The women of Snapchat: Emily

There are two of them – Blondie and Emily.

They’re very different in almost every way.

The exceptions are these:

1) They both live too far away from me. (I met both of them through Tinder on the same trip out of town last spring.)
2) They both have pretty much insisted on Snapchat as the venue for our communications (in spite of how much I hate it).

Today, I’ll tell you about Emily. Soon, Blondie.

Emily is younger than I typically am attracted to. She is terrified of ruining her life by sending me compromising pictures by e-mail. She operates under the misapprehension that Snapchat will prevent her from ruining her life by sending compromising pictures. She doesn’t get that what Snapchat does is prevent technically incompetent people from saving the images she sends, but that it does nothing to prevent technically competent people from saving her images. I, of course, am technically incompetent. So by sending me her pictures in little 3-second self-destructing “Mission Impossible” form, all she does is frustrate me.

Don’t get me wrong: I totally get being reluctant to share compromising images. (I’m not.) What I don’t get is being willing to share them in one medium, but not another.

She’s beautiful, to be sure, but, like Blondie, a little irascible. She really likes to show me the same shots over and over. I understand this. I like to see the same shots over and over. But the shots I like to see aren’t precisely the shots she likes to send. This leads to some frustration on each of our parts, I think. She likes to bite her lips, lean down to the camera, and show me her perky, small breasts. They’re gorgeous. I don’t blame her for being proud. She also likes to show me a sequence, beginning with her in her gym wear, and ending with her nude, her hairless pussy featured prominently for me. I like her pussy. Every time I see it, I’m reminded of how much I want to lick it, to slide a finger or three up into it, to fuck it. But the truth is, what I really want to see is less compromising pictures than she wants to send.

She could send me G or PG pictures by e-mail. They’d be lower-risk than the nudies she wants to send me via Snapchat. She could comply with me, one hundred percent. And I could jerk off to her images. Instead of holding my thumb on that stupid little red box for three seconds at a time. Recently, for the first time ever, she sent two pictures by e-mail: in one, she’s in an athletic bra and leggings, bent over, biting her lip, her thighs just barely apart, letting a tiny speck of light be seen between them just under her pussy. In the second, her leggings are gone, and the camera’s focused on her midsection. Her lips aren’t visible in this hot, just her bra and the pale green, lacy thong that’s pressing loosely against her (wet?) pussy.

She’s an incipient slut. She’s horny as hell, but reticent, torn between satisfying her carnal urges and being, well, you know, a good girl.

Sadly, it seems unlikely she’ll ever be my good girl. But here’s hoping….

Postscript: She read this and said I sound bitter. This is tragic. I’m not, at all, bitter. I’m incredibly grateful for every bit of hotness she chooses to send my way, in whatever medium, in whatever pose. The thing is, I hate Snapchat. And I want a lot more of her. That’s really what it boils down to.

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