i love when a femme makes me work for every single thing. when she doesn’t just open up for me. when i have to find my way in slowly. carefully. reading every small signal. a slight shift of her hips. a barely audible sound. a hand that moves me without telling me where to go. and i have to figure it out. i have to pay attention in a way that most people don’t know how to pay attention.

i love when she lets me kiss up her thighs and just waits. not pulling me closer. not giving me anything yet. just waiting to see how patient i am. how long i’ll stay there before i try to take something she hasn’t offered. and i’ll stay there as long as she wants. kissing the same soft skin. feeling her breathe. waiting for her to decide i’ve been good enough long enough.

it’s almost like she’s edging me, despite not touching me. she’s doing it with proximity and patience and the power of not giving in no matter how needy i am for her. every time i get close to something she shifts slightly. gives me something else instead. something adjacent to what i want. and i follow it because i’d follow anything she gives me. i’m desperate for every crumb and she knows it and she’s not in a hurry.

i yearn for it. the specific agony of being so close and having to wait. of having my mouth inches away and not being allowed yet. of feeling her warmth and not being able to have it until she decides. of working so hard and getting so close and having her redirect me so casually. like she has all the time in the world. like my desperation is interesting to her but not urgent.

and when she finally gives in. when she finally pulls me where she wants me. it’s because i earned it completely. because i was patient enough. attentive enough. because i followed every signal and didn’t take anything that wasn’t offered and proved that i could be trusted with what she was about to give me.