Roleplay and Foreplay

The German guy wants us to roleplay, and it’s making me anxious. I SMS him: What’s the scenario? And he replies: A job interview. And then, he adds, you fuck me on the table. He’ll turn up in his suit, he says. He likes the whole suit and shirt thing, mainly because he likes unbuttoning my shirt and then working on my tits; he wants me to do the same to him. And we do all this well, and the fucking on the table, we’ve done that before. Now he wants me to interview him for a job in my restaurant. He’s quite a bossy bottom, so I don’t imagine this going to go smoothly; humiliating him is not going to be easy.

No, he’ll say, I don’t want to do that. Or: Ask me to… Tell me you want me to… Sit there, stand there, do that.

His people have given orders to my people before, and nothing good came of that.

Part of me’s thinking: Well, isn’t it enough that we have great sex about once a week. We kiss well, play well with each other’s tits, he likes the way I rim, I like the way he sucks cock, and he likes sucking cock, and we both like very much the way my cock feels in his arse. Now he wants roleplay. The thing is, so do I. I’ve been wanting to for a while, but I kind of know what his response will be when I tell him to put on the cute summer dress from Esprit that I bought a couple of years ago for some other slim smooth guy.

The main guy in a very cute film by François Ozon called “Une Robe d’été” (“Summer Dress”) lands up wearing a summer frock. The German guy has the same kind of body as the guy in the short film, so I know he’ll look good in the dress. But the scenario isn’t his thing and I’m almost certain he won’t get into it just for me. At the moment, to be honest, I’d much rather put the emphasis on foreplay than roleplay. But the interview scene could be fun. I’ve never been good at improv, although on the phone I am; I’m good on the phone, sometimes so good that it scares me how I disappear into a character, a fantasy. That’s what I need to channel. To enjoy the game, to allow myself to become the character. In a way, that’s what scares me about fiction. I’d much rather write about myself, stay close to home. Fiction takes you to darker places, to the subconscious, the unconscious, the id. Autobiography stays closer to the super-ego: society’s voice is never far away.

Foreplay seems to be a thing of the past. Extended foreplay, I mean. Hours of it. Foreplay has all but disappeared from my life. I wouldn’t be too far off if I said that it’s been about ten years since I experienced the kind of foreplay I used to have in my twenties. Foreplay was fun. Our bodies were fun. It’s like we were just discovering something. Do couples have more foreplay, couples who live together and have a bit of time on their hands? Once you’re inside someone, does that mean that foreplay is over. Is foreplay whatever comes before penetration? I remember for the brief few months that I lived with someone a few years ago, I thought that everything was part of foreplay. Everything we did in each other’s company was part of the build-up to fucking.

The dictionary says that foreplay is “mutual sexual stimulation preceding sexual intercourse ” and that it started out in the late 1800s as a theatrical term. Wikipedia says that it’s supposed to increase desire and make us feel more comfortable with each other. So, then, is roleplay foreplay? Is the job interview scenario part of our foreplay? Is the German guy saying he wants to play, he wants more build-up to our fucking, he wants to draw this out?

The writer in me thinks this is a great device for fiction, a way of learning more about the character. Questions like: Tell us why you’re best suited to the job. Tell us what you’d do in the first three months of the job. Or just the simple question: Tell us a bit about yourself. The interesting thing would be – in reality and in the fictional version – how do we play the game, but still remain slightly unknown to each other. Not so much mystery, but rather the tentativeness that is part of being fuck buddies. But is it? Can’t we enjoy fucking and know a fair bit about each other, and still not get into a relationship. I mean a relationship relationship. Arundhati Roy says “To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple.” So let’s keep it simple. Writing about it removes our story from the Realm of Simple. So maybe it’s best to just shut up and play.

Have I mentioned that my Tenga arrived in the post? What can I say? Oh. My. God. A trip.

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