"I know, but I didn't disappoint anyone when I did. It was just me." He turned and gave her a sad expression. "I disappointed you, and it . . . it just broke my heart."

"It didn't break mine though."

He blinked, giving her a befuddled expression before turning his eyes back to the road. "It didn't?"

She laughed. "No, I expected you to fall off the wagon. I had this little punishment all planned. Jesus, Jim, it's a basic guy need. You're trying to resist something really basic, you know? Besides, it's not a failure really; it's a chance for me to tease you even worse the next time."

He laughed softly. "I never thought of it that way." After a moment, he added, "Your teasing drives me crazy."

After another moment, he added with sincere admiration, "How do you know all this?"

She smiled to herself and shrugged for him. "Girls know things."

* * *

He started to get attentive again, started to offer to do things for her, and more importantly, to follow through on those things, and some times to do things for her without even asking. They'd only talked about starting up the game again, but there had been no final decision. She learned, however, that the decision was made for her. By him.

He told her he hadn't touched himself in three days. He beamed, obviously proud of himself. Her friend gave her some advice.

'He's looking for a way to control the game.'

She thought about that. 'Are you sure? Maybe he's just eager.'

'No, trust me. He wants to play the game, but he wants to do it on his terms. He didn't wait for you to start; he started himself.'

'Well,' she messaged back, 'is that so bad?'

'Not terrible, no. But if he's in control, he can stop it whenever he feels like, just as he did last time. Remember what I told you.'

She did. Invariably, she questioned her mentor's advice in her own mind, yet every thing she'd said had been proven true, again and again. It was becoming obvious that her friend knew more about men, and in a way, Jim, than she did. That upset her a little. Why didn't she know these things?

Jim was at her apartment, doing the dishes with a big beaming smile, obviously proud of himself. She sat before the table and asked him if they could talk.

His smile faltered. "Uh oh.'

She laughed. "It's not bad, I just want to talk about the game."

He sat beside her, obviously expecting the worst. "More rules."

She grinned. "Not rules . . . um, conditions."

He raised his eyebrows. "What kind of conditions?"

She remembered her advice. 'Speak low and soft, almost a whisper. It's a seduction, lulling him, arousing him.'

"It's about how we play our little . . . game."

As she leaned toward him, her eyes soft and inviting, he couldn't help leaning towards her, the perfume of her hair filling him with desire. "Okay."

"Last time, you just quit in the middle of it."

He withdrew slightly. "Yeah . . . I know. I said I was sorry."

She placed her hand in his lap, gave his leg a little squeeze. "You did, I know, but if you can quit anytime you want, it's not much fun."

He shrugged, his eyes falling, looking like a pouting six year old. "Well, I didn't mean to."

She smiled. "I know you didn't, but it got me thinking, maybe we need to have a definite start and stop date."

He blinked, stared at her. "Okay. I guess. Is it really that big of a problem?"

She sighed. "Well, it's like if we went to play tennis, and the second I won a point, you just threw down your racket and quit. It's not fun to play with someone who does that."

He nodded, smiling. "Okay, okay. I won't do it again. I promise."

"But that's why I'm giving you an out."

His eyes had dropped to her lips. He nodded, caressing her face with his gaze, moving up until he'd made eye contact again. "An out?"

"Sure. We agree that for one month, we play our little game and you can't quit. No matter what . . but at the end of the month, we can take a break. Then we can decide if we want to play again or, you know, talk about what worked, what didn't, and so on. See?"

He thought about it and nodded. "That's . . . pretty good actually."

'Pretty good actually,' like she had so many bad ideas and he was surprised she'd finally come up with something good. She let it pass.

"But," she continued, "we both have to agree to it, and you have to follow my rules."

He grinned and gave her a quick, soft kiss. "Meaning, no touching, constant updates, lots of teasing and so on?"