She’s young. Younger than I usually am drawn to. We met on Tinder, and she promised me much. She delivered a tantalizing tease, and then vanished.

She resurfaced, days later, in a hospital bed. She’d fallen, hard. Broken bones. Laid up.

We exchanged words, but not so many pictures, for a bit. And then, she was up and about. Back at work, showing me her very pretty body. Her dark brown skin. Her subtle curves. Her leggings, day after day.

She’s compliant, mostly, but not perfectly, alas. She promises the sun, the moon, and the stars. And I fucking want them.

We met for one drink. Damn. Damn. Damn. I need her mouth on my cock. NEED.

But she had confessions.

It’d been a year since she’d had an orgasm. Four years since she’d sucked a cock. The last guy whose cock she’d sucked had been harsh, violent, rough. And not, she said, in a consensual way. Fuck. These are worrisome, sad things. But also, just a little hot. Not that there’s anything hot in either repression or assault. There’s not. But one thing I know about myself is that, for all my dominance, for all my swagger, I’m a deeply respectful, kind, and generous sexual partner. I bring a combination of firmness and kindness and gentleness that can be, that could be, a reasonable antidote for these sorts of bad experiences.

As I sipped my scotch, I said to her, “Go touch your pussy for me. I want to smell it on your fingers.” She’s read my blog, but she was shocked. And, she wanted to give me what I wanted. Hot.

So she went. Her tiny ass receded from me. A few minutes later, she returned. I took her hand and brought it to my face. Was it perfume or pussy I smelled? I don’t know. (Hours later, I still smelled perfume, faintly.)

I asked her to come for me that night. No, not to record it for me, just to come for me.

She told me she did. Twice.

I asked her for details but, almost a week later, she’s found it hard to give them.

I want her mouth on my cock. I want to teach her. Not how to suck cock. That’s a generic skill in which I have no interest.

No, I want to teach her to suck my cock. That’s a specific – and highly useful – skill.

I also fantasize that I can help her get in touch with her own pleasure, that I can help her learn just how much pleasure her body is capable of having.

And, in the back of my mind, I wonder: will we get there? She confessed to me that sometimes she uses Tinder to talk to guys, guys she has no intention of meeting, no intention of giving access to her very pretty body, no intention of collecting pleasure from, no intention of giving pleasure to.

Am I one of those guys? We did meet. I did taste her mouth, in a brief kiss good-bye. So there’s that.

We shall see.

We shall see.

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