Littles, as you may know, are experts at questions.We use them to divert, distract, and disarm. I kn
Littles, as you may know, are experts at questions.We use them to divert, distract, and disarm. I knew I liked him because he knew how to answer.He could read me, check my gauges, look into my frecklesand give me warmth, kindness, humor, discipline or wisdomor some crazy blend of all of them.We worked. Our encounters felt orchestrated in their rhythmic simplicity.I’d ask. He’d answer. The right, perfect, exactly terrific answer.Once, however, I stumped him and he answered my question with a question“Do you need to be consoled, or fucked?”…and the rhythm changed. It scared me and made me giddy kind of like stepping onto a ledge or learning to tight rope walk.“Fucked. Please?” -- source link
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