of strength and riding

When I tell T of how utterly exhausted my flu has left me in this past week, he says, ‘Yeah, but you’re strong...’

I like the matter of fact way he says this. Not dismissively, but with a quiet confidence.

Any good teacher knows of the power that lies in positive suggestion. I know, because I was raised by two teachers. And I think, if I’m not mistaken, he told me way back at the beginning that he was too. I know for sure that at least one of his parents was. (There are many details of our lives that we do not discuss with each other. Mostly because it doesn’t come up.)

The trick to this tactic is that you must first believe in your own suggestion. Or believe at least that it has potential to be true. It will not work otherwise. To teach is to reveal; it is based on the ability to make constructive perceptions about another to his/herself.

If that's not sexy, I don't know what is.

I smile at his response because it makes me think of the other time that he said this to me.

It was recently, the last time I was at his house. We were on his bed, and I was straddled on his resting body, his cock comfortably inside me. I was naked but for a dark chocolate brown tube top that had slipped down just enough to expose my nipples. I was riding him.

This is something I’ve never really gotten down. I’d like to be able to, because mentally, I love this idea of taking control of what I want. In practice, it is more difficult. I’m not quite sure how to move. It is hard to keep at a rhythm. My leg muscles start to shake and strain very quickly. Most of all, as I get increasingly aroused, I get overwhelmed. I stop to feel my pleasure, but then it ebbs back, and I have to remind myself to go on, to keep moving, keep ‘working’ at it. My loss of focus only gets worse as I go on. He is well aware of this.

(I send a little corny thankful prayer out always as I do this, appreciation to all the men who have true ability to fuck.)

I rode him like this for a while, my torso tilted towards him, still keeping pretty vertical.

But too soon, I felt myself losing the battle, collapsing closer and closer down, until my face hovered close to his left ear, barely able to move, moaning for control.

It was then that he said it. He pushed me gently back up, and murmured, almost hypnotically:

You’re not weak…You’re strong

I answered back quietly between gritted teeth, starting to move again, saying only:

I know.

Still it was good to hear. It sounds a bit strange described here, but it actually fit the moment quite perfectly.

It is good that maybe he has enough experience to know that this is good to hear. To know maybe a little bit of what every woman wants, or at least what I want, to be strong even at my most vulnerable.

And it was good to hear his tiniest of moans, and to see his tiniest flutter of eyes closing, when I proceeded to mesh my fingers into his hands resting by his sides, flip them upwards and level with his head, and press hard against his palms as I went on.