22yo

When I started using Tinder I was travelling to a particular city most weeks, and the first girl I connected with there was a 22 year old. There wasn’t much on her profile, just her age, her name, and a cute photo.

Amber

This is the story of a woman I met on Tinder. To quote Peter Cook: It’s a very short story, but it is extremely boring.

Tangent

Before I even start, I just want to point out that I love using the name Amber for this woman, because it’s so inappropriate for her. To me, Amber is the kind of name you assign to bimbos – or, better yet, strippers – whereas this woman is accomplished in a field where you have to be smart even to enter it, let alone rise to the top. But I did a quick google search for “names that are similar to <her name>,” Amber was suggested, and the part of my soul that loves irony knew that I had found my name.

Tinder

Because of my conversation with Kimberly, I decided to give Tinder a try. I had to create a fake Facebook account, but that was easy enough to do.

I wrote down some initial thoughts, after a week or so of using the service.

Fantasy: Used: Cleaned Up

I ran a quick shower to clean myself up, and came back to the living room a bit later, wrapped only in a towel. I was able to take a better look at his apartment, now, and saw that it was a bachelor unit: all one room, aside from the bathroom. And it was a true bachelor’s unit, because he hadn’t really even furnished it; a television, chair, and a futon in the middle of the room, where he obviously slept. And, based on the look of it, he didn’t wash the sheets very often either.

He was sitting in the chair, watching TV and sipping a beer, and I laid back on the futon near him, in a leisurely manner, studiously avoiding any thought of how many girls he’d fucked in this very spot. I was driving myself crazy, thinking about the fact that I was just one among a large number of his “conquests,” wanting to believe I was better than them, despite all the evidence to the contrary. I wasn’t just some random slut, trolling for cock, I was sure of it.

Fantasy: Used: Inside

We got in the elevator, along with a middle-aged lady. He pressed the button for the 12th floor, and we all dutifully looked up at the numbers as the elevator made its way up. I guess she was going to the same floor.

As we did, I felt his hand cup my ass. After the way he’d been using my body so far, this act seemed almost tender by comparison. He then moved his hand under the skirt, and slipped it inside my panties, which was still nice, having that skin-to-skin contact. But then he shocked me – literally – by sliding a finger into my asshole.

Fantasy: Used: The Car

Of course he drove a Mustang. Of course he did! What other kind of car would a guy like this drive? He dumped me into the passenger seat, and we were off.

He worked the car like he had previously worked my body: no hesitation, no second guessing himself, the Mustang was just an extension of his will. He didn’t rev the engine to impress me, but neither did he hesitate to gun it when he wanted to run a yellow or pass a slower driver.

It wasn’t a long drive before he was parking at a rundown tenement. There were a few buildings around a little grassy open area, and, since it was a nice night, there were a few people around, sitting on benches, enjoying the warm summer air. I made to get out of the car, but he stopped me.

“Not yet,” he said, “I’m ready for round two.”

Fantasy: Used: The Alley

As we walked into the alley together, he casually slipped an arm around me, letting his hand rest on my ass.

“Easy, sunshine,” I said. “I want to make him jealous, but let’s not get any ideas about what’s going to happen here.”

Fantasy: Used: The Fight

“Why don’t you keep your eyes to yourself, before I rearrange your face?”

Michael was getting tiresome. We were supposed to be celebrating his raise, and I wanted to give him a treat by wearing his favourite outfit: a simple black top, a miniskirt that shows off my sexy legs, and a pair of heels that were a bit too expensive, but what the hell, a girl needs to treat herself sometimes. He loves my legs – it’s one of the reasons we started dating in the first place – so he should have been enjoying the view, and maybe even resting his hand on my knee under the table. Instead, he was sending dirty looks toward any man in the bar who glanced in my direction. He was spending more time watching them than looking at me.

Kimberly, Part 2

Visiting Kimberly

Fast forward to the year 2016, the year that I suddenly started traveling on a regular basis for work. Traveling for work is something I love, and I was getting my desire:

• A couple of weeks in a different province, during which I exchanged messages with the “Too Good to be True” woman and the “Orgy Woman.”
• A week in Chicago, during which I exchanged naughty photos with “juliagarwood.”
• A long stint during which I traveled out of the country every week, during which I messaged a lot with “Sheer.”

Kimberly, Part 1

No matter what you’re into, no matter how depraved you might be, there’s always someone out there who’s into something harder than you are. I might enjoy porn, and having adulterous sex with women who aren’t my wife¹; I might be totally into paying for escorts for a low-friction² experience in finding D-T-F women; I might be willing to fuck multiple women at once (though I prefer it one at a time); but that’s nothing compared to some of my friends.