A Bit Much for a Monday

By Emily Extra

It’s a bit much for a Monday. I am wearing a short, slinky, mesh black dress to meet S in person for the first time. I convince myself that the addition of a blazer at least makes me look like a high-end escort. But I want to look slutty. It is all part of the fantasy and I am so excited to meet this guy.

First there was the hot 25 year-old on Hinge that was admittedly into ‘mature pussy’ (can we please rebrand that to ‘varsity pussy’) who showed me how to SnapChat. Took me at least a day to work out that he lived hours away and was probably not a great first choice.

Then there was Matt. To this day, gross Matt is jerking off to my messages. Thankfully I did not send photos. Wait, that’s a lie - there were photos but without my face…

The experience with Matt rattled me. For maybe 5 minutes. Then I went a little nuts on Hinge and Tinder and accumulated about 50 matches in 24 hours. Mostly 25 year-olds and bots. The 25 year-olds are easy.

Me: Hot profile. Looks like we have nothing in common except maybe our insatiable sex drives?

I quickly work out some of my exclusion criteria, some admittedly petty. Bad grammar. Dick pics. Finance bros. Dumb guys. Preppy guys. Hipsters.

I have a few hot chats with my usual types – tall, dark, handsome, masculine men. Plan a few dates during a week when my kids are with their dad.

Then for some reason I swipe right on a tall Englishman, close to my age, with kids. I don’t actually know why. The universe looking out for us? He has kind, cheeky eyes and he looks like he is sharing a joke with whoever snapped his photo behind the DJ booth. He has an interesting profile about looking for a queen instead of a princess and he likes electronic music. My kids are asleep and I am drinking wine on my sofa.

Me: Hi S will you be at the gig Saturday? If so, it would be nice to meet you for a drink.

Him: Hey Em nice to meet you. I won’t unfortunately, it’s my time with the kids.

He tells me about his upcoming gigs and asks me about my taste in music. He sends some of his music and we chat about our exes and our kids. We decide we want to meet in person but also that our time with the kids is opposite to each other and that we won’t be able to meet for a couple of weeks.

Him: Totally need to find out what kind of crazy we both are.

Me: I’m pretty fucking crazy. In the best of ways.

I give him my number and we chat for probably another hour about anything and everything. We are about to sign off and resign ourselves to the fact that we won’t meet for at least another 10 days and then I drop a bomb about my crazy libido. He sends me a hot track and tells me he is going to tie me the fuck up and make me quiver. And that one defining moment sets us up on some kind of cosmic, orgasmic trajectory.

The next day we chat about our favourite porn categories and add each other on Snapchat. I send him some of my writing. We discuss sex toys. I think we both start to get cautiously excited to meet and realise that we deserve some fun and excitement.

Fast forward another full week of work - this time my kids are with me and he has free time. Still great banter. He makes himself cum on a Thursday night as I describe my first sexcapade with a woman from many years ago. 

Fucking finally. The Monday we are supposed to meet. After 10 days of orgasms and oversharing, I worry that our first face-to-face meeting can’t possibly live up to the fantasy I have built in my head.

But I play along. I put on my short dress to barely cover what’s underneath. I look like I’m asking for it. I am asking for it. I make sure the house is clean in case he comes back to it.

Him: Good for 6?

Me: Yep! See you soon.

Him: Just jumped out of the Uber. Are you inside?

Me: No I’m about to get out of my Uber now. I am across the street and I see you.

He looks just like I imagined. I cross the street and he gives me a warm hug.

Fuck his English accent is throwing me off and I am sure my American accent is doing the same to him. 

We walk inside. It is a Monday at 6pm. I am dressed provocatively, it is daylight and no one is inside the restaurant. We head downstairs. 

He asks me if I like hip-hop. I blurt out something stupid about A Tribe Called Quest and cannot for the life of me think of a single artist even though I know lyrics to Wu-Tang, Dre, Biggie, Tupac. My brain has left the building. 

We order a drink and sit down. He has laugh lines around his eyes and dimples hidden by his beard, he has big hands, he tells dad jokes, he puts me at ease. I forget how to act on a first date but I’m touching his leg as we chat and making intense eye contact. The bartender, our only witness, clearly knows that I am into S but I am unsure if S is into me. We order some food and another round. We barely eat. We talk about our pasts. We both have crazy stories to share and no filters.

Is he looking at me like he wants to kiss me? Should I kiss him? If I lean into kiss him and I’ve misread the situation, I’m going to be mortified. I take the plunge, I lean in. He kisses me back, slowly and softly. 

I can’t remember which one of us said that we should get the check. We make out on the street, his hands running through my hair and my body pressed up against his. A snarky woman walks by and comments that we should get a room.

We tumble into an Uber, and we suck each other’s faces and let our hands wander during the short ride to my house. I somehow find my key and walk us inside the front door. He pulls up my slutty dress and grabs my ass. He pins me up against the wall, kissing me passionately. He knows what I like. He bends me over the sofa and pulls off my Italian lingerie (last worn in 2010) and drops to his knees, tasting my wetness. I am biting my lip, moaning and running my hands through his sexy hair. 

I can’t remember the order of what happens next. I think we are both naked except his socks and my heels. At some point, I grab a litre of water out of the fridge that we keep spilling. I take him by the hand and try to lead him upstairs to my bedroom, but he waits at the bottom of the steps. He deliberately studies my naked body as I walk up the stairs ahead of him. 

His hands are giant and at first, gentle. He grabs both of my breasts in one hand and pinches my nipple until I cry out. We fuck for hours. It is a blur. I want his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere, his cock everywhere. We keep taking breaks to drink water, just lying there comfortably chatting and then one of us nibbles gently on the other’s neck and we get aroused again and keep fucking. I have one orgasm after another. 

He masters my pussy and knows exactly how to make me cum without me needing to speak. The 6th orgasm is the best. I am on my stomach and his fingers are inside me gently pressing against my g-spot as I rub my clit. Our fingers meet and I climax so hard. We are exposed but it is not awkward. We are smiling and enjoying each other. Raw and beautiful. We realise it is 1am and he reluctantly leaves.

He sends me a message when he gets home and we lock in our second date for later that week.