Did I mention that the fun thing about playing with Robbie is that he always wins?

He wins: he never fails to surprise or titillate me. And he is never dull.

After reading my Gotcha post (at least, I assume he read it), he went on to demonstrate that he did, indeed, get me. Totally. He knows how to get my attention; he knows how to keep it.

I wrote about the poker game the woman-warrior and the dragon were playing: “A finely matched pair, don’t you think? (Or perhaps just a straight flush . . . )”

So he sent me a picture of a straight flush. (Also: two pair, and four of a kind.) I kept countering with other things–a full house, for instance–forgetting that the straight flush is of course the highest poker hand. Another win for him, or, as he put it:

After that first volley of a sexy email, we started sending increasingly obscene emails to one another. (This is normal for us: that’s what you do if you’re long-distance, right?) And we kept raising the stakes of the kink we were discussing, with him sending me more intense and edgier images and scenarios, and me “earning” further emails by describing how I want him to defile me; begging for it. (He so loves that.)

This kind of e-fucking-frenzy strikes us often when we are apart; we will raise and raise each other, visually and verbally, until, all of a sudden, the stakes get too high for me. I beg for more and more . . . until finally, at the point where he would just do me already, if we were together, his own fantasies spilled over in prose and pictures. But I always hear them as demands. And then I get wobbly, feeling again that I am drowning in the ocean that is the wide compass of Robbie’s sexual interests, far broader than mine.

When I am with him, it is far easier to trust, to see that we’re floating, not drowning. And so, we are going to be together next week, to ease our ache for each other, and because. Because I need to float away, and he is the one who sets me sailing.

Dreamy image by Ewa Brzozowska, via a fuck a day.