tits&wit

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I’m skipping Tinder six. It was a quick drink at Bigfoot West. He was recently divorced with fresh off the boat baggage. Zero spark with a side of female animosity. Next! Tinder seven: Rugged, with a classically handsome face. A man, not a boy. Great dimples and a soulful essence that shone through in his pictures. He was intense in his communication right off the bat. Bordering on too much (text wise), but also bordering on deeply sexy. We had been talking for a couple days (I was not available to meet until the following week, since every night was ridiculously booked). The dialog went deliciously sexual soon in, including pictures and recorded messages to each other. His voice is insanely seductive. And the thing’s he types/says. Jesus. I wanted a man who could get in my head, I think I found him. I get the feeling this guy could make me come sitting across the table from him just by his words. He’s given me major spine-tingles. Several times. A day. I hope it’s as good in person. I’m almost afraid to find out. But you put something out into the universe..and..you might get it. The date: We decided to meet at The Virgil at 7:15 p.m. The bar opens at 7 p.m., but it was a Saturday, and we wanted to beat the crowd. The date happened on the fly, we were set to meet the following Tuesday, but it just so happened that my evening freed up, and with all the luscious transmission, we were champing at the bit. Unfortunately, I was on the rag, so I told him that it would be a teaser date—a prelude to Tuesday. Which was sort of brilliant. Took the pressure off and forced the foreplay. Especially since our exchanges had been so intense for the past week. What if he was just great with words, but there was no spark in person? {cont}

tits&wit

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I was the first one there. Literally. Even the door guy asked if I was meeting someone. I said yes, and that the bar being dead was part of our plan. I ordered a drink. They have happy hour on Saturday’s, which included a six-dollar specialty margarita. I ordered this for two reasons, I was tired and tequila wakes me up, and B) tequila sexually arouses me (not that I need help in that department, but you never know). He arrived moments later. Cute. Not tall (but I knew that). I suppose I was hoping that 5’10 translated a little loftier in person, but it didn’t. That’s OK. I’ll take less lofty for gets-in-my-head-and-makes-me-come any day of the fucking week. I noticed that he seemed a tad effeminate in person, which he did not seem in his pictures. Again, not something that generally turns me on, but not necessarily a deal-breaker. We had said that we were going to kiss right away, so when I saw him, I stood up and kissed him. Not quite the lightening bolt I was hoping for. I think we were both a bit nervous. He ordered the same drink as me, and we sat against the wall. I was smiling at him and he kept telling me to shut up, which was super hot. He also told me that I was sitting too far away. I couldn’t get any closer. I mean, I could have sat on his lap, but I wasn’t ready yet. We kissed again. We talked. Did we talk? Maybe. I was sort of just taking him in. Then he said, “Let’s move to the front little section, I think it will be darker.” “Yes, plus we won’t gross the bartender out.” I don’t usually care about such things, but we were the only patrons and we were sitting directly in his line of sight. The little room was perfect. Dark and small, with a cushy two-person loveseat. The only downside was that it was a little too warm. By our second drink, my bare legs were draped over his. {cont}

tits&wit

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We stayed in our little vortex bubble for three hours. It took me a while to make up my mind about him, but I liked the way he was pulling me and touching me. I was warming up. He wasn’t asking me any personal questions. Which was fantastic. He’s forty-seven. He’s done things. He knows I’ve done things. Our “things” lead us to this tiny warm room on the corner of Virgil and Santa Monica. It was perfect. I don’t need someone asking me questions. My ex got us into a lot of trouble that way. And I don’t need to hear about your favorite films or where you’ve traveled. I want an incredible sex connection, plain and simple. His dick was hard (for a good part of the last hour), and I was feeling it through his pants. It felt thick and yummy. We finally closed our tab. He had taken Uber, so I offered to drive him home. I parked in front of his building, and we kissed a little more. They were getting better—not the best I’ve ever had—but improving. I was turned on, so that’s a good start. {cont}

tits&wit

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He had his hand down my shorts and on my ass cheek. His touch was incredible. I wanted his hands everywhere. We finally said our goodbyes, but just before he shut the door, he said, “Don’t drive away yet, I’m going to come around and kiss you again.” “Then I’m getting out.” Or was that in my head? I got out and shut my door. He came around from the sidewalk. The kissing commenced. He was doing that not-much-movement, sort of tantric kissing, and I’ll be honest, I wasn’t ready for it at the bar (I haven’t done that since “youwho”), but now I was. I could smell the mix of our saliva, and it smelled like sex. Really good sex. He put his hand down the front of my shorts. He was playing with my clit. Not rough. Slow. Just feeling his way around me. His body against mine. My back against the car. It felt incredible. It’s been years since a man has been able to make me come with his fingers, and I almost did, but as my orgasm was threatening to explode, a small child with a family not far from us made a noise, popping our bubble. I was suddenly very aware that we were basically standing in the street. We laughed. Normally I get pissed if my orgasms are fucked with, but I wasn’t annoyed, I felt good. I don’t know shit about this man, and I don’t need to. All I need are his lips, his beautiful hands, and soon, his cock, inside me. I asked the universe for something specific and it sent me Bull Durham (that’s what my friends are calling him). His texts are astounding. I’m really looking forward to Tuesday.

(to be continued)

tits&wit

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Tinder #5. Matt and I had been chatting. He seemed fun and sweet. Had a quick wit about him. And a handsome face, but was super short. Like 5’7. I prefer over six feet, but I’m not a dick, people can’t help how tall they are. He was cracking me up in his messages. And like I’ve said, I’m not looking for a boo or a husband. I’m looking for an amazing, non-committal sex partner who can handle my lifestyle. Which is a tall order, but a girl can dream. Our day arrived. I messaged him. He asked what I wanted to do. I said, how about bowling? I figured I could do him a solid and be in flat bowling shoes. He liked it. We said Shatto Lanes at 9 p.m. I told him to meet me at the bar at the lanes. I wanted to make sure I liked him before getting into ten frames. He said no prob. That was early in the day, he text me again at 7:08 p.m. and asked if we could meet a half an hour early. I’m pretty anal, and I time my life accordingly. I responded, “If I can be ready. I timed myself for 9 p.m.”
Him: “It doesn’t take you that long to get ready for bowling does it?”
Not a great way to start, honey.
Me: “Don’t mess with my system.” And I sent him a fun photo of my tongue sticking out.
Him: “Do you thing, princess.”
Princess?! I fucking hate being called a princess. I’m just about the furthest thing from a princess. I can’t think of a grown woman alive who likes being called that. Come to think of it, this may have been the reason I decided to meet at the bar first. I was suddenly not as excited for this date. As it happens, I was ready early, so I text him that yes, I could meet him there before 9 p.m. He called me a “pain in the ass”. Playfully. I decided to wear heels. Sorry if I tower over you, buddy, that’s what you get for calling me a princess. Dick.

tits&wit

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I drove up and as I parked (on the street, I hate their parking lot, super weird mojo in that lot), I saw a height challenged man trying to find the entrance. I was hoping to beat him there, but whatever, let’s do this. I walked up onto the sidewalk. “Matt?”
“Yup, hi.”
“Hi. The entrance is this way.” I hugged him. I was significantly taller.
“You had to wear heels, huh?”
“I’m a girl, I like heels, but don’t worry, I’ll be in bowling shoes soon.” I smiled and took him in. His clothes were super tailored. Even his fancy jeans seems as if they were made just for him. I’d venture to say that his button up was a tad too tight, but he obviously works out, so he was workin his attributes. Nothing wrong with that. We walked upstairs to the bar. It was busy for a Thursday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people sitting at that bar. We snagged the only two seats available on the corner. The bar has a strange octagon shape to it with fixed stools. We ordered. He was handsome, but had a sheltered vibe to him. Conservative maybe. Something. We chatted. I’m a professional talker, so I can talk to any man about almost any subject, and as my friend said the other night, there isn’t much I haven’t done. A few sips into our drinks, I already knew. I think he knew that I knew. IT wasn’t there. He wasn’t as witty in person, and honestly, height aside, he was just too slight for me, it would be like going back in time and fucking my first boyfriend. I probably wasn’t as sweet, sexy, playful (you name it) either, but the conversation was easy.

tits&wit

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We ordered a second round. By this time, we both knew that our fingers were not going to see the inside of any bowling balls. Obviously I would have picked a different bar had I known, but I love that bar, and in the end it didn’t matter as there was no sex connection. I decided to put the nail in the sex coffin—I told him how I pay the bills. He thought I was fucking with him at first. Then he had a barrage of questions. Which is natural. I answered most of them. It’s not that I plan on lying, I’ve just been omitting. It’s my business. If I find what I’m looking for, then yes, I will let them know. I think. I hated what happened with my ex, but I’m proud of who I am, and I’m an honest being. We finished and closed out. I’m the cheapest date in the history of dating! My drinks couldn’t have totaled more than twelve bucks. Including the tip. I used the loo. Took a photo of my legs for another man, and we left. No kiss. We hugged. We nice-to-meet-you’d. I got in my car. Three more Tinder’s on the books. I’m not scheduling anything further. I’ll go back to jacking off and drinking with my friends.

tits&wit

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If I make it out of this Tinderhole with out catching the clap, I’ve won. As I was waiting to hear back from Tinder #4 about our date that night, I got “matched” with another man with the same name. He chatted me up. He was the youngest thus far (thirty-six), but was cute and had a quicker wit (that I could tell) than the other one. But not all people translate well via text, so you never know. He (Ryan number two) said that he’d happily “slide in” to the other guys slot if it didn’t work out. It had been two hours since my last communication with Ryan one. Being the overly fair gal that I am, I text him one last time. He responded. Said that he had lost his ID while entertaining out-of-town guests over the weekend and was dealing with getting a replacement all day. He said it was troublesome. Um, yeah, it’s Sunday, the DMV is closed. I suppose he could have been doing it online, but it’s unlikely. Either way, it was no skin off my nose. I said it was totally cool if he wanted to reschedule. He said yes and thanked me for being understanding. Ryan part duex was up! I got to my pre-date friend dinner, which was running late, but I was having fun, and after an hour, I didn’t want to leave, but I’m no flake. I text Ryan Too and said that I was running a little behind (I was five minutes from the bar, so I was sweatin’ it too hard). He mentioned that he also had a friend dinner, so I was hoping/betting on him being in the same boat. He wasn’t. His thing got moved to a different night. He was watching HBO. Shit. We made our new plan for 9 p.m. and I said I’d see him at the bar. He chose The Drawing Room. Which was Cash’s and my old haunt. It’s interesting to see where a man suggests a date. The older ones have said nice joints. The thirty-six-year old? Drawing Room. The time was upon me and I reluctantly said goodbye to my friends. I got to the bar at 9:03 p.m.

tits&wit

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{cont} He had said that he was heading there before me, so I expected him to be there. I asked him to text me his exact local (I fucking loathe the stranger meet and I’ve been doing it on a massive scale this week). But I hadn’t heard from him. I walked in. Same ol’ smell. Same ol’ bar flies. Same ol’ cranky bartender. I scanned the room. I saw a potential with his head deep in his phone and I was about to approach him when I saw a dude walk in and I recognized him. Tinder only allows five images, so it’s easy to look different in each one. You know, sunglasses in one. Ski mask in another. And the classic group shot, giving you no clue as to who you’re saying yes to. We hugged. I gave him shit for beating him there. He said he had to stop at the ATM. I always forget it’s a cash only bar, which is never an issue since I always pay cash. He ordered me a (super shitty) vodka soda and a million limes (to mask the shitty), and got himself a beer. We snagged a corner spot along the benched wall, below the TV. I didn’t want to sit anywhere where you could see the TV. Full attention and all that. He was cute. From New Orleans, with a sweet accent to prove. The conversation was light and silly. I was already two cocktails in and feeling perfect. We talked about our Tinder experiences. After maybe thirty minutes, I could tell that he was in a bit of a rush to leave, but I wanted more foreplay. He was touching my bare legs, and we had kissed some. He mentioned not liking PDA, which I promptly ignored. Buddy, if you wanna get in my pants, you’re going to have to kiss me at the bar first. The kisses were decent. Nothing to write the President about. He got us a second round. By the end of my second scuzzy drink, I decided to sleep with him. There was an attraction. Might as well see if there was chemistry. His apartment was ridiculously close by. It was a trippy hodgepodge of man cave and tiddy, but not much personality. I sort of wondered if it was his hookup pad. He had told me that he was currently housesitting a place in the Hollywood Hills, but when I asked if it was worth seeing (when we were making our plans), he said it was a condo. So that was a no.

tits&wit

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{cont} We lay on his bed and made out for two point two seconds when he started taking my clothes off. I asked him to put on some music. Come on, dude. I don’t need candles or rose petals, but there’s no need to do this in silence. As he did, he said that he didn’t have any condoms, that his “kit” was currently at the condo. Luckily I had a random one left in my purse that my girl Chase had given me. It turned out to be blue and not the greatest, but in a pinch. Let’s be honest. We all hate condoms, but I’ve made it this far without an STD, no way I’m picking one up now from a one night fool from a fucking phone app. The sex was sex. Not horrible, not amazing. His dick was OK. Not small, not huge. He felt good inside me. I liked the way he dug into me and choked me. Still, it had that whole, we-don’t-know-each-other-at-all vibe. We were laughing and being silly, but still. Didn’t take long for the cobalt condom to dry me out. I didn’t have any lube, nor did I care to continue with the pumping. He clearly hated the thing, so I told him to take it off. I offered to lick his balls while he jacked off. I’ve never seen a condom come off that fast. I blinked and his Smurf dick was no longer. His balls were way too hairy, but I kept to my word. He came. At least I think he did. Honestly, he could have faked it and I wouldn’t have cared. I got up, peed, and did my crotch wash, and then got dressed. He did as well. Said he had to head back to the condo (or wife, or a second Tinder date). He walked me to my car. We hugged. No discussion on a second date. Didn’t even cross my mind. I drove home. On my drive home, I felt like this: Why? Why can’t I find this thing that I’m looking for? Why do I fuck someone I know isn’t it? Why do I treat my vagina like it’s the Holiday Inn? It’s not like I don’t get laid. Think I’ll be cooling it on the Tinder. It’s a serious time suck. I’m going out of town tomorrow to see Dallas, and I have a couple more men set up after that, in the meantime, I’ll try not to swipe right.