When I walked into the coffee shop he was in a tall booth facing the front door. His light brown curls were cut into a mop of frat boy curls and his blue pin stripes matched his eyes.
I held up my phone with his Tinder profile pic in it as I approached him. “Yep! It’s you!”
We hugged awkwardly and I sat down in the barstool. “Can I get you a coffee?” His eyes were piercing.
“Oh, no thank you,” I replied setting my things down and trying to control my nerves. “I’d just like a Topo Chico.”
He jumped to get it and when he returned he said the words I was not hoping to hear: “So, wanna go to my place now??”
I sighed then laughed. “Gimme a minute!”
We’d been texting for a few days and this was our first meeting to see if we clicked in person like we did in 1s and 0s. Apparently I was clicking for him.
As for me, he had a little belly that wasn’t obvious on his profile and I didn’t like the immediate proposition. I had promised nothing but a meeting, though had said I’d keep an open mind. Chill, bro. Chill.
He dutifully asked me questions about my job, a little about my divorce. I did the same. An internal clock seemed to go off in his head and he asked, “So, can we go back to my place now?”
I laughed, mildly irritated. Nervous, excited. I balked a little, but made sure he understood my agreement to change location wasn’t an invitation to fuck.
“I know, no pressure!” he said again.
The throbbing between my legs that I’d been experiencing for days shouted louder than any other voice: I needed to see what could happen.
I followed his fancy black car to a fancy new apartment building and he buzzed us in and led me to a fancy elevator.
He towered over me and when the doors closed I braced myself for an awkward ride, but he closed the distance and kissed me.
There are so many layers to chemistry and decision making in these moments. I found him to be physically thrilling in his difference from The [5’9″] Neighbor and curiosity drove me to explore his mouth, but there was zero spark.
He nibbled too rapidly and didn’t notice my reaction, my gentle instruction to slow down.
The moment we were Inside his apartment he wrapped his arms around me and pressed his length against my back. I hadn’t even put down my purse.
I had followed him there to continue our talk and see if more than my pussy could engage. He had other ideas.
When a man doesn’t listen it sets off alarms. It’s also a fucking turn off.
We kissed again, he fondled my breasts, he moaned a lot and tried to lure me into his bedroom. I refused remembering the last time that happened (LINK). We settled on the couch and it was after I stroked his hardon that I knew I had to stop.
I just wasn’t into him. His cock wasn’t what I wanted. He wasn’t what I wanted.
I sat up and apologized. He assured me it wasn’t necessary.
I walked back to the kitchen and fumbled with my bra clasp. “Want some help?”
I turned my back to him and when he struggled we laughed together. And then he pulled me into him again and kissed the top of my head.
His hand snaked down to my crotch and began to work me. The throbbing I’d been so cruelly indifferent to began to pound through me and a little moan escaped me.
I pressed my bottom up against him and and clutched his arm. When he went to unbutton my jeans I popped them all open with one motion and let him plunge into my panties.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled into my ear.
I liked this. This no kissing, on my feet, close to the door thing we were doing. I decided I was going to cum and bade him move around to my front.
He pulled my pants down to my thighs and hooked into me. His movements were too soft and I was so close.
“Put them inside me,” I gasped. “HARDER.”
I rode the wave that came in from far out and filled his hand with ejaculate. I felt him tremble with desire.
He delicately pulled his glistening hand out of my cunt and fumbled with his belt buckle and pulled himself out.
“Please put your mouth on me.” An urgent whisper.
Filled with benevolent desire I bent at the waist and gingerly took him in my mouth and stroked him noncommitally. He panted.
“Did you squirt?”
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Fuck, that’s hot.”
I released him and straightened and watched him suddenly cum into his own cupped hand.
I smiled and thought, “Well, at least he’s not leaving empty-handed,” but said, “Wow. I didn’t mean to make you do that.”
I buttoned my jeans and gathered my things.
“Well, this is where I bid you adieu,” I said with a smile. “Thanks for a swell time.”
He smiled back, said something similar in return, gave me directions out of the building and said he had to go clean up. I left grinning.
I won’t be seeing him again. Men who don’t listen don’t get more of me.