I reject all forms of manipulative and scheming interactions. Because certainty eliminates expectation.
“What does he like about me?”
Every time I think of this question, I laugh at myself for being so foolish. The logic behind this question is that I am trying to find something that makes him remember me. Although I don’t watch many web dramas or novels, I know that this kind of mindless questioning is quite futile.
But today, at this very moment, while I wait for him to finish showering after my own bath, the fear of losing control makes this question occupy my rational mind once again. The calmer he is, the more I want to know the answer.
In previous encounters, I always tried to extract his thoughts during moments of weakness—even if they were lies.
But the consequences of doing so are obvious; with either his or my intelligence, asking or answering would only lower each other’s scores in our own minds. He is too perfect, and I cannot tolerate appearing foolish.
“What book are you reading?” He leaned sideways against the soft pillow, just out of the shower, his hair still glistening with droplets. The bathrobe’s belt couldn’t contain his muscular body, nor could it hide my peripheral vision and the anxiety in my heart.
The battle is about to begin.
I didn’t respond and tried hard to appear nonchalant. It wasn’t until I flipped through five pages of the book that I confirmed I was truly calm.
During these ten minutes, I stayed within his reach, neither too far nor too close. We were already familiar with the dynamics of this distance; we wouldn’t worry about him not coming if we were too far, nor would we appear pretentious if we were too close without any intimate gestures.
He lurked in my peripheral vision, quietly waiting for what he deemed the perfect opportunity.
From being strangers to wetting the sheets, it took about two weeks and three meetings. I was no longer the naive girl who hesitated and played hard to get, but I also couldn’t assertively pin him down like a best friend proclaiming female empowerment—somehow, the initiative in bed always seemed to be his.
Over the years, I have turned down countless explicit and implicit invitations, both positive and negative; I can’t even count them. I reject all forms of manipulative and scheming interactions because certainty eliminates expectation.
Perhaps because of this, rolling into his bed at least satisfied my standard of “not going on dates that don’t lead to bed, and not going on dates that do.”
Unexpected encounters.
Doing as I please.
“So, who slept with whom?”
He pointed to a passage in the book and asked, casually placing his hand on my leg—warmth rising, smooth skin, the thigh curving towards my chest couldn’t hold the bathrobe but could hold his hand, my curled body could withstand his exploration but couldn’t withstand my own surging feelings.
At that moment, I suddenly felt that the so-called perfection is probably when a moment of silence is interrupted by an unexpected surge, just the right amount of wetness, a monster barging in, and after a wave of climax, there’s no need to sustain an endless barrage, no need to compliment how great you are or to feign how good I feel.
“But what does it mean?”
I cannot evaluate perfection; I fear losing my grasp on established patterns. Without the ability to grasp the patterns, I cannot see myself clearly, so I desperately search for clues that prove perfection existed, like how he seemed a bit rougher in the places he just spanked me, how he bit my neck, and how the phone rang at a critical moment…
However, even these seemed to have never happened after it was over, to the point where I would doubt that all the pleasure was an illusion, a feeling I imagined. All the factors that interfered with the experience seemed to be blocked by him, making each experience with him feel as if it were programmed—he must be a robot.
This is quite a shocking discovery. Thinking of this, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, snuggling into his arms and falling into a deep sleep, without a trace of regret.
At least I remembered the robot.