The A-M Messages
It started on a lazy Saturday. It was my favourite kind of Saturday: not only did I have absolutely nothing on my agenda – other than sleeping in late and watching TV all afternoon – but my wife was out of the apartment for much of the day because she had to go into the office. So it was a perfect storm for stretching lazily out over the couch, keeping one eye on a movie and the other on my phone as I scrolled through A-M and sent messages. (Hopefully I’d receive some, too.) If any of the women I was messaging knew how disgusting I looked, they would have run in horror, but my state of slovenliness never came up in the messages.To keep things simple1 I was only sending messages to women who were online at the time, so my interactions were generally falling into one of three patterns:
- I’d send a message, a few minutes later A-M would notify me that it had been read, and nothing would happen
- I’d send a message, there would be a pause of a couple of hours, A-M would notify me it had been read, and then nothing would happen
- I’d send a message, and nothing would happen.
A notable exception, however, was someone with the account name juliagarwood2. She responded right away, to say that I wasn’t her type. (Thanks!) I don’t remember if she told me immediately or if it was a couple of messages later, but basically I’m not tall enough for her, so she couldn’t picture herself with me. She later told me that she doesn’t usually respond to anyone – she always sends the first message to guys, and ignores messages which are initiated from men (which makes her the opposite of most women) – but that she had made an exception for me, and for one other man in the past. She’d responded to him to tell him that he was too old (in his 50s), and to me to tell me that, though I wasn’t her type, she did enjoy my message and my profile. (I must write similar to Julie Garwood, because she told me numerous times throughout our relationship that she liked the way I chat and/or write.)
I usually am one to take no for an answer on A-M – I see no reason to go for the hard sell, I think it makes you seem desperate (though it can provide results) – but when someone takes the time to actually write back, I usually write again in turn. Even if only to say something along the lines of “no hard feelings,” or “thanks for letting me know.” I honestly don’t remember what I wrote this time, but it was apparently pretty charming, because she wrote back again.
In fact, almost immediately we had a back-and-forth going. On A-M’s mobile interface the messaging feels more like I-M than email, and juliagarwood seemed to love chatting3, so we started chatting. We never really got past the issue of my height, but my “personality” and chatting abilities kept her hooked enough that she couldn’t stop chatting with me. Later on I shared my photos with her, and she didn’t like my looks – Thanks! – but, again, she still couldn’t bring herself to stop chatting with me.
The only problem with this back-and-forth chatting was that A-M defaults to sending every message as a “priority message,” which costs 5 credits – each and every time – so I had to be sure to uncheck the “priority message” box before sending each and every message. I mostly remembered to keep unchecking the box, but every once in awhile I’d forget – it really throws off the flow, when your instinct is to just type and hit Send like in any other I-M conversation – so I wasted quite a number of credits during the course of the conversation.
This went on a couple of hours. Eventually we moved the conversation from A-M into B-B-M (and I was able to stop wasting credits).
B-B-M
B-B-M was a source of confusion all its own. I’d never used it before, but it was apparently becoming very popular on A-M, so I agreed to install it so she could add me to her contact list. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but for some reason I feared that B-B-M would rely on knowing my real mobile number and/or get tied to the phone in some way – perhaps I was overthinking it because I’d installed WhatsApp recently – so I decided to install B-B-M on my phone’s “real” account/profile, and add her there. It turned out she was Asian and her name was A***, which caused a shiver to go down my very soul, but it was very obvious that she wasn’t that A***4. She sent me a photo, and turned out to be a normal and attractive Chinese (not Korean) woman.We continued to chat on B-B-M for another couple of hours or so, until my wife was finally home and wanting me to join her on the couch in front of the TV. But B-B-M continued to beep once in awhile, because it turns out there’s no way to turn the fucking thing off. So I was now very worried about handing the phone to my wife – a common occurrence, when she wants to look something up, since my phone is usually more readily available than hers – because not only would she see a new B-B-M status indicator that had never been there before, but there would be the danger of an actual message coming through. Normally I keep everything nefarious locked away in my alternate account on my Android phone, so nothing will ever pop up that I don’t want to, but B-B-M had changed all of that. (Spoiler alert (from the next paragraph): I fixed it, but I spent literally an hour trying to figure out how to sign out of B-B-M, or turn it off, or do something short of uninstalling it, so that it wouldn’t beep when I didn’t want it to.)
I didn’t talk to A*** much on Sunday, though I did wise up and manage to get B-B-M installed on my alternate Android account, and get her to add to that account to her list instead of my real one. I then removed B-B-M from my real Android account, so I now have a B-B-M account that I’ll probably never use.
Out of the Weekend and Into the Week
When Monday rolled around we spent the day chatting, and that continued right through the week. Monday was the heaviest chatting day – I don’t think she got much work done that day, which meant she had to make up for it on subsequent days and couldn’t chat as much – but throughout the week we exchanged a lot of messages.She still wasn’t sure about me, a fact which continued to come up from time to time5. She wasn’t sure if she was attracted, wasn’t sure if I was tall enough… just wasn’t sure, period6. But somehow she got addicted to my chatting, and couldn’t tear herself away. I purposely didn’t try to sell myself too much, because I prefer to prove rather than just make claims, and in retrospect I think it was the right move.
Our First Date
Eventually, I managed to talk her into coming to see me. Frankly, I was almost as shocked as she was: she’d been very, very skittish about the whole situation, but, as I keep saying on this blog, “nothing ventured nothing gained.” So I asked her, and she hesitated for a while, but I eventually managed to talk her into it.She was heading downtown for the afternoon on Thursday, and let me pick a spot, telling me only that she’d be in the downtown area. I purposely picked a very public place, because I wanted her to feel comfortable. (She kept asking things like “what if you’re a kidnapper?” To this day, I’m not 100% sure if she was joking or serious.) I’d told her that my preference would have been to go somewhere more private, so I could kiss her, but that I was taking that off the table for the sake of her comfort. She wanted to be sure that I was a normal person, so this first date was all about proving that to her satisfaction.
We’d previously joked about our first date being at a juice place instead of a coffee shop (to avoid coffee breath), so I suggested a smoothie place close to my office, and in a sheer coincidence it turned out to be the very building she was in that day, as well (though I didn’t know that at the time).
The meeting started very well7. She was attractive in person, and had a cute smile. She was also nervous, which was endearing.
I had planned to sit out in the main tables down in the food court, in full view of the public (so that I couldn’t kidnap her), but she managed to find a little area I’d never seen before, off to the side behind the main traffic area, which had a smaller set of tables and was more private. Not fully private, there were other people in there too, but way fewer than were sitting out in the main food court area.
Conversation flowed easily, which is always a worry of mine. I’m a great chatter – an amazing chatter – I can type fast, and I’m quick witted, and I can shift gears between different topics and moods as the conversation demands – but the worry is always that I won’t be as charming in person as I am in chat. In this case, I was8. I managed to keep up the flow of the conversation, I made her smile a few times, and once, when I was feeling especially bold, I made her blush and then reached out across the table to touch her cheek and verify to her that yes, she was blushing. (Doesn’t hurt to sneak in some physical contact, right?)
We sat there for quite a while, maybe an hour or more, and then she suggested that we go for a walk. We just wandered around for a bit. At first I thought she was hinting that she wanted to leave, so I was steering her toward the subway, but then she indicated that she wasn’t actually ready to go home yet so we turned around and continued to meander. At one point she even linked arms with me, which was awesome from a dating perspective – there was no mistaking that she was attracted to me, if she was doing that! – but I had to unlink us, because we were too close my office, and therefore too much of a chance that a colleague would pass by.
We continued to wander for a bit, and then I had an idea. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to pull it off, but it was worth a try. I brought us back toward a little hallway that leads to a parking garage, managed to find a quiet little corner, pulled her into it, backed her against the wall, and leaned in to kiss her.
I gave her a chance to say no or to resist – I wasn’t attacking her! – but we started to kiss, and then we started to kiss some more. If there’s one thing I do well it’s kiss, so I was glad to be able to find the opportunity. Many of my first dates have ended on a high note like this – a kiss goodbye, that turned more passionate, that eventually turned into an almost total loss of control – and I was glad to be able to do it this time, too. I wanted all of her doubts to be gone; I wanted her to want more of that intense chemistry9.
In this case, of course, it wasn’t a total loss of control, because I was way too close to my office and there was too much of a chance that someone would walk by who knew me. But it was still quite good.
A Buffer Week
The date was on Thursday, and we once again spent the day chatting on Friday. Unfortunately, however, I was out of the city the next week. We still did a lot of chatting throughout the day, but with the obvious difference that there was no ability to meet. The danger, in my mind, was of her losing interest after a week apart, but I didn’t think it was a huge danger; she was still skittish enough that she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do next.On Tuesday night, as we were chatting, she decided (to my surprise) to send me some photos. She’d already told me that she very much enjoyed wearing lingerie, and she decided to turn me on by showing off some for me. I think she had to go and take the photos right then and there, though, because there was a message saying “be right back,” followed by something like 40 minutes of silence. I’d just given up on hearing back from her, assuming that her husband had pulled her attention away or something, when she finally messaged again.
She sent a photo of a lace bra (which left nothing to the imagination, which was nice), and two photos of lace panties. The photos were erotic, but more importantly it was a huge turn-on that she’d taken this step with me at all. As shy and skittish as she was, sending risque photos was a real leap of faith. (B-B-M was a good choice, because she could delete them from her side any time she wanted, and they’d be removed from my device as well.)
Receipt of these photos caused the conversation to get a bit steamy, as is often the case (though this particular woman hadn’t shown that inclination before). Given her skittishness10, I kept a close eye on how she was reacting, but she definitely seemed to be into it, prompting me from time to time to continue. Except that she would sometimes completely change the topic, asking a completely non-sexual question… only come back to it later, asking things like, “sorry, but you were saying something about licking my nipples?” (That’s probably not an actual example, but it’s representative.)
The following day, as we were talking, she went back and forth numerous times as to whether she would want me to reciprocate and send her some dick pics. (She definitely didn’t phrase it that way, though that is what we were talking about.) It was hard to tell when she was joking and when she was serious, but overall it was clear that she was toying with the idea. I’m a terrible photographer but I’ve got nothing to hide (and maybe even something to be proud of), so I was fine if she wanted some photos, though I was only intending to take them if she really wanted them. I’ve spent too many hours trying to do those kinds of photo shoots, ending up with terrible photos, and quickly losing my erection as I tried to deal with the technical details of getting a good picture with a camera phone11. By the end of the workday, though, she was close enough to wanting photos that I figured I’d take some, and if she ever decided firmly that yes, she wanted to see a photo of my cock, I’d have some locked and loaded12.
I had Wednesday night to myself, not having to work late, so I decided to go have dinner and, since I was in Chicago, see some live music at Buddy Guy’s, which was awesome. I spent the entire time texting back and forth with her on B-B-M, and giving her a first-hand view of me getting drunk off of a few beers13. My plan was to send her some photos of my little feller when I got back to the hotel, but I pretty much passed out immediately when I got back to my room. I had similar plans to snap some photos Thursday night, but a family emergency came up and I ended up spending most of the night waiting by the phone for my wife to call, and, again, by the time things were cleared up, I just went to sleep rather than trying to do a photo shoot14.
Back home
Back at home the following week, I immediately got back into the mode of trying to schedule a date. Always a delicate balance of not letting her “get away,” and yet not wanting to push too hard too fast. On Monday we made tentative plans to meet on Friday afternoon, but I didn’t book the hotel, because they were too tentative to take such a step.Monday night I happened to have a long block of time in which I was sure to be alone, so I decided to finally take the dick pics. I was still overthinking the problems I’d had in the past with trying to get good photos, so I decided to approach it with a bit more advanced planning:
- I remembered a comment I’d once seen from Cheeky Minx about how she got such good photographs of herself, which basically amounted to taking a lot of photos, discarding the ones that didn’t turn out (a high percentage), and finally choosing just the ones that truly had something special. So that was my plan: I’d take a lot of photos, under the assumption that I’d be deleting a bunch, and hopefully I’d still be left with a few that weren’t too bad.
- Because of the aforementioned issue of losing my erection, due to the incredibly un-sexy aspect of trying to get the photography right, my plan was to skim my favourite porn site, snap a few photos, scan some more, take a few more, etc. etc. I figured that not only would the constant stream of porn keep the erection going, but there would also be less pressure for any particular photo to turn out right. In fact, I didn’t even look at any of the photos until I was done.
I decided to send a message just to ask if beeps on her phone bothered her at night, but she didn’t respond, so I didn’t send any pics.
The next day when I started chatting with her there was a bit more dithering – “Do I really want to see the photos? Or not?” – but she finally told me to go ahead and send them, so I did.
Let me backtrack for a second: Starting immediately upon her sending me her sexy photos the previous week, and us talking about the photos that I now “owed” her, she’d started joking that maybe seeing my cock would be the extra push she needed to come and fuck me. (Again, not her words. I’m 98% sure she’d never use the word “fuck.” Ever.) Every once in awhile one or the other of us would joke about the pending dick pics, and she’d often make the follow-on joke that seeing a photo of my cock might be the final thing necessary for her misgivings to melt away.
This was clearly joking – but, in a twisted way, it was also the way she managed to talk herself into fucking me. Within moments of seeing my dick on her phone’s screen, she decided to firmly commit: Yes, let’s meet on Friday. I think the psychology went something like this: “I really want to have sex with this guy, but I’m not that kind of woman. Am I? I need a way to justify this. Oh look, he sent me a few photos of his penis – I guess the least I could do, to repay him, is let him put that inside me, right?”
Whatever the reasoning, it was good enough for me to book the hotel, with early check-in so that we could have an entire afternoon together. This was a woman who clearly valued romance, so I made sure to get a nice suite, not just a regular room.
Regardless what her thought process was, she was clearly nervous about the pending meeting. At times she worried that she might have made a mistake; at times she was just plain scared. One of the ways that she dealt with it was to delve into details, and ask a ton of detailed questions.
- Did the hotel have a parking lot? Yes, there was a parking lot.
- Would I meet her in the lobby? I told her that it would usually be easier for me to just text her the room number, and she could come straight up, but she said no, she wanted me to meet her in the lobby, and bring her to the room.
- She revisited the conversation later, and asked if I’d hold her hand on the way to the room, which is the sweetest thing an adulterous woman has ever asked me to do.
- I’d previously told her that my favourite form of lingerie is a simple black bra and panties, so did I want her to wear black for me? Definitely, I’d love her to wear black – or anything else, since I wanted to get her out of it as quickly as possible. Should she wear heels? Up to her; if they make her feel more sexy than go for it, but she’s the one with the fear about my short height.
- Should we bring wine? Or… something? Wait, better yet, could we go to the bar for a drink first? Sure, let’s meet in the bar in the lobby first!
- She had a black dress, should she wear it? Er… sure. I guess it would go well with the black bra and panties, right?
Footnotes
- 1 I was, after all, paying some attention to the television, so I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to keep dozens and dozens of women straight in my head. ↺
- 2 Julie Garwood is a romance novelist, though I didn’t know that at the time. I honestly don’t know if juliagarwood purposely misspelled her name or just got it wrong. ↺
- 3 Before meeting me, she’d previously started up something with another guy on A-M, shortly before he left the country to go to England. Apparently they had very good chats, and when it came to chatting, she constantly compared me to him. Like… constantly. ↺
- 4 Years previously there had been another Asian girl named “A***,” whom I now refer to as Voldemort – she who must not be named. I haven’t written about Voldemort, and probably won’t. Though it would likely be therapeutic if I did. Or cathartic, at any rate. ↺
- 5 THANKS!!! ↺
- 6 Feels kind of harsh to write this about myself – “she wasn’t sure if I was good looking enough for her” – but it’s the way the situation was. ↺
- 7 When I say “started,” it’s not any kind of foreshadowing that things are going to go sour. It’s just the beginning of the progression. ↺
- 8 To be fair, it’s not all up to me – or it shouldn’t be. Usually, when the conversation isn’t flowing, it’s because I can’t rely on the woman to keep up her side of the bargain. ↺
- 9 It happens so often that it raises the question as to whether it’s really chemistry, or if I’m such a good kisser that it just seems like chemistry. But it doesn’t matter; all that matters is if the woman wants more of it. ↺
- 10 I keep using this word, but that’s because the more I think about it, the more it really does seem to be the right word. She wasn’t “shy,” or “reserved,” or “hesitant,” she was skittish. I was constantly wondering if some word or gesture on my part would cause her to dart away like a startled fawn. ↺
- 11 I don’t usually set up enough lighting, that’s one of my problems. ↺
- 12 Pun? ↺
- 13 I don’t react well to beer, I get drunk on it very easily, which is one reason I like to stick with scotch or other forms of hard liquor when I can. ↺
- 14 Not a pun. ↺
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