Text-Ninja

Lee and I had met online, bumbling through several weeks of awkward IM and text messaging. Even with the awkwardness, I really had fun chatting with him. He was glib, down to earth, funny, and our chats felt like a good chess match. I was not used to the online thing and neither was he... there was no rulebook for how to do this. So we tried getting to know each other in this awkward fashion for a while. But really, for the most part we sucked at it. I had no idea what he was really like, and he kept getting me all wrong too.

But we had spent those same weeks checking each other out online. A lot. Every time I texted with him, I had to pull up his profile. And boy did he look cute. He was a Marine, over six feet tall and covered in lean, golden muscles in that particular way that adds up to veryy sexy proportions. His arms were each almost half the thickness of his V-shaped torso, he had a long waist decorated with 6 individually articulated ab muscles, and nicely defined, muscular legs with just enough hair on them. He was well-traveled and extremely well read too, which made for interesting conversations. From what I could tell, even though he was not what I would call a "big fish" (a really complex guy who's got it all), he was still plenty Interesting with a capital "I."

I'm pretty sure he pinged me the first time mostly because of my superhot profile photos. I'd just happened to have some from a chance photoshoot, I wasn't really a model, but I'd gotten lucky with the photos... I looked like a pro pin-up girl. Not the queen-sized kind either ... so my inbox was flooded with "Yumm" and "Hi beautiful" and simply "What a bod!" I got messages from impossible places (like Italy) and from impossible matches (you know, guys who would look really odd next to me in public). My inbox was a hodge-podge and I almost never found anybody interesting there. I had to hunt and peck myself, enter their profiles to see more photos, and then surf away from their pages. That was enough to get a message from the guy. What an oddly delicate dance.

Lee's first message to me was short and made it clear he'd actually read my profile after checking out my photos. "So you like dolphins. How come you intimidate people?" Thus our banter began. He was sensitive and blunt, but never pervy like some of the others. We had the Big Important Grownup Conversation about Relationships. I wanted NSA and he wanted Mrs. Right, sort of. I started to feel like the shallow one. But he put up with it and gave me a chance, let me lead a little. He was about 10 years younger than me, had a few stars in his eyes, and said he liked that I knew what I wanted and had that "confidence." Being the "older woman" was totally bizarre to me, I'd always picked older men, followed their lead.

So after a couple of late nights texting, we both realized we were going to have to meet up and get brave. I was more nervous than I expected... it felt like I was about to audition for a role I didn't know if I wanted. The transition from the comfortable texting to actually meeting was... visceral. We agreed to meet somewhere casual so neither of us would get all "done up." He seemed to have this weird thing about keeping it real, which I thought was funny given my profile photos. I could rock casual just as easily. It never mattered what I was wearing, I turned heads in a baggy sweatshirt. So I put on a pair of flared jeans and a clingy T-shirt with something hipstery on it, and walked over to the coffee shop near my house... casually hiding my racing heart. And ordered a cup of coffee. The barista was cheery and her flirting helped calm my nerves. He came right up behind me in line, smiled and winked, and ordered a tea. That was cool. And weird. And he was really really cute. And my knees went a littl soft. I forced myself to make eye contact with him, and put on my "one of the guys" act. We settled into low easy chairs in the corner. And then it got really hot. His eyes were all over me, I felt like a piece of meat. I suddenly wished we'd sat at a table, so I could have something between me an him. We were both grinning from ear to ear. I almost couldn't sip my coffee. I nudged his foot with mine and said,

"OK you're the guy so you start. Out with it, first thing that comes to mind. Whatever it is, no editing."

Aimiably, he fixed his eyes on the floor, smiling.

"Ok, you're really fucking hot and its weirding me out."

I almost spit out my coffee, took a deep breath, tucked a foot underneath me and said,

"I know what you mean. And I feel like everybody is watching us. Are they?"

Both of us scanned the room. The coffee shop was pretty busy, I was (thankfully) wrong.

"No," he said, still smiling. "Just me. But I'm going to just stare at this spot on the floor for a while. Its easier."

God, he could read my mind already. That was _my_ trick. I giggled.

"Ok I'm going to pick two spots on you for a while that are Ok to look at. Your left ear, and your right foot. That way I don't have to make eye contact. Its freaking me out."

He nodded, saying.

"You do that. Um. So now your turn. What do you think? I mean, about me now that you've actually seen me in person?"

The question hung in the air like a wrecking ball. My mind raced, too many answers. I blurted out, oversimplifying,

"I think you're even more interesting than you were before. And you are cuter than your photos."

He was. He had a really nice ass under his camo shorts. I sensed him breathing a sigh of relief, then I imagined what he'd sound like moaning. I could have kicked myself. So I stared at his left ear and continued, masking the tension,

"Want to take a walk?"

He lurched foward like the seat was on fire.

"Great idea."

He opened the door for me, I felt like everyone watched. Chivalry is nice, but sometimes seems so pomp and circumstance, like in a hipster coffee shop where everyone is supposed to do away with frills. Outside things cooled down and as we strolled along, we were able to talk almost like regular people. I showed him around the neighborhood, he talked about the drive over, I carefully avoided my street so I wouldn't have to NOT tell him where I lived. That would have been weird. He didn't ask. He seemed to like the neighborhood, and the ease with which we were finally talking. Once in a while I'd catch him staring at some part of me and grinning. I avoided looking anywhere but his left ear, eye contact was weird. I felt like a fish out of water, I was used to meeting guys in night clubs, dressed to the nines, surrounded by my cushion of amazing friends, and buzzed. This was his comfort zone, not mine. He seemed afraid of nothing here.

We eventually reached a little park where kids were playing kickball and dogs were fetching. It was a beautiful day and I could tell he liked the park.

"Want to try sitting again?" he asked, making eye contact, and thankfully, this time it wasn't weird. I still had some coffee left, was glad to have something to do with my hands. He started in on questions about me, about my many fascinating hobbies, about my windsurfing and flight attendant school. It was sweet that he wanted to know. I wasn't used to that. Nightclub boys just want to know if you're taken yet. I felt like I was talking too much about myself. I picked a new place to stare. He had nice, big, callused hands that looked like they picked up lots of heavy things.

I stopped chattering, and just waited. He turned my way, saw me watching his hands fidget, smiled. We must have looked like wary opponents. A little dog ran up and panted on his leg, then mine, ran off. I leaned in, he bristled, and I said softly

"You're making me nervous. Nobody does that." His thighs twitched and he laughed,

"Me too. Its weird. OK where can we get a beer right now?"

"I thought you'd never ask" I giggled, and led him to a kitschy dive bar 3 blocks away. Beer plans became a Rum & Coke, which I tried to delicately gulp. He smirked, reassuring me.

"Don't worry, nobody watches people in dive bars."

I shifted in my seat, trying not to look tense, and replied,

"OK so now that nobody is watching, we can stop behaving normally. Your move."

His eyes sparkled. Fearlessly. Then he turned his stool to face me, leaning an elbow on the bar and angling forward, looking me dead-on from head to toe and flashing his insanely bright brown eyes. I almost flinched. It felt like a flirt at recess in grade school. He wasn't being pervy but very clearly giving me all of his attention with every inch of his lean, elegantly muscled body. Every dirty thought in my head evaporated and I was giggling like a schoolgirl. I covered the schoolgirl face up with my drink. Fueled with liquid courage, I responded,

"You're funny. And you're making me even more nervous, so I'm going to start small talk now. Tell me about where you went to school."

So it went, quite nicely. we talked about bikes and photography, which he was into, and our favorite drinks, and where we were from, and what we didn't like about the downtown nightlife. We could have talked like that forever. He was smart and opinionated and very down to earth, and laughed at my jokes. Sometimes he would stop midsentence and stare at the floor for a few seconds, and then pick up again. I caught his eyes crawling hungrily down the neckline of my top, and it almost tingled. I liked his light Texan accent, wondered what it would sound like talking dirty against my neck. We finished our drinks and he paid the tab, and I hinted I was ready to be off.

Then the awkwardness came back. I didn't know how what was next and like the mindreader he was, he asked me. I blurted, "I guess we each go off and ponder some more."

He liked that and after an awkward handshake that made me want to hug him for some reason, I slowly walked back to my house, the back way so he wouldn't see me as he drove off. And pondered. I liked him and kept weighing his normie-ness. I could tell I was the most complicated woman he'd ever flirted with. His fearlessness became hotter to me the more I thought about it. I imagined myself in his shoes, facing the many layers of me, the intrigue, the mystery, the enormous, wild life I led... and I decided to let him come to know those layers in large terraced amounts, not hold back much, and see if he would run screaming. There was no other way to deal with it.

The next night he texted me late, and pretty soon we were doing the getting-to-know-you thing he was comfortable doing. But an hour into it, he simply dropped pretense, saying,

..OK now I'm going to try something here. I'm going to say a word.Just putting it out there as a word... we are aware it exists...

... Sex ...

... Just saying, no big deal.

Having already terraced the Big Important Conversation about Relationships (where I explained to him I thought of myself as a modern-day Geisha, sans kimono), I was ready to answer his wary question. I told him to ask me anything, but be prepared to run screaming. Fearlessly, he did... carefully at first, with simple questions. Things like when I last had sex, what were the circumstances. Then I got a weird impulse to just dump all the information in his lap at once, to give him the "TMI Sex Speech", with the caveat that he could stop me at any point if it really became too much. He let me. He was so curious, and fearless, he practically begged me to. It went something like this.

...I write erotic literature. Most of it is true and from my own experiences. I have tried a fair amount of wild sex. Orgies, elaborate toys, threesomes (with couples or two single people, MW and FF), soft swinging, voyeurism including striptease and performed or public sex, light BDSM and rough play, some (clean) fetishes, lesbian trysts, and even mild asphyxia. Although I consider myself mostly straight, I like playing with girls; they tend to give the best head and ridiculously attentive, delicate foreplay. They also help me tune into the dirtier part of my mind and just enjoy that part of myself... although honestly, the orgasms are rarely as intense as with men. I have had a lot of incredible, ecstatic sex, some of it unprotected, but I am extremely selective and careful, and only play with people I know fairly well. I do not actually have a lot of sex compared to many people, and I do not tend towards one-night stands; its safer and sexier to fuck people who take responsibility for the whole process, who want to do a good job and know what they're doing and get better at it with practice. Its usually not what I would call "lovemaking" ... that's a very specific type of sex and I'm not into it these days. I started exploring all this wilder sex just about when the relationship I was in stopped really rocking my world.

... R U OK?

(he said yes, of course, please don't stop, this is neat!)

...Sometimes, I "play" with people I consider true friends, people who know what they are doing and keep any sort of emotional drama out of it. Usually, I don't go all the way with them, and when I do, its sort of like falling in lust or love very temporarily. Afterwards, we go right back to being friends and its totally fine and not weird. After all the experimenting (and I did enjoy most of it), I discovered that basically, I like normal, straight sex most. I do not enjoy BDSM or anal, and I only like giving oral so far under unusual or drug-induced circumstances. Some drugs can occasionally make me very oral. I do, however, consistently like rough sex, talking dirty, tight clothing and latex, and have a sort of fetish for penetration if you can call it that, but its not a size-queen thing. I just like straight-up fucking and watching it; myself, others, mirrors, performance sex, you name it. I have always wanted to try playing a "gentle" dom, and (separately) sex with more than one man at once (one cock at a time though), but I suppose every girl does, so maybe that's not really that unusual. Bisexual men don't generally attract me but I am willing to give it a try since they are probably exceptionally skilled.

... U run screaming yet?

(he said no, of course)

...Good. Diatribe almost done here. Anyways, basically, I am simply not all that kinky after all that experimentation, but I'm pretty curious and open-minded to new stuff. The upshot of all this is, I am told I have mad fucking skills, and am a weak-in-the-knees-good kisser. I am a yoga "gumby," I am mostly double-jointed and a former gymnast, and can do some really crazy positions. I am exceptionally in touch with my body, and I think it helps me tune into others'. Furthermore, I come very easily, usually just from my clit, in a minute or less. I do not fake orgasms, and I never act reluctant unless I really am. I don't mind the lights on most of the time (especially if I am wearing something amazing), but I am not very visual myself (I climax faster by turning inward, closing my eyes), and sometimes it makes me self-conscious depending on my mood. I usually dish out wilder, more gratifying sex in the dark, and/or with drugs, champagne, rum, and/or tequila involved. I like being touched and kissed a lot, all over, adored, owned, thrown around, fucked from every angle, used like a toy, told exactly what to do, almost relentlessly.

... Keep going?

(he said yes, please! laughing)

...One of the sexiest things in the world is a man who knows himself, owns his shit (no games, no bullshit), and just plain knows what he wants. My sex partners do not need to be soulmates or even "activity partners," but they do need to spend time around me enough to know who I am, and very overtly want me. Light romance helps too, but you don't have to tell me that your love is forever. Physically, I tend to like tall, muscular, extremely athletic men with big shoulders, hands, and legs: hulking Slavic types, badass/outdoorsy gentle giants, and funny, smart, capable men who are passionate about their lives. They turn me on when they make me feel pretty, safe, fascinating, and delicate, and then overwhelm me rather intensely. I have rape fantasies, which probably means that deep down I am still a little uptight and need to be excused for my own horniness.

... What I don't like: Men who do not know what they want or move too slowly or timidly. Non-athletic people, poor hygiene, Cokeheads, short or skinny men, poor situational awareness, talking too much during sex, too much focus on sex without enough hanging around time, too much focus on a fetish, and awkward sexual scripting. I generally don't go for lots of piercings, or for dark-skinned or very hairy men (although I do like tight facial hair and a well-groomed, visible amount of body hair on a guy is fucking sexy as hell).

OK I think that's everything. U survive?

As he furiously crafted his answer, I remembered what he was like in person... almost. I had trouble remembering, it had only been a two hour meetup. I remembered his bright, deep brown eyes, the freckle in the right one, and his hands.

...This is totally awesome, and weird. You are such a grownup woman, not some girl, you know so much about this stuff. You have this power over me. I have so much less experience than you, I have to respect it, not judge it. I want more of this.

I thought that was funny since really I'd never thought of myself as a sex goddess, and really believed there was a lot out there for me to learn, see, and experience still. He was sweet and honest, and the oddness evaporated quickly from the conversation, and soon he was joking and almost sexting, sweetly, still fearlessly... admitting he couldn't stop staring at my boobs, joking about how horny he was. I continued to terrace him, as gently as I could, telling him about the orgy that happened at my last party (which I was not part of) and explaining swingers, "play," and various types of open relationships. He seemed to like that I knew these things, and was very curious. Deciding that he was not enough for me, I mercifully finished the night by "sending him off" with a very hot photo from a recent hotrod calendar shoot I was in, scantily but not untastefully clad. Let's just say he did not run screaming.

Twenty minutes later, a message shot across my phone:

"It Worked! Thank YOU!"