Pygmalion

(12 December 2003)

I got a message from a married man that I couldn’t resist:

Received from "pygmalion" the 12/12/2003 at 09h34 «Fun dominator seeking his playful O. » 

This isn’t just anybody.  He’s got the guts to say exactly what he wants, and he’s probably intelligent.

Sent to "pygmalion" the 12/12/2003 at 22h54

I like to be dominated sometimes, but not always—deep down I’m a wild animal—who is always looking for the big O ; -) 

Received from "pygmalion" the 13/12/2003 at 08h27 

Wild animal...I love it!

I love getting an answer.

Shall we have a drink next week? 

Sent to "pygmalion" the 13/12/2003 at 09h24

Yes, when you’d like.

Shall we exchange photos?

Reçu de "pygmalion" le 25/10/2002 à 10h18 

No, I don’t put any photos on the net. Too paranoid.

We spoke very briefly over the phone.  I liked his voice.  Voices are often more important to me than appearances.

Pygmalion called back and proposed that we meet here.  I asked if he wouldn’t prefer to meet first in a café, to see if there was something between us.  No, he wanted to meet me here directly, for more privacy, so I gave him the address and the code to get into the building.  I opened the windows and front door, to get an agreeable breeze going through the apartment.  It occurred to me that I’d left door open, for an almost perfect stranger interested in dominating me sexually.  I could imagine the reactions I would get if I told anyone that I’d done such a thing, but my instincts told me there was no danger, and when I have problems, it’s always when I don’t listen to my instincts. 

As soon as he arrived, my impression was positive.  Here was a man who looked mature, good natured, intelligent, and self-confident.  Cute!  And sensual lips--Yessssss!  It’s hard to find someone who’s good at kissing, and having the right lips helps.

He spent a long time looking through my photos thoughtfully; in his profession, he’s used to studying images.  We shift back and forth between discussing the photos, the online dating site, and getting to know each other.  One of the first things that he said was that he was happily married, to a woman he loves very much, and that he had two wonderful children.  With his game, his “trip,” he can have an adventure within a strict set of rules, which won’t menace his marriage.  A relationship based on mutual fantasy, which precludes love.  From time to time he repeated: “I look for something extra-ordinary.”  I appreciated his honesty. 

Pygmalion explained: “I cut and paste my message and send it to women without reading their profiles, often a thousand at a time without a single response, or sometimes a few who bitch me out.  When I do get an answer, it’s almost always interesting.  What the woman looks like isn’t that important, it’s her character that counts.  When he looked at my nudes, I explained how I found the models, and how I’d discovered that even when I show only a section of a woman’s body, who she is matters, if I can’t feel her, the photos don’t work.  He’s the only person that I’ve explained that to who wasn’t surprised.  Of course he knew, because he approaches particular relationships in a particular way.  He told me the stories of two women he’d been involved with.  One had been too dangerous for him.  He didn’t say why.  But it occurred to me that love is a strange creature, although it’s so hard to find when you’re looking for it, it has a way of sneaking into relationships where it’s not supposed to be.  This man, of all of the men I’ve met through the site, recognizes me, who I am.  I’m not an object, I’m not a fantasy.  And that’s dangerous.  It occurs to me that I could fall in love, that I could lose him sooner than I’d like to.

I told him about all of the men who write that they’re looking for a woman who’s feminine.  “What’s feminine?”  “You’ve got breasts, haven’t you?” “Yes.” “You’ve got a vagina, haven’t you?” “Yes.”  “So you’re a woman, aren’t you?”  “Yes.”  He’s read through a lot of what the men write, “I can’t believe they actually think they’re going to find what they’re looking for!”

I told him the story about Icarus.  He couldn’t believe it: “Was he twenty-four years old, or what?  How could he pass by such an amazing woman, just because he had an image set in his mind?”  I showed Pygmalion the photo that I send.  “You look pretty, but that’s not you at all!  When you met him were you dressed like you are now?  You should put a photo online that shows your character, with your funky glasses, and with a text that will filter out the men that aren’t worth meeting.”  He’s right; I need to find a better system for sorting men out.  What he really couldn’t get over was the teacher who didn’t bother speaking to me at all: “How could he pass by such a bomb.”  We laughed and laughed about the different stories, and then he looked at me seriously and said: “You must write a book, write it all down.”  That’s how this book started.

Hours went by.  He asked more questions about me, and he’s begun writing his first book.  I showed him Japanese bondage books and described the photos that I’d like to make.  We continued talking.  I showed him a fossil whale bone that has the textures I’d like to use for one of the prints I’m working on, and a rock I found under a tree that was struck by lightning, that had been re-melted, and some other treasures.  What was I doing?  I was showing him bits of myself.  I was slipping away from a simple game already.

It was time for him to go.  “I don’t know what I could do with you.  I don’t know if I could do my domination “trip” with you.  We might have to make love gently; romantically...I don’t know what to do with you.  Would you like to see me again?”  Me too, I’m confused.  I want to see him again, I know that.  I’m very interested in him, who he is.  What would it feel like to make love with him?  Is there any physical desire?  I don’t know.  “Yes, of course.  I wouldn’t have spent so many hours speaking with you, if I wasn’t interested.”

He got up to leave.  He threw me a punch; I blocked and threw a counterpunch.  “I like that, a woman who fights back.”  We kissed each other on the cheek tentively, we hugged.  I kissed his cheeks and neck.  It felt right, but still a bit awkward.  We hugged and kissed again, this time on the lips, briefly.  We begin to explore each other’s bodies.  I turn my back to him and let him caress my ass.  He was tall.  I stood on tip toe, so we were groin to groin.  We say goodbye again, and begin to explore again.  Become more and more turned on.  I tried to unbuckle his pants, he wouldn’t let me.  We said goodbye again, kissed again.  He said he wants me to talk, to tell him what I like.  I replied that I doubt he’ll need a Michelin guide for my body.  “But I want you to talk.”  “Don’t worry, if you want me to, I’ll talk.”  “We’ll see each other on Friday?”  “Yes, we’ll see each other on Friday.”  “I’ll wear high heals.” 

The next morning I consulted the site:

Received from "pygmalion" the 31/10/2003 at 07h54 

You really turn me on….

Sent to "pygmalion" the 31/10/2003 at 11h46

It’s reciprocal….

Received from "pygmalion" the 31/10/2003 at 11h48 

Have your reinforced your desk, arranged your plants.... 

Sent to "pygmalion" the 31/10/2002 at 12h09

I’ll get to work….

Last night I had an idea: change my pseudo and put up a photo in which I’ll look cute and "feminine," without modifying my profile.  I should get a landslide of responses—lots of material to work with for the book.  Then I’ll put up a photo which expresses me well, with a profile such as you suggested.  It should be interesting to compare the results. 

Received from "pygmalion" le 31/10/2002 at 12h19 

Something to be tried...The second profile sounds a bit dangerous...It might be better to target women.

Interesting !! 

Sent to "pygmalion" le 1/11/2003 at 12h26

I started surfing women yesterday.  Interesting!  And perhaps a bit dangerous. 

Received from "pygmalion" le 1/11/2003 at 16h30 

Tell me.

Sent to "pygmalion" the 02/11/2003 à 18h00

I’ll tell you….

(3 November 2003)

Pygmalion called, disappointed that I didn’t leave any hot sexy messages.  I wanted to but couldn’t find the words; I’ve never tried that sort of thing before.  We confirmed that we’ll see each other Friday morning.  “I’ll be wearing my high heels.”  He teased me: “You’re going to disguise yourself as a woman!”  “Well, it would be convenient since you’re so tall.”  “What else will you be wearing?”  I hesitated for a long time, trying to remember what sexy clothes I have in my wardrobe, I couldn’t think of anything, so I told him it would be a surprise.  “But I want to know, I’m a voyeur, I like to visualize....”  “Okay, I’ll be wearing black stockings with a mini skirt and a transparent black top.”  “What?  You won’t be yourself?  What about something like the clothes you were wearing the other day?” 

 After work, I had a few hours to spare before a meeting, so I went to see a movie.  Two minutes after I stepped out of the movie, he called.  (Later, when I consulted my messages, I discovered that he’d already called three times.)   It took me a few minutes to walk up out of the underground, “Okay, now I can hear you better.”  “I have to be patient to speak with you!”  “You shouldn’t be complaining, I just left a really hot girl that I went to the movies with, without even getting her number!”  “Has she got yours?”  “Yes, I hope she’ll call.”  “Do you have sleep with your models?”  “I haven’t, though twice I wanted to.”  “So you’re into women too?”  “I was into women first.  It took me years before I enjoyed having sex with a man.  They always said I was frigid.”  “They always do.”  “I was sure it wasn’t, because I didn’t have any trouble coming on my own or with a woman.”  “How old were you when you slept with your first woman?”  “Thirteen, no fourteen.  It took me three years to seduce her.”  “You were thinking about sex that early!”  “Earlier even, but I had to wait until puberty until I could really do anything about it.” 

We spoke about our fantasies.  “Are you turned on?”  “I’m so turned on, I we wish we could see each other now”.  I look around myself and describe places where we could make love in public without being seen.  He says: “There are no taboos between us.”  I try to think of any taboos I might have, my long hesitation makes him laugh, “If you had any, it wouldn’t take you that long to remember them.”  “Yes, but what if I’ve forgotten one, and then later remember it, you’ll be disappointed.”   “We’re going to get on well.”  He’s still not sure what he’s going to do with me.  “I know,” I said, “that I want to see you, to smell you, to taste you.”  The conversation lingered on.   Later we wouldn’t be able to speak, it was time for him to go home.  “I’ll call you as soon as you get out of the metro.”  There’d be a fifteen minute window during which we’d be able to talk.  We missed it.  After the meeting I get into the metro, my cell phone rings, it was him again, I couldn’t hear well: “Call me back in twenty minutes.”

As I walked out of the metro, I listened to my messages:

“This is a message for the woman in heels…remember me…I’m in the car…if you happen to leave your meeting early.  Big kisses.  Try to call me before I get home…I’ve still got 15 or 20 minutes.  Talk to you later, kisses, until tomorrow, bye bye.”

“A kiss for you, I’m arriving home…until tomorrow night don’t get into any trouble, I’m not getting into any trouble.  Kisses, bye bye.”

As soon as I got in, he called; his family had gone out, so we were able to chat for a long time.  He couldn’t get over the dude at the concert that had passed by a bomb like me, who hadn’t even taken five minutes to talk with me.  “Obviously,” I said, “he didn’t like my glasses!”  We hung up regretting that we had to let each other go.

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