5. when we can- compete

Dear T,

My dirty fantasy reminds me of N who could not stop laughing as we first began to kiss and my usual tiny noises begin to escape from my usual heaving chest. He told me later, when I asked to know, that he was laughing because I was funny, a funny contradiction. That he always knew it is the innocent-looking ones like me to watch out for.

It grated on my nerves, even if he did not mean much by it. I felt uneasily pleased and charged. It made me hateful and competitive and defiant, made me want to do even more just to show him up.

There was something about him anyways that felt like he was gathering notches in his belt, just for some kind of undefined prestige. (Driving down to fuck someone I met on the Internet, check!.)

Like how he told me wanted to fuck a T.A. just to say that he had to others. I would lower my standards to fuck one, he shared. (What does that mean, to lower your standards? As far as phrases go it is both a condescending and untruthful one.)

Personally, I can see the attraction to the idea. Because how hot would that power imbalance be? How strident an attraction would there have to be to cross that line? How lovely and rushed and urgent would it be to meet illicitly and give in again and again to temptation?

But when asked why he wanted to do it, he could not tell me. Just for the bragging rights?, I asked. Yeah, he said. Oh, I said. It was the beginning of my vague disappointment. It was just to say to the buddies he did A, B, C and D, never ever really doing A, B, C or D. Bragging rights are over-rated, I could not resist telling him gently.

I was tempted for a moment to offer him just the “prestige” he wanted by getting exactly what I wanted out of him, indulging myself in my own weakness for upmanship, for needlessly proving myself to others.

He promised me expensive dinners, hotels and breakfasts, like I needed bribes to concede to be with him. This was my own negative view I suppose. He had the right to offer what he felt like offering. I didn’t think myself unworthy of “the treatment”. I just didn’t see the need for it. I had only wanted to know him. I had nothing of the sort to offer back to him.

I think it was just the way he said it. I took his breakfast but I couldn’t take the rest.

I fucked him because I could. Because I was tired of being cautious. And it did feel good.

But then I opted out. It all seemed too derivative, insincere, and most of all, pointless.

Which reminds me... why did I start telling you all this again?