“We can pounce all you want,” I say, my cock thickening for the twelfth time since this morning. This woman is turning me into a sex fiend, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. “I can’t come, but you can, and I insist you do. Preferably on my mouth while I’m playing with your—”
“Stop!” She reaches up, covering my lips with her hand. I nip at her fingers, making her laugh as she pulls them away. “I told you how I feel about coming without you. No. We’ll both be good and abstain. It’ll make tomorrow morning even better. Delayed satisfaction can be fun.”
“Isn’t that what you were just teasing me about?”
“No, you said boundaries could be fun. I don’t like boundaries.” She scrunches her nose. “Or possibly I just don’t like talking about them. My mom dated this guy named Chad when I was fourteen.” She rolls her eyes. “He was always talking about how important boundaries were, but only when it came to people inconveniencing him with their needs. Like if my mom needed a ride to the grocery store because her car was in the shop, he’d remind her that they weren’t dating exclusively and that taking her shopping infringed on his boundaries. Meanwhile, dating a woman he was supposed to be sponsoring through her recovery was fine. And of course, anytime he needed a favor, my mom was supposed to come running.”
“Sounds like an asshole,” I say.
“Totally.” Colette shrugs. “But all my mom’s boyfriends were assholes in one way or another. Growing up, I thought getting mixed up with a man was the stupidest thing a woman could do. As far as I could tell, it just made you a miserable, insecure wreck who couldn’t be trusted not to turn on your daughter when she clashed with your Dickhead of the Month.”
I hug her closer to my side. “I’m sorry about the dickheads. But I’m glad you decided to give guys a chance.”
“Once I was older, I realized my mom was the problem. Gram always said her chooser was broken.” She glances up at me. “How about you? Did you want to get married when you were a kid? Or have a serious relationship or whatever?”
“I didn’t think about it much,” I answer honestly. “I mean, I liked girls—really liked them,” I add, making her grin. “I wanted that kind of connection. But I’ve always been a ‘live in the moment’ type, even when I was young. I figured if the opportunity presented itself, I’d see where it went, but I wasn’t daydreaming about it or out hunting for it. Does that make sense?”
Her brow furrows. “It does.”
“But?” I prompt after a moment, sensing she has more to say.
“But I think the universe gives us what we’re looking for,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And if you don’t make a conscious choice to move toward what you want, you’ll end up asking for something subconsciously, which can be dangerous. The subconscious shouldn’t be behind the wheel, you know? Especially unsupervised.”
I ponder that a moment, unsure of what to say. I’m embarrassed to admit that unless I’ve just woken up from a crazy dream or something, I don’t think much about my subconscious.
“I know it sounds kind of out there,” she adds, holding up a hand, “but think about it. Every day, we’re making choices that impact the rest of our lives. Those choices are informed by lots of things, but mostly, we tick along on autopilot. Habitual, unconscious behavior is the human default. I can’t remember the exact number, but only something like five or six percent of our choices involve conscious thought and willpower.”
I nod. “Yeah, I listened to a podcast about that. I remember the number sounded crazy at the time, but the research backed it up.”
Her expression brightens. “Right! So it’s super important we use what choice we have to move us closer to our goals. Whether that’s eating healthier meals or finding our dream job or looking for a partner who ticks all our boxes…whatever. If we don’t, then there’s a good chance we’ll end up with whatever or whoever randomly crosses our path, which is more of a crapshoot than I’m comfortable with.”
She shudders. “Or we’ll be like my mom and hook up with whoever seeks us out, and that can be downright scary. She attracted narcissists who preyed on vulnerable people like it was going out of style. And yeah, I know she had a lot working against her, but if she’d consciously looked for someone who would be a healthy fit, maybe she would have ended up with better men.”
“That makes a lot of sense, actually,” I say. “Colin used to do stuff like that when we were kids. He was always meditating on success and making vision boards, these big, elaborate collages of all the things he wanted to happen for the band.”
Colette points a victorious finger at my chest. “See! It works. Or at least it can work. I think you have to be realistic in what you wish for.”
“Why?” I ask, playing devil’s advocate. “Why limit yourself? Why not see how influential your willpower can be?”
She arches a brow. “Because I can’t fly? No matter how much I wish I had wings?”
“Maybe you can,” I challenge. “Figuratively. What would make you feel like you’re flying?”
“I don’t really want to fly; I get airsick. But…” She crosses her arms over her chest, lips pressing together. Finally, she shakes her head. “I don’t know what my unrealistic dream would be. I’ve always been a simple dreamer, I guess.”
“And what are your simple dreams?”
“I’d like to keep making money using my artistic side and help make positive changes in the word, but honestly…” She shoots a furtive gaze my way. “Well, neither of those is at the top of my list.”
“So what is?” I press.
She bites her lip. “It’s not very progressive of me, I know, but…I’ve always wanted the fairy tale, the thing women have wanted since the dawn of time. To find a partner who makes me feel safe and loved and special, and to make a home with him where our kids feel the same way.”
“Now who’s being sexist?” I tease. “Don’t you think men want the same thing?”
“Um, no, I don’t,” she says, laughing. “I have yet to meet a man who doesn’t put his career first.” She bobs her head from side to side. “Okay, so that’s not totally true. I’ve met a few, but they put fun and friends first, not love or family. I think the dream of a happy nest above all else is usually a feminine dream.”
“You’re probably right,” I say. “But it’s a good dream. An important dream. Though, hearing you talk about it like that kind of makes me feel like an asshole.”
She blinks. “What? Why? You’re not an asshole. Not even a little bit.”
I stretch my neck to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe I am. I’ve always taken my grandparents and the amazing home they made for me growing up for granted. But thinking about it now…” I shrug. “None of my dreams would have had a shot in hell of becoming a reality without them.”
“That’s not true,” she says, before conceding, “but yeah, it would have been harder. Launching from solid ground is much easier than launching from a flaming dumpster being swept downstream in a flood.”