tagMind ControlMindfuck: Wanting the Lie

Mindfuck: Wanting the Lie

byjanevalenz©

I met Tom a few years ago when I was a freshman in high school. I was going through my awkward identity crisis phase, and in many ways, I still am. Back then, sex for me meant reading trash online and using what I learned from that to write trash of my own. I had never been touched by a guy. To most of the guys in my school, I may as well have been a desk or a book or some inanimate object that didn't immediately grab their attention.

Even back then, Tom was one sick fuck. I guess that was what appealed to me about him. That, and the fact that he was older than me. He was one of those guys everyone was convinced would blow up his school or something. I recall games like "Nail Jesus to the Cross" and the internet hitlist being on his website. I recall feeling frustrated with myself and generally pissed off at humanity for no apparent reason back then. Even now, I must confess that I occasionally have the urge to tear the whole damn world apart.

But inexplicable aggression aside, I started a new hobby of sorts, which eventually led into my double lifestyle of stereotypically good little Asian girl during the school year and being somewhat of a tramp over the summer. It started with one little email. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get Tom's attention. It basically read like a letter to Penthouse, but told from the girl's point of view. I told him things like how much I wanted to tease him in his sleep and eventually fuck him. I sent similar emails to other guys I knew from various websites, but they never materialized into anything outside of casual online conversation. However, I did end up meeting guys over the internet, which led to some rather interesting encounters...but that's an entirely different story.

After awhile, I stopped hearing from Tom and he stopped updating his website. Eventually I forgot about him and my various online flings and had a long term relationship that eventually did more damage than any of the guys who had previously used me ever could. But once again...that's a completely different story.

In college, I've found that sex is pretty much available any time I want it. This is problematic since I once had naive notions of waiting for someone I could love. You know, that whole forever thing. Now, I've figured out that it is not wrong to pursue pleasure for the sake of pleasure. Unfortunately, I seem to have fallen into yet another exclusive relationship. I figure it's a bit safer that way, and the guy seems genuinely interested in me.

Oddly enough, I didn't meet Alan at a poetry reading in a local coffeehouse or in the library as I had often dreamed about meeting intellectual, and of course, attractive, guys. Considering the fact that he and I go to the same university in the same town, meeting online was a strange turn. It seems to be fitting since guys tend not to be interested in me when first seeing me in person.

At first I thought Alan would just be a nice rebound fling to get me over Dan. I even thought that casually losing my virginity to him was one last "fuck you" to my ex-boyfriend. However, things got serious before Thanksgiving break and I suppose we are an item now. Most people can't imagine me seeing someone without being serious about him.

Alan's sexual style is, best put, conscientious. He asked me numerous times if I was sure that I wanted to have sex with him. He asked me if he was hurting me. After it was all said and done, he asked me if I had had an orgasm or not. For me, it's a bit hard to be in the moment and fully enjoy the act if the person I'm with has a case of neurosis and anxiety about pleasing me. It's nice that he wants to please me, but everything we do seems forced. I would give him head only because it seemed like the logical progression. Whenever we would sleep together, we would always face away from each other. I would curl up on one side of the bed, and he would lie on his back on the other. Spooning was practically out of the question, but I was never crazy about waking up with someone breathing morning breath down my neck.

I can't really complain though. It's very rare that a guy thinks about how a woman feels or worries that he can't adequately please her. However, like with Dan, Alan seemed to be more of the "girl" in the relationship if you go by stereotypical gender roles. I always feel like I'm the one initiating things. Also, from what I've heard, most guys do not like giving oral sex. Sure as hell, any guy would gladly accept oral sex, but when it comes to reciprocating the act, most either refuse to do it or do it grudgingly. In the case where guys only do it grudgingly, I fail to see the point in doing it at all. However, I could barely set foot in Alan's room without him tearing off my pants and licking me frantically. Then again, this was before I had sex with him. So, I guess that perhaps for him, oral sex is an obligatory step before getting to the main act.

This is where Tom returns to the picture. After a weekend of waiting for Alan to get off, I got home and went online in a futile attempt to study for upcoming quizzes, exams, and researching for papers. Out of nowhere, an instant message window popped up with a vaguely familiar screen name. His first question was "do you remember me?" How could I forget someone like Tom? Especially since he was one of my first adolescent crushes that didn't brush me off with a "hell no" or a halfhearted "maybe." How could I forget someone who helped me awaken the darker, more dangerous side to myself?

I found out that he had been single for more than a year after the woman he had planned on marrying completely dicked him over. When I first read that, I groaned inwardly since for some reason, I have the tendency to be the girl that everyone comes running to after messy breakups. Unfortunately, I have never had the opportunity to take advantage of such a position since guys could never see me as anything more than the cool girl they can talk to when they can't understand their girlfriends or when they're tired of touchy feely crap. Don't get me wrong, I love sharing my feelings and cuddling as much as the next girl, but I figure that some things should be used in moderation. I mean, if I want to complain about my job or talk about how insensitive guys are, I'll talk to my friends. That's what they're there for, and that's why I'm there for them.

Tom found it amusing that I was currently dating a Computer Science major since he had dropped out of college and currently works as a software engineer. When he found out I still have certain fetishes (for band guys, especially trombone and bassoon players), he said "some things never change." I would like to think that I've changed. Yet in many ways, I'm probably still the same shy, socially awkward, geeky teenager he knew a couple of years ago.

Then again, he still seems like the same antisocial bastard that I found myself fascinated with my sophomore year of high school. He even has a new website, but is still waiting to release it. We talked about exes along with my potential majors and future career paths. Then there was the seemingly random stuff that led up to the reason I'm writing this story.

Like many times before with various guys, Tom and I ended up talking about sex. Despite our appearances of being inexperienced, we both seemed pretty disillusioned with relationships and sex. We agreed that there is no real meaning to sex other than the gratification one can achieve from it or procreation. When I told him about how I thought I lost my virginity as a last "fuck you" to my ex-boyfriend Dan, Tom joked that he would have gladly taken that job. Then again, few guys would turn down an offer of meaningless sex with an 18 year old college student.

I sent him a more current picture of myself, despite the fact I was sweaty from getting crushed alive at a concert, but I figured it was appropriate with the whole equal balance of sex and violence and all that. The little "joke" about him wanting to fuck me turned into a more serious offer. He basically told me all of the things that just about any girl, or at least any girl as depraved as me, would want to hear. He told me that he thought I was hot and that I would look good oiled up on his bed. He said that he could do things to me that would make me scream and beg for more or just pass out from sheer ecstacy. Tom told me things I ordinarily wouldn't believe when using my common sense, but here's a secret, guys aren't the only ones who can think with their genitals.

Any guy can say that he can fuck a girl for several hours on end. However, it takes one hell of a mindfucker to make her believe it, especially if he says it over instant messenger. Or perhaps, I was just mindfucking myself. Tom even said that after he was done with me, he would just put me back on the plane and I would never hear from him again. I asked myself "Is this what you want?" but in all truth, it wasn't so much what I wanted, but what I needed. It's one thing to be desired, but being pursued and broken like a wild animal is a different story. This was what Tom offered me. At one point, Tom even said that I would probably be a challenge to break, but we would both enjoy it. To him, the best part of sex wasn't his own orgasm, but the amount of control he would have over mine.

Now, it probably sounds like I'm the stereotypical submissive Asian female. In all truth, I'm not. I generally don't take crap from anyone, especially guys. I'm extremely rapacious when it comes down to things. If I see something I want, I'll do my damnedest to get it. Unfortunately, I'm one of those people who prefers the hunt to the actual prize. Once something is easily in my reach, I tend to get bored. Perhaps this is what is going on with Alan, but right now, I'm not thinking about Alan. I'm still thinking about Tom's offer, how alien, but exciting it is to someone like me who has so little experience in these things. As I said to my ex-boyfriend, I like surprises. It's too damn bad he couldn't figure out what I meant by that.

Tom said that he could get inside me in more ways than one. He compared the physical act of sex to advanced masturbation. The buildup, the teasing through clothing, the touching that would make me beg, just reading the words of someone so confident in his abilities appealed to me. He seemed to hit it on the head about Alan, but once again, this isn't about him. As Tom said, he would plant the seed, and even if he wasn't really that good, the buildup would be more than enough.

My response was more of an agreement. I told him that most girls want to hear certain things not so much because they are true, but because of the feelings the words can envoke. It's not so much the destination, but the journey itself that matters when it comes to sex. Anyone can use a vibrator or a hand to get themselves off, but it's an artform to make someone want something so bad and not be able to have it, to not have that final release. A girl like me doesn't want to hear "I want to be with you forever and have children and live in the suburbs and drive an SUV." I want to hear "I'll give you the best three days of your life that you'll think about when your husband is having obligatory sex with you ten years from now."

To this, Tom said "I want you to think about our nights together on the plane ride back and just quiver...touching yourself on the plane because you can't stand the thought that our days are over."

As soon as I read that, I had images of myself sheepishly ducking beneath a blanket on the plane just so I could release some of the tension, the agony of being cut off from the potential of so much pleasure. I thought about him pinning me up against the wall, fucking me with my legs wrapped around him and screaming so loud that his neighbors would call the cops. I thought about him fucking me in every position possible and waking up sore the next morning. Any time Tom mentioned various sensitive spots such as my neck or my collarbone, I felt a lingering blush creep throughout my body, as if he was in the room touching me himself.

I had forgotten how that felt, to be utterly consumed with desire that nothing else seems to matter. It was like sophomore year of high school all over again, the same longings, the lingering burn spreading from inside my chest and all over my body. I knew he had read some of the stories I had written, so somewhere in my mind, I knew that he knew exactly what to say to get me going, but I didn't care. The fact that he actually put forth the effort to say those things was enough for me.

Tom even suggested that he could just be lying and making everything up as he went along. Yet like I said, I want the lie. He pointed out that our conversation had gone on for two hours. I told him that I wanted to find out what he could actually do to me in the same amount of time. Being such a tease, Tom suggested that someday I will find out.

Naturally, I could not sleep that night. I writhed beneath my sheets, relishing the teasing sensations flooding my body, trying to prolong them by forcing myself not to masturbate, but eventually, I gave in. I don't think I've slept as well since I've gotten to college, especially since I finally slept around 2:00 a.m.

The next morning wasn't much better. I could barely concentrate on my Greek quiz and probably made more stupid accentuation errors than I usually do. In band, I was late to rehearsal and missed a couple of entrances. At work, I barely heard anything anybody said to me and couldn't wait to clock out so I could go straight back to bed, not so much to relieve the tension, but to soak in it, the same way most women soak in the bathtub while reading trashy romance novels. Maybe the next time I have sex with Alan, I'll close my eyes and think of Tom instead. Hell, it might improve things, and he'll never know why.

If Tom had such an effect on me after at least two years of no contact, I can't help but wonder what things would be like if he wasn't across the country from me. I suppose there's only one way of finding out, but I think that the mindfucking will do for now.

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