I’m 37F. Divorced about a year. Have lots of casual fun because monogamy has never been for me.

Been flirting with a guy local to me from Bumble this past week. Last night was our first meeting. A blind date.

We go for drinks and it goes fabulously. He’s charming and funny and not hard on the eyes. I of course know how things will end but decide to leave him some shreds of doubt to keep it interesting. I do agree to let him give me a ride back to his place.

We get there and he says he’ll make us another drink. I’m on the couch while he’s making me an old fashioned (bonus points for that!) when he confesses, “I need to admit that I actually knew you, or rather knew of you, before we met on Bumble. I’m friends with Jason (last name redacted) and I’ve seen him tag you in stuff before. I’ve totally stalked you online. There’s something about you. I’ve had a thing for you since I first knew you existed.”

He brings the drinks to the couch. We cheers and he quickly sits. I give him a devious smile and put my drink on the table. I reach for his drink and he reluctantly hands it over with a curious cock of his head.

I turn to face away from him and then recline in his lap. I stretch out, arch my back a bit, not so subtly grind into him, and rest my head on his shoulder. He’s a little cautious with his hand placement so I encourage him with my own to let them explore. I’m positioned perfectly to whisper in his ear.

“So you had a thing for me, huh? Was this a got-to-meet-her kinda thing?”

I wiggle a bit and breathe very deeply.

Before he can say anything, I continue. “Or was this a got-to-take-her-on-a-date kinda thing?”

I arch my back again and reach around so I can run my hand through his hair. I feel him getting excited.

“Or was this a really-need-to-kiss-her-kinda-thing?” I ask, grinding into him much more intentionally.

I feel his breath on my neck while one hand slips under my favorite green sundress. ($20 with pockets and totally fabulous, BTW!)

“Or was this a really-need-to-fuck-her kinda thing?” I ask.

The intensity is building quickly. It’s clear he wants me and is more than ready. But I can tell he’s still contemplating that this could be one terrible tease.

Just as his fingers are about to confirm how ready my own body is, I spin around and straddle his lap, asking him “well what kinda thing was it?”

He exhales, slightly overcome by the moment, and offers, “all of those. You’re beautiful and have this amazing energy.”

He leans forward a bit to try to kiss me - for the very first time. I bite my lip and playfully shake my head. He’s definitely confused at this point but indulging me.

“What if I told you that I was hoping you’d admit it was a really-need-to-fuck-her kinda thing?” I whisper to him.

I raise up just enough to unzip his pants and pull him free. I slowly lower myself down onto him. Not a thread of underwear beneath my dress to complicate the move.

And there we were. Me inpaled on him. I can’t help but shiver and moan and smile from just how damn good he feels.

I lean forward and whisper in his ear, “I want you to fuck me. I want to fuck me in such a way I cannot tell it you like me or hate me. And if you do that until you cannot possibly do it one second more, and I think you’ve done a sufficient job, I’ll let you kiss me.”

An hour later, with my makeup a bit of a mess, some of his cum on my face, my green dress torn beyond repair and a fresh head of just been fucked hair — we ended our first date with a really nice kiss.