“Do you squirt?”
He asks her the question as they work their way down a comprehensive checklist of kinks and sexual preferences.
Before meeting him, she never shared her desires and wishes with anyone to this extent, and she’d had a hard time discussing intimacy without blushing profusely and stumbling over her own words. With little previous experience beyond mediocre half-hour ordeals, sex never seemed like much to dissect anyway. Therefore, her answer to most of his questions, including this one was:
“I’m not sure, but let’s see…”
She used to think that talking about sex before the act ruined the spontaneity and magic of it, but he’s quickly proving her wrong. More aroused than she dares to admit, she senses herself getting soaked and tingly all over. What is he planning?
Clued into his level of experience, as well as his depraved creativity, she can almost hear the sounds of his mental wheels turning from behind the laptop screen. Meanwhile, she imagines him puzzling together all of her answers into a bespoke play-session that will inaugurate her into his world.
She can hardly sit still.
“I guess we’ll find out,” he responds with a wink-emoji.
If someone had told her a year before that this is where she’d be; single and eager to explore, with the world at her feet, she would have laughed. It’s remarkable though, what crashing and burning out of a dysfunctional marriage—after having an affair with a woman, and then setting out to make up for a decade and a half of vanilla-monogamy — does to your outlook.
Her whole world had been turned on its head over a matter of months and she was finding herself far from where she’d imagined at this point in life. But, now that she was here, there was nowhere else she’d rather be: She’d been given life all over again.
Anna had started her newfound single-journey sleeping with a woman and quickly found that once the dick is out of the equation, she was basically left with endless foreplay and multiple orgasms. It was heavenly, and she certainly didn’t complain!
Yet, the day came when she realized that while she’s sexually fluid and loves women too, she’s not a lesbian. And, though her female lover, Alex, had fancied the strap-on far superior to its flesh-and-blood equivalent, she was of a different opinion.
While Alex had been all set to order a U-haul, Anna was in no way ready to settle; her journey had barely begun.
She’d decided it was time to give the dick another chance and did what any other sensible adult would do; she joined Tinder. At 33, it was her first time signing onto a dating app. Ever.
On a balmy late-spring evening, on the patio of a cute Prenzlauerberg bar, she met the first guy she ended up hooking up with. After a few drinks it got hot and heavy, and he started saying things like:
“You have no idea what I wanna do to you… I wanna do all these bad things to you!”
Basically ravenous at that point, she whispered back:
“Oh yes, please, do all the bad things!”
When they eventually got to his place, Anna was bursting with excitement. Awaiting passion and intensity like nothing she’d had before, she wanted to be torn into pieces and left in a puddle of cum and sweat, just to be picked up, put back together, and cradled in the strong, veiny arms of a gentle, yet testosterone-fueled man.
Instead, what followed was a mere ten-minute quickie before her bad-boy yawned and passed out. Grudgingly, she accepted that there was no more bursting in the cards for her that night.
Hot, bothered, and somewhat befuddled, she rolled over:
After all of that build-up, that was it?
I guess, when he said he wanted to do all these bad things, he simply meant bad, as in totally lame, she thought to herself and rolled her eyes.
Tormented by feelings of unfulfillment and the voracious hunger between her legs that only kept growing, Anna was unable to fall asleep. She had to make an exit.
Smooth as a fox she slithered…