Bad dates

It was a Tinder date. I wasn’t especially optimistic, and, it turns out, I had good reason not to be especially optimistic. I really should trust my gut.

It started badly. Annica offered her cheek, standoffish-ly. Her body language was closed, distant. She said I was defensive. But her pussy was wet, in spite of herself. (She’s a self-proclaimed slut. I was the first of two guys she…

I don’t have many dates. Most of them are good. Great, even. I tend to go on dates only with women I know I’m going to get along with. Once in a while, I deviate from this practice, and go…

I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention. This is true. If I meet you, at a minimum, it’s because I imagine I’ll enjoy some combination of talking with and looking at you, and, even if that’s…

We walked into the dark bar. Neither of us was feeling especially revved for the date. We weren’t at our best. Still…. T looked phenomenal in a striped maxi-dress from American Apparel. I was in my usual jeans and t-shirt,…

We stood in the back of the crowded bar.  We mused at how this kind of bar – a sort of faux-speakeasy, overflowing with attitude, and with a drinks menu featuring absinthe and autumn fruits and all sorts of other…