basically fake orgasmic praise to make you feel good. You got laid last night. You should feel fine.”
He dropped my hand. “I didn’t ask you to stroke my ego. And I know for a fact no orgasms were faked.”
“But you’re fishing for praise.”
He glared at me. “I want to figure you out.”
“Well, where did you put your morning newsletter of Freud’s theories? That will have all the main bullet points of how women are innately masochistic and passive. Being that you have a penis, and therefore a bigger brain, it should be easy enough for you to figure me out.”
“Don’t make me out like some male chauvinist. I’m trying to be open-minded.”
“But that’s what you want, isn’t it? A woman to be your passive little fuck toy and tell you what a big man you are.”
His lips tightened, and I sensed he wanted to call me a bitch. “I just wish I knew why you need so much control.”
“Why do you? Rather than act like there’s something wrong with me, why not do a little research, Noah? There’s a great big world out there on that thing the kids call the Internet. You know, the place where you find all your porn. Widen the search for a change.”
“Avery, I’ve done the search. It’s a black hole of kink. I want to know where it ends for you.”
My smile was slow. “That’s the fun of it. I’ll let you know when I decide.”
“No.” He shook his head. “We aren’t playing a game, we’re having a conversation.”
“What do you want to know, Noah? You want answers? I don’t know why I’m this way, but I am. It’s who I’ve always been. You might sneak a few nights of male domination in when my radar is down, but in the end, I am who I am.”
“But you go out with men who…”
I raised a brow, daring him to judge me based on my occupation. “Consider it my professional persona.”
He dragged a hand through his damp hair and let out a breath. “You go out with all these guys who … buy you things. You make a trade out of letting men dote over you. I think you’re lying if you can’t admit wanting a man to take care of you on some level.”
“I can take care of myself. They’re paying my tuition. Everything else is just fluff. And last I checked, fucking is fucking. That has nothing to do with how I make a living because I don’t screw my clients.”
Oh God… Was I actually considering changing that rule? Could I have sex with Micah?
“That’s what I mean, Avery. You have different rules for different situations, but you’re the same woman in all those scenarios, so maybe you prefer to live a little bit in both worlds.”
Being a sugar baby put me in a subservient role where empathy was key, and my main purpose was to see that my Daddies’ needs were met. Part of me liked serving that purpose and nurturing in an emotional sense. I never really thought about it, but it was a complete contradiction to what I wanted in my personal life.
At home, I wanted control, order, and obedience. I wanted my words and desires to be law. Out there, I had no such authority. Or did I? I chose my clients, made the rules, and negotiated my rate.
Was it possible to be a little bit of both? Because I loved having men take care of me, yet… None of their attention was genuine. Nor was my response. It was all bought.
No. I had control. He was confusing things. He looked at things through a novice lens, and there were layers upon layers of rationale behind my choices.
“Domination isn’t about sex, Noah. It’s about social anxiety, the bending of a strong will, the feeling of outmaneuvering someone who should be stronger. Having submissive traits in public tells nothing about a person’s behavior in private. There are countless female CEOs who love to come home and play the submissive. It’s the role reversal that gets them off. I might have the occasional tendency to nurture, but at the end of the day I like when men…”
Beg? Squirm? Worship me? Grow frantic with desperate need? Suffer at the brink of a climax that would inevitably be denied? Jeez, maybe there was something wrong with me.
“I just like control,” I said, deciding that word summed it up enough. “I like sex when I’m in total control. Last night, you stole that from