I sat across from her, watching her breathe. She twirled her hair around her fingers absentmindedly. I watched her chew her bottom lip and wiggle in her seat. She was restless. She was waiting for the next step. She was anticipating my next move. She leaned over and grazed her fingertips across my arm unnecessarily.

We talked briefly. Our kinks matched up and a meeting was arranged. This was no love connection. She was eager to experience my particular brand of kink. A hotel room was booked and dinner reservations made.

She couldn’t wait. I could tell by the way she kept glancing at the door. She drained her glass of red wine and signed heavily when I ordered a second.

She didn’t savor any moments. I dropped a nugget of personal information quietly into the staggered conversation. She was telling me about her love of this kink or that. The nugget was untrue, of course.

I finished my wine and suggested we leave. She bounced out of the chair and grabbed her purse.

I paused at the doorway and asked her to repeat my nugget of untruth. Not surprisingly, she couldn’t.

I am no ones bag of tricks. Truth be told, I would have had a good time. But I want to savor my moments, not gobble them up.

I left alone. She may have found a suitable replacement. I don’t care.

I’ll wait.

I’ll wait until I am more than a bag of tricks.


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