I can’t remember how long ago it was when we first talked on tinder for adults. I remember that I saw your picture and knew immediately that I wanted to know you. You’re the only person I initiated a conversation with on tinder.
You’re the only person I pursued at all. I remember you were an asshole, a lot of the time. And sometimes that made me laugh on tinder for adults, and sometimes it pissed me off on tinder for adults. But you stayed in my mind. I wanted you to talk to me on tinder for adults. I wanted you to boss me around a little on tinder for adults.
Variety with Tinder for Adults
I talked to some different men on on tinder for adults, to varying degrees of depth and interest. I liked the idea of exploring without consequences on tinder for adults. Of being able to say anything I wanted to on tinder for adults. Of not caring. Of being able to end something the second it got tedious or weird. That was a great thing on tinder for adults
I spent about a week or so texting with a man on tinder for adults, probably about your age, who wrote me the dirtiest stuff. But he kept talking about ‘pleasuring’ me, or ‘servicing’ me, or worst of all ‘nursing’ on me.
And that all seemed ridiculous and gross to me. But I kept it up for awhile, not because of anything he wrote to me, but because of what I wrote to him. That I was learning how to say out loud things that I wanted on tinder for adults.
Tinder for Adults Practice
I was practicing turning myself on on tinder for adults, learning something about what I wanted and didn’t want, just by writing it down. I wrote down anything and everything and texted it to him. And I’d never done anything like that before until I did it on tinder for adults. And I surprised myself with what I was able to ask for, and what I was able to feel on tinder for adults.
I also spent about a week texting with a man who had, I guess, a more formal approach to dominance/submission. I knew I was curious. He was older than me, and Italian, and also kind of gross actually. But I was interested in what he had to say.
For a little bit. He wanted me to call him sir. And he wanted me to text him every morning and say good morning, sir and every night and say good night, sir.
That seemed corny to me. And the scenes he described didn’t turn me on. Although he sent me a video of a girl getting grabbed from behind by a man in a mask that I watched quite a few times. So, I ended that as well. And figured maybe that kind of relationship wasn’t right for me after all. So I keept looking on tinder for adults.
And somewhere around this time, my husband moved back in. And there was a part of me that had really wanted that, and another part that did, and does, feel just trapped. So I kept deleting my tinder for adults account, and putting it back up again, because I was confused, and often bored and lonely on tinder for adults.
You texted me one night, soon after my husband had moved back in. I don’t think I’d expected to hear from you again. And I wanted you. I wanted you to talk to me. I wanted you to want me on tinder for adults.
Something about the way you talk to me and the fantasies you describe make me so hot and bothered. I spend my days imaging the things you might do to me. Much too much time thinking about all the different ways you might fuck me on tinder for adults.
Tinder for Adults Challenge
But it started to seem like it was never going to happen on tinder for adults. That sometimes we just communicated badly. Or I would be too scared or confused about what I wanted, so I would put it off. Or just that I have almost no freedom or privacy in my life. That I can’t have an hour to myself that isn’t accounted for.
And it didn’t seem like you understood that on tinder for adults. Or cared, anyway. But it’s not understanding, or caring, that I want from you on tinder for adults. There’s something I think you can make me feel. Something I want.
So this week, these past few days, it felt like you were serious about wanting to see me, in a way that maybe you hadn’t been before. I loved that you would tell me to come to you. To come tonight, to come right now.
I wanted that. I pictured myself fixing dinner, getting a text from you, setting the knife down on the counter, walking out the front door, driving to wherever you might be, to do whatever you might want me to do. In my ultimate fantasy of what things might be like between us, that’s what I picture. That you might think of me, wonder where I am, think that you might like to fuck me.
That you would text me, and wherever I was, whatever I was doing I would come, and you would fuck me, and then I would leave. That’s what I want. That right there is everything that I want.
Tinder for Adults Text
When we texted on Monday, it was the first time we ever actually agreed on a time and place. But I think what I felt the most, is it might have been the first time I got a sense that it might matter to you a little bit, whether I came or not.
That maybe you would be disappointed if I didn’t come. You sent me a video of your cock, of you touching yourself, and in the background I could hear you breathing, hear the heaviness of it. That was what turned me on the most, and I played that video over and over, listening to you breathe.
That made it feel real. That I could be in the same room with you, that I could hear you breathe, that I could know what you taste like, know what you would feel like, real under my fingertips. And I wasn’t willing to let it go anymore. I wanted to make it real.
I didn’t touch myself that night. There have been nights we’ve texted and I would go in my room and make myself cum over and over, thinking about you, about things I wanted you to do. Nights I wouldn’t want to stop until I was drenched with sweat, until my hands were shaking and my legs were shaking, and I couldn’t go anymore.
But I didn’t Monday night, or Tuesday. I didn’t feel that need. I’m not sure why. But I wanted to think about you wanting me. I wanted to think that you might fantasize about me, that you would make yourself cum thinking about me, that you would want me there.
And on Wednesday, I texted you, and I tried to prepare myself for disappointment, thinking maybe you had changed your mind. Maybe something had come up that you wanted to do more. My school is mostly big, open spaces. It’s in the XXX, near XXX Park. It’s located in a XXXXXXX. And it still has that feeling of mostly big spaces, with very few closed in classrooms.
And it was an indoor recess day, it was raining hard, and kids were buzzing around the whole building, doing pretty much whatever they wanted. It wasn’t a great time to text with you, but I didn’t want to wait anymore. I wanted to know if you really wanted me to come.
So I went in to the XXXXX, which might be the closest place the school has to a private space. It’s all books and soft carpet and cozy chairs and a skylight where you can hear the rain drumming.
I curled up on the couch and texted you and you answered me right away. Every two or three minutes someone would come up the stairs and show me their wiggly tooth, or ask me to find their shoes, or tell me who was being mean to who, or try to make a fort out of the chairs, until I shooed them away.
I couldn’t pull myself away from talking to you. Talking to you made it feel real, and the more real it started to feel the more I wanted it. I would think through my day, each thing I had to do over the next few hours was a step in a path that led me to your door.
I liked that you told me what to do, how to dress. I was maybe a little offended that you thought I might wear anything with a floral print, but I figured you don’t really know very much about me. And at first I thought it was funny that you thought you had to tell me to shave my legs, but then later I thought maybe you said that because I don’t wax my whole pussy, and I was worried you don’t like that. I don’t know. I guess you can tell me later.
When you told me your fantasies, you kind of blew my mind. I don’t know what to say about it except that I was pressing my knees together so hard, I could feel the heat between my legs, the flush in my cheeks. I want you to tell me all the things you think, everything you want, every fantasy you have. You make me feel so hot. No one has ever made me feel like that.
I was calm and rock steady all afternoon. I was heading toward you, and I didn’t think about what it would be like, only about what I had to do to get there. My only worry was having enough
time. Enough time to get ready for you, enough time to be with you and get home without being missed too much. I came home, I shaved my legs, I painted my nails, I put on something I hoped you’d think was pretty.
I grabbed the whiskey and I drove to Capitol Hill. I felt, driving over there, just happy, just very purely and completely happy. And I felt sure of what I wanted and of what I was doing, that this was the right thing at the right time.
I was much more anxious inside your apartment. Very anxious and very shy. Very unsure of myself. I wish I had had a few more drinks, because I know I never let my guard down. I stayed very emotionally protected the whole time I was there. And I would like to be less so. I would like to spend enough time with you to start to feel a little more comfortable.
But you were there, and you let me in, and you were real, with your eyes and your smile and all your magnetism. I wanted just to stand close enough to you to breathe you in. I wanted to feel the warmth coming off of you before I touched you. I don’t think I can capture what came next in words. I think trying to might make what I felt seem smaller. And what I felt seemed very large to me. It felt like the whole world.
I can tell you that I liked how slow and controlled you were. And that surprised me. When I imagined something rougher, I think what I pictured was also something more chaotic.
I liked how deliberate you were. How you were always in control, of me, and of yourself. You gave me time to feel everything you did. I remember you lifted my shirt over my head, and you set each piece of my clothing so carefully on the couch, and that made me feel safe. Like you knew what you were doing, like I could trust you.
No one has ever hit me before. Not since I lived with my parents anyway. I’ve thought about it so much and wanted it so much, but I don’t think I could imagine how much I would like it.
I pictured something more chaotic with that as well, like being attacked, or like having someone be angry with me. But you have so much control. You just hit me like I belonged to you, like you did it just because you could. And that turned me on so fucking much. I lose my breath now just thinking about it.
You gave me time to feel everything. I wanted you to hit me and then hold me. Hit me and then look at me and smile the way you do. I liked it when you bit me, and I never knew that I would love that. It surprising, and it stings, and it hurts a lot. It makes me so hot. Fuck – I can barely write this. I’m lost thinking about your hands and your mouth. Why aren’t you here right now? Why aren’t you biting my ass right now?
What else can I say? I was impatient, and you were patient. I wanted you inside of me. I wanted you to fuck me. But you knew the right way to do it. You knew how to take your time. I wanted to watch you in that mirror. I wanted to watch myself in that mirror.
There were times there, in your bedroom, when it got to be too much for me. When I started to shut down a little. I had to try to breathe and stay present with you, stay in my own body, not let myself disappear. I’m trying to think what it was that was hard for me. It wasn’t anything physical. Everything physical that you did, I loved. I think it was that you wanted me to look at you.
That was very, very hard. I can feel that now. How much I wanted to hide, to not be looked at. I should have used your safety word then. I would say ‘please, hit me, bite me, choke me, I’m not afraid. Just please let me close my eyes. Please let me hide.’ That’s seems strange. I don’t really know what that’s about. But I can still feel it now, very strongly.
And sometimes you would talk to me, and want me to answer, and I couldn’t process that at all. I almost felt like I couldn’t understand language. And I felt embarrassed that I didn’t know how to talk. That I couldn’t answer you.
The choking was hard, but only a little. I think I would just get scared when I couldn’t breathe, and I would panic. I’d like to learn how to not resist you and be able to feel that when you do that to me.
What else? Just you. Your eyes. Your voice. I would love to just feel your breath in my ear right now. I wanted you to smile at me. I wanted you to tell me I was doing a good job. Your voice has this beautiful tone. That might be the most visceral memory I have, just your lips touching my ear, your breath, your voice.
What else? I liked having you above me. I like feeling your weight on me. I didn’t cum that night, but that’s when I would have, if I had focused on it. I didn’t expect to. I didn’t think I’d be comfortable enough to let myself cum, and I’m amazed how close I came without even trying for it. But what I wanted to feel was different than that. I wanted to let myself feel the things that were new.
And when you switched to my ass. I don’t think I know how to talk about that. I’ve never felt anything like that before. And I wanted you to cum, and I wanted you to never stop, and part of me wanted just to run away because it was too much feeling.
And then after, I want to try to explain carefully, and I’m not sure I know how. My strongest, most immediate impulse was to run away. I worked hard to slow myself down and to try to stay present with you, but I don’t think I was very successful. I feel like I barely looked at you or talked to you, although I really did try to make myself focus.
When I have big feelings, especially if I’m feeling vulnerable, I need time to feel that just inside of myself before I can share it with other people. It wasn’t about wanting to be away from you.
It was just about needing to be by myself for a little bit. People misunderstand that about me, and I find people I really care about will be angry with me or hurt by me, because they feel like I’ve rejected them or pushed them away when that was never my feeling or intention.