I am anal retentive, persistently consistent, and have a notorious dislike for change. Yet whenever something new happens for the first time, I am endlessly fascinated by it. Just such a new thing happened the other night. Allow me to set the scene.

It is late, past ten o’clock in the evening. It has been a long day, pleasant at parts and disagreeable at others, but it is over and I am through it nonetheless. Throughout the day, I have spent some short moments flirting with Eileen and making horribly inappropriate remarks about the use I think she should put me to when we are home for my being in an office. I don’t dare stand up, though I have been looking forward to being home.

And, of course, I am horny.

Eileen and I met up on the subway and went home together. At home, she ordered me to fetch her food and drink as she settled down with her computer onto the bed in our living room, which doubles as a sofa because neither of us really care for “proper appearances” and you might be amazed how useful a four-poster twin-size bed is in the living room. Eventually, I had gone to the shower, where, because I was horny, I spent a chunk of the night masturbating (and, of course, not having orgasms).

Now, after ten o’clock in the evening, I am horny.

But, I am also somewhat disappointed, and consequently somewhat annoyed, and consequently somewhat pissed off. I wanted to spend time with Eileen, ideally being sexual, but if not then just spending the night with her. I was specifically looking forward to it, and thought she was looking forward to the same. Instead, I feel lonely because it’s been three hours and her computer is getting the attention I want from her, and now it is getting late and I am tired anyway and soon it will be bedtime and then I will have missed the chance to spend time with her and then I will have a crappy day the next day or I will not have a good night sleep…and…and…and….

And, by the way, I am horny.

I try to ignore the horniness, as masturbating will only make the distraction stronger and anyway I’m not permitted to do that without Eileen’s explicit permission. But even if I did have permission to pleasure myself and even if pleasuring myself would have satiated my growing sexual restlessness, I am uninterested in doing so because it’s not what I want. What I want is to spend time with Eileen, and masturbating while she is focused on her own work does not fulfill that desire in any way.

So I sit down at my computer, trying to forget about how incredible horny I am.

Only, I can’t. I turn to Eileen and dejectedly remark on the time. Only, the conversation doesn’t proceed like the one in my head and instead of making me feel better it makes us both feel bad. Now Eileen, I imagine, feels as though I am too much to deal with, too clingy and demanding of way too much time. I feel bad because maybe she’s right, because I have frustrated myself further by failing to create a better situation for myself, and I still feel lonely and want to spend time with her but then isn’t that potentially asking too much anyway? I am like this a lot. I really am a high-maintenance boyfriend.

Now, I am upset. For a few moments, I’m no longer horny at all.

We stop talking, having gotten nowhere and instead I turn back to my computer, intent on watching iPhone Developer Technical Talk videos from Apple’s WWDC 2007, something that is sure to lift my spirits. Only it doesn’t, and as I’m sitting naked in my chair I feel silly and needlessly exposed.

I do something that is actually a big deal when I’m home: I put on some pants. My mood has shifted and I shed the old one like a skin, donning the new one like a shell that I crawl into. My pants are this shell, letting me emotionally “climb under the covers” and away from this badness.

Only that’s not enough either, and now I’m feeling worse because Eileen is in the kitchen without a smile on her face and I am further away from her, which is exactly what I didn’t want. I’ve succeeded in nothing at all. And now, worst of all, I am getting horny again.

In uncontrollable frustration, I stop the video and rip off my headphones and glasses—but not my pants—and march into the bedroom where I abruptly shut off all the lights and jump into bed, under our sheets. I curl up on my side and try to relax. I tell myself to let it go, that it’s not really a big deal and I’m just being moody, just being affected by all the hardship of work and the uncertainty the next few months are undoubtedly going to bring. But now I’m thinking about hardship and uncertainty and I am angry at the situation I have found myself in and I don’t want to be thinking about it and I just want it to go away.

And worst of all, every time I succeed in calming my mind even a little, my body forces something else to fill the void: I am horny.

Soon, Eileen tentatively enters the room and asks if she may lay next to me. I say nothing, way too deep in my invisible shell to speak, and she knows this. She joins me, snuggles up next to me. I feel her warmth and her skin and her arms around my shoulders, and my penis becomes ever more insistent. My breathing changes involuntarily. She notices, and moves her hand to my back, carefully.

How dare my body do this to me? I am angry, and in some perverse way, I want to be angry right now. And my body isn’t letting me because I’m too damn horny to be thinking about anything except her hand on my back and the softness of her skin and how hard my cock is and how much I want her to fuck me ’til we come. I want it, but I don’t. I try to stifle a soft moan, but can’t. She hears, and now her hand has found its way to my ass.

Eventually she pulls me out of my fetal position and removes all the layers of fabric that are covering me until I am naked once again. “Tell me this is okay,” she says to me. “It’s okay,” I whimper, surprising myself with the speed at which the response came out of my mouth. It’s no use trying to fight it anymore: I still don’t want to be sexual but I want her to force me to be sexual with her anyway. I am not so naive as to be perplexed by how these two seemingly contradictory feelings could possibly be within me at once, but I am nonetheless unfamiliar with their incredible genuineness and intensity.

What I want is to have things—my mood, our communication, the night—be better. I want to let go. This is the most indispensable quality of surrender, and of submission. I no longer care what happens. I just want her to take me so that I am dominated.

She touches my penis and I instantly shudder. Slowly, she moves my own hand to it and strokes me with my own fingertips. She tells me to keep masturbating myself the way she is showing me and I do. While watching me, she brings a bottle of lube and pours a few drops on the head of my cock and tells me to use my index finger and thumb to slowly rub along the underside and the top of my penis, from base to shaft and back again very slowly.

After another short while of watching my body shake and my mouth gnaw at my lips, she tells me to press harder. Then to go slightly faster. Then she closes the rest of my fingers around my shaft and guides my masturbation somewhat faster still, all of this to the music of my moans and whimpers.

Then she peels her underwear to the floor and lays down next to me to begin masturbating herself. “You’re not going to have an orgasm tonight,” she tells me quietly and I fight for breath at the thought, “but I’ll give you a choice. You can keep masturbating now, or you can stop and lie next to me here so I’ll hold you while I come.” I just whimper more. “It’s going to be excruciating either way. Do you want to keep masturbating?” she asks. For a moment the only sound that fills the room is that of the lube between my hand and my penis popping. I nod, and she smiles. “I like seeing you like this.”

She gave herself a strong orgasm that night. When she was done and had caught her breath, she looked back at me, my face contorted as one might be when near to the point of tears. She addressed me by my real full name, something she rarely does, paused so we could lock eyes, and said simply, “stop.”

Though I did stop, I also almost shrieked as I did so. She quickly collected me in her arms and hugged me close. Afterwards, I felt oddly satiated, and I had no trouble falling asleep that night.