Still hesitant

A tempestuous cocktail of emotions churned within you. You craved her happiness, her serenity, that blissful release you desperately wanted to be the architect of. Yet, a possessive tendril of desire twisted within your gut. You craved to be the one who soothed her tension, the one whose touch could bring her ecstasy.

"Weekly meetings?" you echo, the words catching in your throat. The warmth of Lulu's body feels foreign now, a painful reminder of all you lack. "That's… quite the commitment."

The joy in Lulu's eyes dims a fraction. Uncertainty flickers across her face, like a candle flame in a sudden breeze. You hate the flicker, hate the thought of dimming her light. Yet, a selfish part of you can't help but recoil at the prospect of sharing her, of carving out designated times for another to claim the space you desperately yearn to fill alone.

"Is it?" she asks, a hesitant tremor in her voice. "I thought… after everything we shared… it would be something we'd both look forward to."

The guilt gnaws at you, a ravenous beast feasting on your insides. To see that spark of hope fade in her eyes is worse than any physical pain.

"Look," you start, forcing a lightness that feels brittle on your tongue. "The experience… it was…" You hesitate, searching for the right words. "It was incredible. Seeing you so… happy… that's more than I ever could have wished for."

It's true, it isn't a lie. But the truth feels hollow, a poor substitute for what you can't offer.

"But," you continue, the "but" tasting like ash in your mouth, "weekly feels a bit… intense. Maybe we can find another way? Like, a special occasion kind of thing? Celebrate a milestone, a reward for achieving a goal? Anything less… frequent?"

The words sound pathetic even to your own ears. Begging for scraps of her joy, rationing the one thing you can't compete for. Shame washes over you, hot and suffocating.

You glance at Lulu, searching her face for a reaction. A flicker of disappointment ghosts across her features, quickly replaced by understanding.

"Okay," she says, her voice soft. "Let's talk about it. Maybe there is a middle ground we can find. Something that works for both of us."

A fragile hope blooms in your chest. Maybe. Maybe there is a way.