Exploring the ins and outs of the online dating world



The 27 of 2017: Part 5

The 27 of 2017: Part 5

Like after many failed relationships, we look for something to fill the void left behind from a memory rotting in the corners of our minds. I sought that flirtatious banter that gives you those small heart palpitations throughout the day and takes you away from the reality that has been set into your skin. I wanted that escape so badly that all I knew about him was his name, major, and three photos to construct the rest.

“That smile you have.” He said.

“With the rate you're going at it's never going to leave my face.” I responded.

“I hope so. I really do.”

“You are so sweet, you know that?”

“I have been told that, however, I think it's warranted. I mean these are not compliments, rather statement of facts.”

“I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

“And believe me, I could jump at the opportunity right now.”

“Even if I'm having a mini dance and singing party to 90's music and looking all goofy? There's a graduate party on Friday that my friends and I are going to that is 90's themed.”

“I am sure you'd look all hot in a tight 90s dress.”

“Haha, I'm more of an 80's girl myself. I have no idea what to wear.”

“Do you have a picture of you in a dress?”

“I do haha. From a wedding. One second.” I said before hunting through my phone for that picture.

“This was over a year ago at my cousin's wedding.” I said while sending the photo.

“No words.” Tyler responded instantly.

“Tyler! I'm blushing so badly, I don't know what to do with myself.”

“Those legs. Holy fuck.”

“I'm dying...”

“No I am.”

With a brave heart, I met him for coffee that Sunday afternoon. It was the stereotypical first date at a coffee shop conversation. We were that disgustingly cute seeming couple that couldn’t stop ogling and laughing. You’ve probably never heard a girl laugh so loudly to a story about when a father tells his son that he never wanted him to be born which led to, he was twenty-five plus or minus three years, years of retaliation against him. Tell any story with a smile and a certain spin and it is first date gold. I even twirled my hair. Somehow, we ended up back at my place.

“That feels amazing.” I said breathlessly.

“Oh you have no idea.” He said, thrusting his half decently sized bulge inside of my gushing vagina.

He pulled out his erect penis and squirted himself all over my bare chest after a good four and a half minutes – my heavy breath making the cum drip down my stomach. After grabbing a towel to wipe myself off, I nestled back into his nook and simple giggles and sighs filled the air.

These memories feel like a blur, but I will sum them up like this. Less than the time it took the ejaculation I missed cleaning on my chest to crust, Tyler told me that he had once put cocaine into his father’s car's trunk as he traveled between the border of two European countries, that I could probably take a guess at, with every finger on his slightly pudgy hands crossed hoping that the car would get searched. Or that time he slept with his father’s boss’ daughter at a holiday work party with the hopes and success of being caught. And when a friend broke his television at a party, so he opened the gate in the yard to let that friend’s dog get lost for twelve hours. Maybe he told me this before we slept together.

I told myself and everyone else that we had sex three times that evening, not being able to keep our hands off of each other, and spent the time in between talking and laughing endlessly. We might have.

“I hate leaving.” He said while opening the door.

He blew me a kiss and I shut the door behind him. I spent the night with a giddy smile plastered across my face. I, apparently, felt comfortable, safe, wanted, and passionately uprooted from the rote intimacy that I had previously felt. Apparently. I don’t really remember these feelings but I told a friend that.

When you’re in a low spot, it is hard to recognize what isn’t healthy. I let the thrill of a few orgasms, some physical comfort, and useless giggles let me see him four times after.

“Forget the work tonight. You need to come fuck me.” I sent one day.

I never heard from him again.

The 27 of 2017: Skipping Ahead

The 27 of 2017: Skipping Ahead