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You know how to really know when a straight same-sex friend is a true friend? When they pass off a Tinder match to you. On a recent Tinder binge, she was matched with a very hot guy visiting her city. She didn’t know he wasn’t from there at first. She didn’t end up hooking up with him, because they couldn’t quite make it work. Not for lack of trying. Turns out, he lives in my city. She sent me Tinder man’s photo. And his requisite cock shot. She offered to connect the two of us but said he was probably a player and just looking for sex. A random hookup was not exactly what I am looking for, but since being single, I’ve been living my life taking coincidences and opportunities seriously. We texted a bit back and forth and he asked whether I wanted to meet. We were both free on Wednesday night. Seated at the porno school bar together, we had drinks at a pub close to my office. He’s perfectly tall (’″), handsome, amazing eyes, and a rock solid muscular body. I had low expectations, but we actually had a great and spirited conversation that lasted a couple of hours. There was definitely a spark. And another reminder of how small the world is casting couch real – he and I were at the same university at the same time, and even more crazy, he was a sports trainer to one of my roommates’ girlfriends. I wondered whether he was interested, but stopped wondering when he turned fully to face me and put his hand on my inner thigh. He’s never been married, so I asked him what his issue was. He said "fear of commitment". While he’s had three long term relationships, he’s broken them all off before they got to an engagement. I asked him whether he had a "stable of women". Surprised by my bluntness, he answered honestly: "yes". Laughing, I asked if he’d been asked that before, and he said no. I asked him why he felt the need to have a stable, and (paraphrasing), it was because it keeps things light. He sees them once a week. So I asked him whether he’d ever been with someone who was truly insatiable. Nope. So I lightly explained that once a week wasn’t enough for me. He asked how much was. I said twice a day, but I knew it wasn’t feasible. After expressing his casting couch fake interest in me, and a very open conversation about porn, young and hot bodies versus knowledge and pleasure, sexual predilections (was I submissive? Yes) and some of my abilities (squirting, multi orgasmic, etc), and his hand roaming fully up my skirt (finding an oh-so-sexy barricade of pantyhose), he asked me what I was family porn videos doing the next night. I have a dinner with a girlfriend. He has an early evening event. He suggested perhaps the next night he could come over to my place and fuck me. I said "I have to kiss you before I’m going to decide to have sex with you". He paid the bill, saying he had to go because he had work he had to do (although I’m % sure it was a date), led me by the hand out of the restaurant, put me up against the wall, put his body firmly against mine, and kissed me. I felt… Not much. It was a good kiss, but not incredible. His body is rock hard and perfect, and his hands did the right things, and my body had a response, albeit minimal. When he said "I think you are going to be a lot of fun, I can’t wait to fuck you", I felt nothing. No delicious shiver down my body. Chemistry is an elusive thing. While casting couch porn there is definitely a physical component, I know much of it is mental. But I’ve been a puddle with men I knew just wanted sex. I’ve fucked men when I’ve been grieving. But I’ve not felt so damn disconnected before. I’m not sure what it was with Mr Tinder. Perhaps a lack of kindness, tenderness, or a belief his attraction to me lacked real amateur porn depth (yes, he thinks I’m hot, yes, we had a great conversation… but is that enough?) More likely, it has nothing to do with him at all. The next night, I had been out with friends and had been drinking. I got home to a quiet house. I didn’t need any more alcohol. It was too early for me to go to bed. I filled my time texting my friends. I hadn’t heard from Mr. Tinder since I sent a thank you note after our date the night before. He had asked me what I was doing this night and said he would come over after our respective engagements, to f*ck me. I was in the process of saying to a girlfriend that I didn’t particularly care that he hadn’t texted me back, since I was devoid of attachment or emotion. I decided I was going to go to sleep. When – ping – my phone interrupted me with a text message. It was Mr Tinder: "you up"? After laughing at the improbability of it – but again wondering how the universe works – I said "yup". Ever clear as to his intentions, he followed with "what’s your address". A found it a bit impertinent after he hadn’t bothered to respond in kind to my polite text the night before. So I said "really?" (also because it bought me casting couch video some time to figure out how I was going to answer) and he came right back with "well do you want to?" Did I want to. It was a very good question. Was I curious if he would be good? Did I wonder whether my body would respond well to him? Did I want to get out of my head and quiet the voices? Did I need a distration? Was I horny? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. I was also encouraged by the friend who passed him off to me in college porn videos the first place. So, I gave him my address. He was there in minutes. I had time to check my makeup and put on better undergarments. Which was pointless because when he showed up, he refused my offer of a cocktail and had undressed me in minutes, before I even got back into my kitchen to fetch my drink, feet away. I almost wanted to say "hey, bud, did you notice that spectaular la perla bra before you threw it to the ground?" This time, my body told my brain to bugger off. It was a traitor that wanted only to feel pleasure. This was not an act based on a need to fill an emotional void – I didn’t feel loved, or cared for, or accepted. I wasn’t casting couch stories seeking any of that from this man. I knew I was simply a vessel – and Mr Tinder was no different. I just wanted to get f*cked. Never before has a man gotten me to squirt so quickly, and so often. Before I went to sleep that night I had to strip my entire bed of linens, including my duvet. I had to sleep on towels underneath my sheet, and use my son’s blankets. Mr Tinder was very good with his hands. But he was too aggressive for me, right off the bat – he tried to fist me after I squirted, but a) I hadn’t given him permission to try, b) he had huge hands, c) I didn’t trust him to do it, and d) it hurt. He was pushing me, and it felt good, but then he got his fist in and I instantly pulled my body away from him, saying "no, get out, that hurts". While he did what I asked, he kept trying. I finally had to put both feet on his chest to push him away, look him in the eye, and say "no, don’t try again. maybe next time". (For the record guys, no means no, the first time). It was the first time in a long time I was actually a little afraid of the situation I was in. He was very strong, and, as it turns out, intoxicated. I had told him I was submissive the night before, but had to explain to him, while he was making me squirt over and over (my body, the traitor), he hadn’t earned my submission yet and I didn’t trust him. When he realized I was serious, he backed off the aggression. His cock wasn’t working as he’d liked (too much alcohol) but it didn’t stop him for pleasuring me over and over. When we stopped, he and I lay in my soaking bed and talked. It’s too bad he’s not interested in actual dating; he’s actually a good conversationalist and we have common interests. He had parked illegally so had to move his car, which prompted us to decide he might as well just leave since he had to be up three hours later. In similar situations, when a man has come over, f*cked me, and left, I’ve felt like a used dishrag. I didn’t feel this way with him. Probably because I used him equally. It didn’t fill any void other than time. I simply lost some fluids in a physically pleasurable way. annstvincent comment