Recently, a Tinder woman used me as masturbation fodder. There’s nothing wrong with this, of course, except that she disappeared shortly after she came, she lied about her intentions, and was gone without saying bye.
When she left, we had notional plans to meet, and she had promised me very much.
I should say, I knew she would disappear. There were a few tells. First, foremost, her age: she’s 21. Young young young. Without taking anything away from the occasional serious youngster, most often, they’re not here for what I have to offer in any real sense. If they are engaging with me, it’s for near-term titillation, not longer-term, real-life excitement. That’s too much.
Second, the speed with which she ramped up: we went from small talk to “I need your cock” far too quickly. Finally, she chafed at sharing her voice, or an e-mail address. Some women don’t have e-mail addresses other than the one that’s “[email protected],” particularly the younger ones, but my experience has been that, if a woman is, seriously, interested in getting to know me, she either already has a non-disclosing e-mail address or is prepared to make one. Maybe even including my name in it. 😉
I must confess, I don’t understand her behavior. I’ve written about it before. But here we were, making plans, interacting, and then, all of a sudden, after what she says is her second orgasm, she’s gone. Of course, I have screen shots of her Tinder profile because – well, because I had the sense she might vanish. Not that I’d ever post them here. It was more a sort of protective impulse to keep something of her, in the face of her imminent loss.
But how did she know I wouldn’t post the pictures I have of her here?
I won’t, but here’s my version of a paean to her:
In the front cover picture, her blonde hair, straight, reaches the top of her breasts (34C she had told me). She’s in a strapless grey dress that’s cinched tight by elastic just under her breasts, and that hangs down to just above her knees. There’s embroidery on the bottom, and she wears a white cardigan sweater, open, over the sweater. She’s holding a glass, empty, and smiling just a little shy-ly. A crucifix hangs on her neck, and the photo shows just the very tops of what appear to be leather boots.
In the second picture, she’s in a bikini, standing in front of blue/green tropical water. She’s leaning just a little forward, caught mid-speech, it appears. Her breasts are straining at the striped bikini top, and her thighs meet just above the blue bikini bottom, leaving a tantalizing gap through which I can see the bright sand. She has a navel ring, a necklace (can’t quite make out what it says – maybe it’s an “Om” necklace) and a number of plastic/rubber bracelets – of the sort that indicated she’s paid for entry to some beach club or for some drinks – on her right arm. Her hair’s windswept, not wet any more, but it looks like maybe she swam half an hour ago. She’s tan. The bikini top ends below the subtle tan line on her breasts.
And in the third picture, she’s on a stone patio somewhere, in strappy sandals, a patterned cotton skirt to mid-thigh, and a nearly sheer, thin cotton tank top that features her cleavage temptingly. Her right arm is on her hip, her left hangs down. Her right ankle is up slightly, and her right hip is just a little higher than her right as a result. She’s wearing yet another necklace in this one, and a copper/gold bracelet on her left wrist. Or maybe it’s a watch. Her hair’s just a little longer in this shot, ending just at her nipples. Her smile is… guilty? coquettish? I’m not quite sure.
In any event, I’m disappointed she disappeared. She looked like she would have been a lot of fun. And I know I would have been.