We talked about him cooking dinner for me, but of course it slipped out of my head, so I ate something before we met. We met at the HMS Bounty for a start off drink (he lives down the street, and I love the HMS). I was in a strange mood. Not bad, but off. I arrived at the bar before him. I had offered to pick him up, but he said he wanted to meet me there. The bar was busy, and it was brighter than usual. Never what I want. I ordered a drink. I don’t know how to wait. I looked over at the door and he walked in. He looked super cute. In a cool, western pearl snap shirt, and cowboy boots. But that damn softness to him vexes me. Perhaps I bring it out in him. It’s interesting, he’s much rougher in his texts. He says he’s normally a lot more shut down from unknown people. I don’t want that to change, so I’ll keep it to myself. (Until he reads this). I knew one thing for sure, that no matter what, we were going to have sex that night. I needed to see. His messages get me so fucking on fire! He asked if I wanted to sit at a table, I said sure. Unfortunately it was bright as a bank! He was kissing me softly. The soft kisses were sort bugging me I have to admit. I wanted passion. He ordered a beer. He’s definitely not a boozer like me, but that’s OK, I wasn’t keen on staying long. It wasn’t really going the way I wanted. I ordered a second drink regardless (mostly because I wanted the effect, but also I felt bad that we were sitting at a table and not eating or racking up a bar tab). I choked most of it down, and suggested we get out of there. He paid the thirteen-dollar bill. We drove to his place. I was feeling weird. Still hopeful, but weird. We walked into the building. It smelled like soup. We went to his apartment. Which, thankfully, did not smell like soup. A smallish one bedroom with a good vibe. He only moved in a month or so ago. I liked it, but the lighting was horrific. No lamps and all bright fluorescents. Needless to say, not many stayed on. He made cocktails. I parked it on his DOUBLE bed. No way in hell I was going to be spending the night. His duvet cover was soft and cozy. But I wasn’t turned on. Which was worrying me. He sat next to me, and we started kissing. The usual hookup shit commenced.
He felt good, but it didn’t have the heat I was expecting. Also, he had recent surgery on his shoulder, so his range of motion and strength was compromised. I took my jeans off. His hand was between my legs. That felt really good, so I removed my G-string, and leaned into it. I laid back and let him touch me. Investigate me. It was exceptional. I knew my body could come from this. From his fucking fingers! Was this really happening? I knew he wasn’t trying to make me come. We had just started. But the things he was doing. Touching me better than I touch myself. My body was on the edge. He put his mouth on me. And I thought, OK, here we go, this will definitely make me come. But weirdly, it didn’t feel as natural as it had with his hands, which is nuts, but just then, as if he heard my thoughts, he backed away and used his fingers again. My ass was on the edge of his bed and he was on his knees, playing my pussy like it was a damn violin. Pleasure was coursing through my body. My orgasm building. And then I felt it. My mind. My dumb mind almost getting in the way, but I told it to fuck off, and I came so deliciously. And powerful. He had one finger inside me and one on
my clit. My tiny, picky, jaded clit. I felt every bit of it. Every nuance. I can’t even describe it. It was so intense. This joy you can taste. I grunted and groaned. I leaned up and hugged him. His hand still inside my gripping vagina. I cupped his body with mine. My breath was coming fast. I felt so incredibly happy and alive. “You have no idea how much I needed that.” The rest of the sex…I mean, shit, I got mine. I was happy. I could have almost left right then. Just kidding. I scooted back and he climbed on top of me. Pushing his cock inside me. He felt good inside me, but it was a little awkward with his injured arm. I was very aware of it, and I could tell that it was hindering him, so I had him lie on his back. Give his arm a rest. He had told me that while he enjoys blowjobs, they weren’t really his thing. OK, darlin.
I know what that means. He’s probably never had a woman suck his cock who truly loves it. I teased his chest and worked my way down. I took him in my mouth. I wasn’t set on making him come. I wanted to taste him. I started slowly. Wet. Deep. He moaned. I could tell it felt good to him. I reached up and played with his chest and nipple. Taking him all the way in. I’m doing my thing. It’s building, I can tell. I don’t especially work for it or change what I’m doing. I’m just enjoying myself. And then he came. Honestly, I think it surprised him. But coming from head feels different, stronger in some ways, due to the fact that you are just receiving. Not doing. Just getting. All that energy. This wonderfully selfish thing. And you’re coming into someone’s mouth, which is hot as fuck. There’s a lot of power in that. I laid my head down on him with his cock in my mouth and his come down my throat. His hands in my hair. His body still writhing. Finally I got up and peed. We drank, and lounged around naked. We talked and laughed. I told him about the hooking. He handled it well. Including me actually believing him. Not many questions or concerns. I don’t think it will be an issue. He is a secure adult who’s seen a thing or two. Of course, everything is rosy in a post-sex haze. We got worked up again, and fucked a second time. He came a second time. I was close while he was inside me, but I didn’t want piss myself off. I was in a good place. Later, I got dressed and went home. All in all, a pretty perfect sex night. I’m sure I’m leaving out a few details, but the most important part was that I came by the hands of another. I was beginning to think I was broken for real. Between the trust shit with my ex’s (who I’ve still been sleeping with), and the (sometimes) head-trip hooking, I was feeling disparaged and downtrodden. I wanna come too, dammit! Big thanks to the comical genius of Tinder.