Interesting by Doc

It had all started with a simple comment: “I find you interesting!”  The comment had come out of the blue.  It blindsided him.  He hadn't noticed her.  She was simply a face in the crowd.  The comment struck his brain like a lightning bolt.  No anger.  No sneer.  No dripping contempt.  Just a statement.

He responded, “Why?”  He could think of many reasons why someone might find him interesting, but most of those were buried either in his colorful past or in his mind, protected by a triple moat of Silence, Distraction, and Obstruction.
 
She chose not to respond.  She smiled a crooked smile and simply said, “Because!”  He wasn't the only one hiding a lot.  He returned her grin.
 
It wasn't much of a love affair.  They mostly talked, but he kept staring and she noticed that.  She seemed to enjoy his less-than-gentlemanly stares.  In turn, she would occasionally touch the back of his hand, or rest her hand on his knee.

“Why me?” he finally asked.  As usual, she smiled – and evaded his question.  “Why not you?” she replied.   “Besides,” she added mischievously, “how do you know you aren't just one of many?”  He didn't pursue that.  He knew he might well be one of many.  He was OK with that.  A starving man doesn't turn down bread crumbs.

Their ‘relationship’ gradually developed.  It filled out.  She probed him with questions.  (He found that flattering….).  He asked her about herself.  She would then grin, and – lately – put her hand on his upper thigh and then try to distract him by asking, “Do you like that?”  He would nod.  He knew better than to press her for answers when she didn't want to tell him anything.

Once she said, “Do you know why I never answer your questions about me?”  He shook his head.  “It’s because I don’t want to shamelessly lie to you and tell you things that are total fabrications.”  She then giggled.  “I like keeping you in the dark, you know.”  Again he nodded.
 
When they got to the early stages of love-making, so far just foreplay, she told him something that stuck with him.  “I like power.  Did you know that?  And when I know every single thing about you and you know nothing about me then you will have no power over me – and I will have total power over you.”  He knew she was right.  It was a bit intimidating.  Still, she now would let him see her nude – and she would let him touch her gently, everywhere.  “Higher!”  He would go higher.  “Down there but softly!” And he would do that as well as he could.  He didn't dare ask her for reciprocation.  Only once had he dared, asking “What about me?”  She had laughed aloud.  “You?  I think you are gradually learning that you come second and that I come first.  Right?”

He didn’t know whether to take that as a double entendre.  He decided it might be best to not suggest that.  When she tossed her hair and giggled at his silence, he was tempted to ask ‘What do you mean?’  He chose not to.

One day, she announced, “I’ve decided to keep you.  But I have one condition.”  He nodded yes without even asking what the condition might be.

“I want you to know you are not number one in my life, nor even two, nor even three.”  She giggled.  “Your job is only to be interesting, to amuse me, and to entertain me by telling me about your life and emptying your mind for my pleasure.”  He listened intently.  She continued.

“I already have a man who fucks me perfectly well, so I don’t need you for that.  And I have another man who provides for me so I don’t need you for that either.”  He gulped.  “My condition is that I use you as I please.”  She paused and accepted his silence as assent.  She continued.

“Now I will tell you one thing and one thing only about myself that you should finally know.  Are you ready?” He nodded, weakly, knowing she had him in the palm of her hand.

“I am a woman who uses men.”

He nodded, since he’d known that for quite a long time.

She then asked, “Do you have a problem with being used by me?”

He shook his head ‘no’.

“Good,” she said.  “I thought as much.  Now tell me a story!  And make it very, very erotic.”

He did his best.  They were alone.  As he told his tale, she opened her purse, removed a small vibrator and slipped it between her legs.  “Do you have a problem with me masturbating as you tell me stories?” she asked, intent on him

“No, Miss!”

“OK.  You are now officially my Court Jester.  I think I’ll call you “Scheherazade” from now on.  Oh, and from now on I intend to tell you all about my sexual adventures with my main two men.  Did I ever tell you I’m sadistic, too?”  He shook his head.
“You are finally going to find out about me, Scheherazade.  I think you will find that I also am quite ‘interesting’.  She laughed aloud.

He was still telling his story a few minutes later as she orgasmed – several times.  He didn't pause.  He figured that if she wanted him to stop, she would tell him to do so.

THE END