UPDATE: It is January 4th, here in Japan (or it was, when I originally wrote this). And my one date with Miss Breakfast was three weeks ago. I had not seen her since, until just now… less than 10 minutes ago. I have this beautiful overwhelmed feeling having seen her. It feels amazing.
I was standing at the train station and leaving a friend a voicemail, and she came around the corner. There she was.
She recognized me before I saw her, and she walked right over to me, and once again – pressed her body up again mine. This is just her way. She was not trying to turn me on. But as she did it, I had the “she belongs to me” feeling.
This isn’t some ego-rant (I am quite clear, this girl is not “mine” at all), but that is how it felt. As she once again bounced her soft body off of me, I had this certain feeling that I could (and I should) lay hands on her (which I did) and do whatever I wanted with her. That feeling was convincingly natural; a spell that came over me as we locked eyes. It was like a mathematical fact, but much warmer, like fresh baked bread, buried deep in my chest.
I immediately started touching her. Through her big winter coat, but even so; Layers of soft on soft.
It may seem strange, but I wasn’t sure exactly which girl she was when I first saw her.
I only had the one date with her, and that was three weeks ago. But the look in her eyes when she recognized me lit up my nervous system. I felt the importance of her, immediately, even if I could not identify precisely the episode of my life to which she belonged. I was coming towards her, and touching her, and “telling her how I feel,” even before my mind was certain who she was (that would be a formality)… my body was already quite clear.
Seeing her was like slamming back a shot of 1 part relief/1 part joy/1 part hunger, and the feeling was an instant-buzz of: “Oh my God, it’s you.” I grabbed her, pulled her in. I mentally took off her glasses and her hat (undressing her), to see her, again, as she was in my bed on our date. And yes. Yes, it’s her, it’s her, it’s her. It’s her. It’s Breakfast Girl.
I have missed that girl. And as I said in my post about her, I want her. I did. I do. And instead of anything else, I spent my time on New Year’s Day writing about her. And it felt good.
As I said to Sundance in the comments of the post: Writing about her was a way of letting her go. I had let go. I like her. (More than “like,” obviously.) What I saw in her had created an intense longing in me (even as she was so difficult), but I had let her go.
“Ecstasy… Stay humble. Stay available. Be gracious when you’re able to touch it. Let yourself and your life be nourished by it. And then let it go.”
— Om Rupani
I let her go because there was nothing to hold on to. Even as I found my way between her thighs that morning, she was never mine… not at all.
But I had let her go. And I’d done it with an acceptance of some kind of heartache. And with some discipline, because it was the right thing to do.
I had let her go. So when I saw her, I was able to see her from a “clean” place. I didn’t feel needy. Or confused. I was just happy to see her. And I told her that. It was a celebration.
“Oh my God, it’s you.”
And she was serious, and a little pouty, as always. And I touched her and looked her in the eyes. And said many thing in English I am sure she couldn’t not have understood. But she “felt me” (I am sure of that), in the way she might have felt if she were trapped in a closet with a stallion. I had some beautiful energy with that girl just now. Generous, appreciative, and explosive.
I do want to see her again. So I became a little more serious and started translating our broken language via my phone to make sure she understood me.
As we had left it (and the details are in my first post about her): She had suggested being friends, and had pushed away the idea of sex. Since our one and only date I have come forward, several times, saying I want her, and that it is not only sex, but it is also sex (it always is). Of course. That I want to talk to her, and touch her, and fuck her. Again. Yes. Full yes to all that. I feel it ringing through my body right now as I type this. And not seeing me again may be better for her (for any number of reasons). But I am not in charge of her feelings, or her reactions. I am in charge, only, of knowing what I want.
And I want her.
So I said:
“I want to see you. This year, I want to see you.”
And I do.
From my one date with her I know she has a fire inside her. A smoldering “strong flavor.” But she is quiet in terms of words, and does a lot the work of communication with her eyes and how she holds her hips. She used those eyes to signal back to me as I told her what I wanted… showing me smoke, showing me the glow of hot coals.
And I said:
“You’re a free person. Always. You should do what you want. Of course.”
“But I want to see you.”
And then I laughed, and said:
“I had a funny dream about you…,” which is true. I did. She has been in my dreams.
The dream was about going to lunch with her and one of her friends (in Mexico… dreams are weird). And she was being a bitch (and she is kind of a bitch, at least so far), and I was doing a mix of being a cool guy, leading, charming her friend, not taking her shit, but not getting mad. Staying in the Game. And in the dream, her friend eventually laughed, which was a kind of confession that Miss Breakfast was, in fact, being a bitch, and then Miss Breakfast laughed, and she soften. I was dreaming of her being her, and of her mellowing out a little, and opening for me. If I have a dream for her, that is certainly it.
As I told her about the dream, she smiled and she was warm. I had physically turned her, and pushed her back up against the barrier to the subway entrance, and we were chest to chest. And she reached down and played with my ring, turning it, and touching my hand. It was intimate, instantly. As if we were proper lovers. As if we had always been. I know almost nothing about this girl, but she does give me that feeling.
It is so natural to touch her. And for her to touch me. And we did, so quickly and easily. She is probably a “physical girl” (that may be part of her nature). Even though I have fucked her she is not my lover… but we sure looked like it, today, mixing breath and staring at each other as the crowds walked by. It sure felt like we were lovers.
So then I said:
“I don’t want to put pressure on you, but I want you to know I like you.”
This is a theme in my Game.
Recently I talked about this girl Miss Pierced (a different +1 from December), and how she had nearly “ghosted me” after our sex date. And how I kept trying to get her see me again, to take me seriously, to feel that there could be something genuine to all of this. A lack of feeling of anything genuine is a big part of what is missing from most seductions. That “lack” takes something that could potentially be beautiful, and strips it down to a guarded, shallow “hook up” that is (and feels) empty. Don’t do that.
“Genuine loving will lead to humiliation. No humiliation, no love. I’m not saying that this is all that loving brings. But this is one polarity… It will create painful humiliation at one end. And at the other end, it will make joy accessible.”
Put some heart into it. Do that for you (if not also for her). You will get kicked in the teeth sometimes. But it is only by risking that kind of injury that you gain access to bliss and ecstasy. Do it for you.
For the more traditional guys trying to understand what I am saying, even in romance: “No pain, no gain.” You don’t have to be “good” at it. But go put in your reps. And put some of you heart (and your balls) into it. It makes a difference. “Go first.”
I want these girls to know: There is nothing about me that is “empty.” I feel something for them. I do feel something and I want them to know that. What they do with that, is up to them. I will have been clear. I will have penetrated them with love and lust and affection and possibility. That is all I can do. That is my job as a man. And I love my job.
“I don’t want to put pressure on you… you should do what you want.”
“But I have a real passion for you. I felt it as soon as I saw you.”
She pushed her eyes down and nodded. It was sort of nostalgic, and sad, and sexy, all at once.
I have a Monster’s Passion for her. It is true. I want to be a big, terrible, horrible Monster of Love, for all of them. That is how I feel.
There are “beautiful times” as a seducer where I don’t get what I want. (Those times exist, you know.) I want her on her back, with her tongue in my mouth, and my cock buried deep inside her. In case it is not obvious, that is what I want. For now, I am not getting what I want… but I feel “clean.” I may not have what I want (not with her, not today), but I really gave her everything I had to give. If there is a lack of bold, direct, sincerity in her life – there wasn’t today. Not with me.
As men, we have an opportunity to keep an eye on the bigger picture here: It is not really about her, is it? It is. I burn for this girl. She is lightning to my imagination. But am pointing to some clarity – some clarity in me. That is what this is about.
Win or lose with this girl, my clarity is like a stone, each time polished a little more, the shine growing more radiant. This is about picking up, and taking magical girls on dates where each look between you makes the moment more fertile and expectant. It’s about sweeping little girls off their feet. “It’s about sucking and fucking and blowjobs and facials and penetration and hard pounding and quickies and all this raw stuff” (credit: Jason Savage). It is all of that.
But it is also about “pounding” yourself into gold. About cleaning yourself up. And win or lose with a given girl, that shine that is building in you is yours to keep. You’re clear. You’re solid, more solid each time. You learn to trust yourself and you feel more certain.
Not always, but in this story, I hope you can feel I am past the numbers and the notches of it all. I am less horny, more heartfelt and cocksure. And that certainty is a kind of strength. It is an element of inner Game, where you’re “aligned;” No half-measures. Your intentions are straight and stacked and cutting and true. This is rare in any age. And it’s attractive. It’s attractive to even talk about it. There is good energy here.
“There are aspects of your soul that need expression during this Earth journey. Have some respect for that expression. Give it room. Let the yearnings of your soul trump your constructs. That’s where discovery is. That’s where Ecstasy becomes possible.”
— Om Rupani
I told her I had to go. I did. I was tempted to try to do something with her right then (and I have a nagging memory of that moment that she might have wanted to be led, right then, into some time together), but I had done enough “pull” (in general and in this time with her today), so it was time for some “push:” I said I was going to lunch. And I told her to message me. And then I said, “maybe.” And smiled.
I love that word. I learned it from the girls, but these days I feel like I know it was well as they do.
“Message me. I want to see you.”
Very direct. Almost licking my lips as I said it. A kind of “pull,” but like a command, very orderly and masculine. And then…
I leaned back. Pointedly.
“Maybe,” I said. And I shrugged my shoulders in that “maybe it’ll happen, maybe it won’t” kind of way. And I smiled a very real smile. And I was a bit cocky. It all felt right. Because it is right. It always is “maybe.”
“Let yourself and your life be nourished by it. And then let it go.”
Maybe she will see that I am for real. Maybe that isn’t what she cares about, or maybe it is. And maybe she’ll send me a message (like I told her to do). If she does, I’ll ask her out, she knows that. There is no maybe on my end.
So I said it one last time:
“Send me a message.” And I fucked her with my eyes as I said it.
And then I said: “Go.”
And I pointed away from me. And she was a little shy, and young-looking, as I sent her away. I’ll give that girl “pull” all day long, but there is also some “push” to my Game.
“Maybe.” I said it again. And I flashed some “who knows!” challenge from my eyes.
I don’t know. I don’t. We never do. But there is something in maybe that I trust. In “maybe” – when I am clean, when I have said my peace, when I have done what I need to as a man to make things clear, to drive things forward, when I have done all that – I can be certain.
Ahhh, it was fantastic to see that girl. Uhhhh! Just fantastic. I want her. I am so interested to see what else there is to see in her. And even this small, unexpected time with her has been another wonderful chapter in my Book of Girls.