Jack Abbot loves you and fucks you like the older man he is.
Jack doesn’t play games. Which means he also will not tolerate you playing games with him. He’s generous. With affection, with money, with time. And he expects you to be open with him, to accept that as a way he shows his love.
He doesn’t like games in his relationship, including when it comes to sex. Sex is a way to express your love for eachother, it’s intimate time spent taking care of eachother. And yeah. It feels fucking great. So withholding out of spite isn’t going to end well with him. It’s one thing if you’re genuinely upset with eachother and not interested in that. When that’s the case you have way bigger fish to fry then sex- just a symptom of a bigger problem, you’ve got real problems to sort. But freezing him out to prove a point? That’s a great way to end the relationship. Talk about it like an adult or call it quits. Dont hold it over his head like a child.
He’s not pushy with sex. He’s not in a rush to get there when you start dating. 3 date rule 5 date rule whatever hookup culture new bullshit you’ve heard of isn’t even on his radar. He likes you. You’re going out. It’ll happen when it happens. And if there’s a reason it’s not happening after some time, you’ll talk about it.
And he charms you into bed. He isn’t pushy, or god forbid entitled. But if you want a beautiful woman to come home with you, you have to prove yourself as worthy of it, plain and simple. Nice diner, good wine, maybe even a show or a movie or some outing where his hand stays firmly on your back, his lips respectful when they kiss your hand or cheek. Sweet desert and playful smiles, and an offer to come back to his place that’s far from aggressive. Who could say no to that boyish smile and those warm hands?
Oh. And you’re not touching a bill. He might even get offended when you try. “Sweetheart, I’m a doctor.” “Who hurt you?” “Are you out of your mind give me that. What kind of man- I took you out. It’s on me. It’s always going to be on me, got it?”. No little boy 50/50 bullshit. No whining about you being ‘high maintenance’ or asking what you bring to the table. Baby, you are the table.
His preferences and desires aren’t shaped by porn. They’re just what he likes. Plain and simple. Doesn’t need anyone else’s validation. You do what you both like, period.
Jack is a charming guy. He’s funny, he’s sweet, he’s playful and teasing and boyish in the right ways. But that all changes in the bedroom. Intimacy is serious to him. It’s quiet and attentive and deep. It’s romantic and considerate.
He’s been fucking since before you were born. Something he chuckled and whispered in your ear once, as he felt you squeeze his fingers like a vice. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”.
He teases. God he teases. He runs his mouth. But he’s not mean. He talks you through it. He can run his mouth till the cows come home. He can also be quiet and intimate if that’s what you need. And he takes good care of you no matter what.
He doesn’t give a flying fuck about hair, appreciates it even. (for fucks sake, this younger generations need to open themselves up to infection, abscess’ and the plain discomfort of razor bumps because porn has rotted young men’s brains grosses him out) you’re a grown ass woman, he’s a grown ass man. No shit you have hair. Back in his day that kind of thing was sexy, thank you.
He strives to make you feel good, and make sure you know no one is making you feel as good as he can.
Big proponent of putting a pillow under your hips. He wants it to feel as good as possible for you. He wants your toes curling and your brain empty. He wants your nails on his back, your eyes rolling back in your head.
He’s not above a little begging. A little patheticness for you. It always makes you laugh so pretty, yeah, he’ll indulge you. You know who’s the man of the house here, why not?
And he’d never say a fucking word about what happens in your bedroom outside of it. No if and or buts there.
Safety first safety second safety third with this guy. Comdoms are second nature to him. He’s not playing around, not unless there’s a very serious conversation very far down the road.
He’s good at buying flowers, and he does it regularly. Date night. Period. Bad day. Just because. The old ones start to die, there’s new ones. Period. They’re thoughtful too. He pays attention, he knows what you like.
Speaking of periods. He’s unfazed. Hot water bottle, Motrin, chocolate chips in his cabinet for you. Cuddles, sweet words, he’s got all the stops. He’s unfazed, he’s a doctor. It’s natural and a sign of a healthy body, he’s just sorry it hurts so bad. Hand on your belly rubbing circles, not even noticing the bloating, wishing he could make you feel better. And if you want him to help you with your cramps in another way? Baby. He’s a doctor. He’s been covered in blood many times. God knows he doesn’t care if it’s you.
He takes care of things. If he says he’ll get done, it gets done. Promptly. He fixes things, he orders things, he calls a guy, he makes it happen. You say the word, baby, he’ll handle it don’t worry about it. He’s so good with his hands in all ways.
Sometimes he hears some of the med students and residents and nurses discuss their, in his opinion self inflicted dating woes. And when it gets to painful to keep listening to the boys, he clicks his phone to his Lock Screen. “That’s my lady. Beautiful isn’t she? You want a woman like that, you’re gonna have to get your shit together because that bullshit is why us old guys are stealing all your girls.”
