Lunch
*Updated below
Had lunch with Nastya last Friday. It went as well as could be expected, considering we both avoided talking about our current relationships. But she didn't wear a wedding ring, and I did, so maybe eventually we'll get to talking about those things. Thanks to the blogs I read, and personal insight I've received into some of your lives, I now find myself asking the question "What do I want out of this?" Just a few months ago I would never have dreamed of asking myself such a question. I'm a bloke for gawd's sake, we're not built to do such things. But that's a what-if type question for now, and we're not quite there yet. But I do find her extremely attractive, and I can't get the image of her thick, full lips out of my head. That is by far her most striking feature, followed very closely by her even thicker Russian accent.
Things with Sara are good. Pretty much like the last time she came back. We're catching up on things, and I'm able to read the excitement as well as the disappointment in her emails. The one thing that is different is that she isn't hestitating to express her true emotions for me. Which previously had become a taboo subject. Nothing elaborate, just a two or five word comment here and there. But what is very obvious is her reluctance to bite on anything erotic I throw out there. A few innuendo's as well as one very blatant reference to anything sexual is being politely ignored for the most part. I feel this is where she feels the need to be strongest. It's her achilles heel.
*Update - It was pointed out to me that Nastya is the one that has to decide what she wants, since she is not the married one. Phshew! That was close. Didn't think I was up for the task of answering that anyway.
Had lunch with Nastya last Friday. It went as well as could be expected, considering we both avoided talking about our current relationships. But she didn't wear a wedding ring, and I did, so maybe eventually we'll get to talking about those things. Thanks to the blogs I read, and personal insight I've received into some of your lives, I now find myself asking the question "What do I want out of this?" Just a few months ago I would never have dreamed of asking myself such a question. I'm a bloke for gawd's sake, we're not built to do such things. But that's a what-if type question for now, and we're not quite there yet. But I do find her extremely attractive, and I can't get the image of her thick, full lips out of my head. That is by far her most striking feature, followed very closely by her even thicker Russian accent.
Things with Sara are good. Pretty much like the last time she came back. We're catching up on things, and I'm able to read the excitement as well as the disappointment in her emails. The one thing that is different is that she isn't hestitating to express her true emotions for me. Which previously had become a taboo subject. Nothing elaborate, just a two or five word comment here and there. But what is very obvious is her reluctance to bite on anything erotic I throw out there. A few innuendo's as well as one very blatant reference to anything sexual is being politely ignored for the most part. I feel this is where she feels the need to be strongest. It's her achilles heel.
*Update - It was pointed out to me that Nastya is the one that has to decide what she wants, since she is not the married one. Phshew! That was close. Didn't think I was up for the task of answering that anyway.
posted by do_in_it_2 | 8:46 AM
3 Comments:
Um. . .I disagree. . .I think you still have to answer it. You also have to let her know what the answer is. Otherwise, she will be unable to make an informed decision.
It is a very important question for you.
But I could be wrong. I don't think so, though.
You are right. I was just being sarcastic. Guess next time I'll put a little smiley face there. But I don't think it makes a difference what I want, but more what it should be. Where to draw the line. Which for us should be no more than friends with (hopefully but not necessarily) benefits.
phshew :-)
I was gonna say. . .
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