After I ended my six-year relationship, I did a hard reset on my life. I would focus on my hobbies, explore new things, and do more exercise. I committed to being happy on my own for a while and not pursuing a relationship. I had the romantic idea that if I relaxed and did my own thing, I would meet some new love interests the slow, old-fashioned way.

Sure, I met some people and had some flings, but they were few and far between. Just like the good old days, I imagine. After a year, I conceded that I was ready to move on, but it would probably entail getting back on dating apps.  

I hate dating apps. Dating apps always become a dreaded part-time job. First, there is the doom-swiping. Half of the matches, you mull over and decide you weren’t interested in anyway. For the other half left, you craft the perfect witty yet effortless opener. A few respond. Then you message for days—sometimes weeks—until you both agree it might be worth meeting.

And then? You finally sit across from them and realize the spark you imagined was just good lighting and a lot of misunderstanding. All that time. All that energy. For what usually amounts to a forgettable date and sex so mediocre it barely deserves a callback. What a waste.

I proceeded noncommittally and with caution. I checked out the apps on the market. I settled on Hinge—it felt like the path of least resistance and effort. The whole profile takes about 20 minutes to set up: upload up to six photos, answer a maximum of six prompts, and voilà—you’re back in the game with minimal emotional investment.

I needed a quick date to get back in the saddle. Within the first hour, an interesting-looking guy messaged. A Mexican. He would do.

As I walked through the door for my first date in seven years, I was mildly disappointed. He had a completely different vibe than what were probably vacation pics on his profile. He had a slightly geeky look, with glasses, gelled hair, and a flannel button-up shirt. I didn't see any semblance of the body in the photos under that shirt. He had a flicker of excitement in his eyes as he leaned in, poised with the confidence of someone about to shoot a fish in a barrel.

The date itself was boring. He insisted on talking about himself quite a lot, although I am probably a way more interesting person, at face value. First, he talked at me about how he had his dream job: making satellite components. Then he told me all the details of his Circadian Rhythm Sleep-Wake Disorder, which, in a nutshell, is when your circadian rhythm is out of sync with daylight. That would be a sort of interesting topic, except he has taken medication for it for years. So he doesn't even have the disorder anymore. This was all he had in his arsenal of small talk?

Amidst my disappointment, I was also relieved. Perhaps this was still the perfect first date since I had absolutely nothing to be nervous about. I was way hotter than this guy. And who knows, maybe he has a nice dick.

I agreed to go back to his place. He lived in a shared apartment. I could see he had a routine gimmick where he escorted girls over to the bay window to view the Karl-Marx-Allee below. On a small table next to the window were two shot glasses and a bottle of mezcal. We took the shots, then he made his move.

It lasted all of about 15 minutes. He was a bad kisser. His body wasn’t interesting. Nothing like the photos, looked like he hadn't been inside a gym for a while. At the very end, he did get a good position in doggy, but it didn’t last long enough to do me any good. After he came, he made no attempt to do anything for me. Pretty run-of-the-mill bad sex.

When it was over, I sat casually nude on a small sofa and talked openly about sex, as I always do. This seemed to be a turn -off for him, but he did indulge me, telling me a bit about his habits.

His narrative is exactly what I had imagined I would meet on the apps: He never masturbates anymore. He just picks up a new girl every time from the apps. He enjoys the hunt, but usually only sleeps with a girl once. He has to tell girls all of the time that he doesn’t want anything more serious because he is really not interested in a relationship.

I mused to myself as he explained this because 1) he was not very attractive, and 2) he had the emotional intelligence of a tween, at best. Any poor girl who thought she was in love with this box of rocks still had a lot of things to learn in life.

My first date was exactly what I had expected, confirming my dread about getting back on the apps.  Was there a way to make this whole experience better?

I focused on the profiles of guys who had already liked my profile. They were stacking up by the dozens. As I swiped through the profiles, I noticed they were all substantially younger than me. Ninety percent of the matches were in their late 20s or early 30s.

I had never taken younger guys very seriously. Surely we would have nothing to talk about, right? Some of these guys are not just younger, they are REALLY hot.

I had never really gone for hot guys either. I always figured hot guys were just in it for the sex and weren’t interesting to date. But what if all of the guys on the apps are just looking for sex? Why wouldn’t you pick the hot ones?

I still dismissed most of them as too young, swiping past them till I landed on one profile. Kian. 34 years old, not too young. He had a subtly seductive but still friendly look about him. A Mediterranean with nice lips and attentive eyes. Almost no text on the profile, except the response to the prompt “My love language is...” to which he responded “small bites.” As I scrolled down through his photos that were all pretty PG, the last photo revealed a bare chest and the abs of a Greek god.

He already liked my profile. What did I have to lose by returning the favor? I nervously clicked on the “like” button.   

Within 20 minutes, he messaged, “loser at table tennis buys the first drinks.”

“We don’t have to play then, I can already tell you: I suck at table tennis.”

“OK, no table tennis. Maybe I can come over and pet your cat instead?”

“Unfortunately, the cat in the pictures isn’t mine. You look more like a dog person.”

“Dogs are fine, but cats are more interesting, more to unpack. Drinks tomorrow?”

---

It was a late summer afternoon. I had settled on a slutty shirt cut into a tank top with a sheer black bra under it with cut off levi short shorts. We had agreed on a beer garden in our neighborhood. When I walked in the entrance, there was no doubt he was the man sitting to the left. I was sure that he would be hot, but I was not prepared for the sheer impact and sexiness of his presence.

His face lit up, and he jumped up as I walked over to him. He wrapped his bare sculpted arms around me in a short embrace and gave me a kiss on the cheek. He had a pleasant, confident smile on his face and offered straight away to go get me a drink.

I was thankful to have a moment to collect myself. My only worry had been that he would be arrogant or conceited. Those doubts had already melted away. Two seconds of his relaxed demeanor and pleasant smile, and he had already convinced me to fuck him.

He returned with a beer for me and white wine schorle for himself. I looked at his classy white wine and was a little ashamed of my basic bitch order.

“So you’ve just started dating again after a long relationship?”

“Yes, this is my second date.”

“Well, then the pressure is on to impress. Welcome to the Berlin dating scene,” he said while letting a sly smile roll across his face.

I snorted a bit and replied, “I hope I’m not here for too long!”

He must know how he makes women soaking wet with all his sexy calmness, but you wouldn’t know it from how he acts. He glided through small talk with a look of genuine interest on his face, mostly asking questions, listening carefully to my answers, rather than spouting off random facts about himself.

I offered to buy a second drink as a courtesy. When I returned with the second round, I noticed that he took the opportunity to reposition himself closer and directly in front of me.

As we talked, he leaned forward on the edge of his seat, with his hands near my bare knees, but not quite touching them. He never touched me, but he showed his appetite with his whole body posture. He waited poised with a slight tension in his back, in patient anticipation for whatever would come next.

When we had both finished our drinks, he casually asked if we should make our way to his place. I sprang out of my seat, ready to go.

In fewer than 10 minutes, we were sitting in his living room. He put on some music and asked if I wanted another drink. Water was fine for me. No need for more alcohol, I wanted to be totally mentally present for this. He didn't bother pouring himself another drink either.

I had planted myself on the sofa to wait like a child on the night before Christmas for him to make his move. He slunk over to the sofa with the waters. He handed mine to me, continuing to make conversation, although his mind was clearly already somewhere else.

In a few short minutes, he finally made his move with a deep kiss I was more than ready for. He seemed to relish the kisses and eventually paused to tell me I was an excellent kisser. I kissed him deeply again and replied, "Kissing is about experience, but it's also about compatibility."

"Exactly."

We could feel each other's eagerness, but neither of us was in a rush. Both of us were going to savor this as it occurred. After 20 minutes, he led me into the bedroom where we watched each other as we both undressed.

Light shone in from the other room, bouncing off his hairless chest and torso. His pictures hadn’t lied. Every muscle was precisely where it should be under a fresh tan. With a calm, steady gaze, he slid down his black briefs to release his cock that stood away from his body, erect.

I peeled off my tank top and slid down my cutoffs. He closed the distance between us to begin kissing me again. He effortlessly unfastened my bra with one hand, which my brain immediately logged as another of his many professional fuck boy talents.

I broke off his kiss, sliding my mouth down his shoulder, then slid down his body, taking advantage of the moment to feel the smooth muscles of his sides and abs. From my knees, I looked up his body and saw him peering down at me with his mouth slightly open. I took his cock in my hand, poised to take a taste.

I looked back down and got a good look at his cock. It was a bit larger than average with a nice, round, circumcised tip. It had a distinct juicy vein running along the top side of it. I took the tip slowly in my mouth, giving it a bit of a suck while flicking my tongue along the bottom side of the tip.

He leaned his head back. I took it as a sign to slide more of his cock slowly into my mouth and to use my right hand to massage his balls. I began slowly moving my mouth up and down his shaft while massaging his balls.

After five or six long strokes, I took his cock out of my mouth and held it in my left hand. I put each of his balls into my mouth and gave them a nice suck while stroking his cock with my left hand.

After each of his balls got a nice suck, I ran my tongue and mouth up the bottom of his shaft and put the tip back in my mouth. I sucked more firmly than I had the first time, using my hand to massage his shaft as I sucked. He moaned lightly as I built up speed.

When his sounds signaled to me that he was enjoying the blowjob thoroughly, I shoved my throat down hard on his cock, sending the tip far into the back of my throat. A guttural groan escaped his mouth, and his hand shot up to the back of my head in response.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and I continued to alternate between sucking and deep throating. I loved to hear his pleasure escape his mouth with each groan.

“You are really good at that.”

I wasn’t used to getting so many compliments on my skills. “Thank you, but surely you get a lot of head.”

“Yeah, but not like this. Your mouth is definitely well above average.”

With his clear approval, I went in for some intense deep throating, choking myself on his swollen cock till I had reflux. After this final gag, I could see in the eager expression on his face that he was ready to move on.

As he pulled me up on the bed and took off my underwear, he felt between my legs. “So wet.”

“Always.”

His look had narrowed, and I could see in his face that he could only think about one thing in that moment: plunging his hard cock in my wet pussy. I was so excited, I did not really need the foreplay, so I leaned back, inviting him to enter me.

Without hesitation, he entered me while giving out a short moan in my ear, and began thrusting at a brisk pace. I ran my hands up his sides and felt along his muscles as he pumped. He penetrated with just the right depth to hit my A-spot but not my cervix. I began to moan with pleasure as I built up for a prolonged penetration orgasm that would last as long as he kept hitting that spot.

I quickly reached an A-spot orgasm, and after giving me several delicious strokes on my A-spot, he pulled out and slid down my body to eat my pussy. Like in all things, he ate enthusiastically. He gave deep, long licks and used his hands, but with care, so there was no sharpness or discomfort.

Feeling my pussy was ready, he pulled himself to the top of the bed and beckoned for me to get on top of him. I happily complied and held his cock with my hand as I straddled and slipped him into my wet pussy.

He let out a long sigh as I lowered myself down on his cock. I licked and kissed the right side of his neck and ear as I rubbed my pussy up and down over his cock. I worked my way across his right shoulder, pinning his right arm above his head. I gave the side of his chest and the border of his armpit a lick and a light suck. I could feel him respond, so I slipped my tongue into his armpit, and he gave out a loud moan. I kissed and bit his bicep and ran my tongue back over the edge of his armpit.

As my face neared his again, he reached his arms up to wrap them around me. He thrust up hard, hitting my A-spot again, releasing a moan from my mouth. He continued ramming his cock into the same spot till I screamed with climax. My legs shook uncontrollably on both sides of him. He gave a few final thrusts, then rolled me to the side to recover from the aftershocks of the orgasm.

He went to stand by the side of the bed, gazing down at me patiently. When I had recovered enough to move my legs, I dragged myself over to the edge of the bed and ran my lips up the side of his shaft and slipped his dick in my mouth again. He fucked my face shallowly, placing his hands on my back for leverage.

After I had cleaned his cock of my juice, he pulled me up by one arm and spun me around so my ass brushed against his cock. He pushed me forward onto the edge of the bed. He thrust into me firmly with his usual pace and slapped my ass. He grabbed onto my hips as he thrust. He eventually leaned forward over my back and wrapped his arm under me to grab my stomach. This made me feel uncomfortable at first, as I was self-consciously aware that there was a little fat on my stomach. Eventually, I relaxed, and the worry faded away. Many months later, he told me that it is one of his favorite moves and he enjoys the feel of having something to grab onto.

He was thrusting so hard, I quickly had to lower my face down on the mattress and put my arms out over my head to brace myself against his pounding. The impact quickly became so great that I had to lower myself down onto the mattress completely. He followed suit, continuing to fuck me as hard as he could from behind.

As I became hoarse from screaming my pleasure, my face was buried against the mattress. I turned my face to the side so I could free my mouth to breathe a bit. His face was only inches above mine. He turned his head as he fucked me and pressed his cheek down on my cheek.  The gesture felt uniquely intimate, like he wanted to touch as much of me as he could as he was deep inside of me.

Although he fucked me from behind for relatively long, he had a pace for change, not allowing us to settle too long into any one position. He always knew exactly where he wanted to go, so I let him move me from position to position. I lay back and let him use me, pleasuring me the whole time.

I usually keep my eyes closed during sex to focus on the body sensation. I made an effort to pull myself away from my ecstasy for a few moments and open my eyes to look at his beautiful body glistening with sweat as he worked himself in and out of me. I licked the sweat from his neck and shoulder. He looked down into my face and gave me a deep kiss. Before I knew it he was fucking me another way until I screamed.

When he was ready to finish, he pulled me back to the side of the bed. He gripped my hips and entered me from behind. He gave his last few hard thrusts. On the final thrust, he drove his cock as deep as he could, groaning loudly as he emptied himself completely into my pussy.

After a few seconds, he collapsed on the bed, out of breath, for a well-deserved break. We had been completely immersed and entangled in each other for over two hours. When he recovered a bit, he was the first to declare that we have good chemistry and should see each other again.

I was a bit surprised he was already talking about wanting to see me again. He was a fuck boy with the body of a Greek god. I just assumed he always used girls like this and had great sex.

“It’s not always like this for you?”

“No, it’s rare. With most girls, there is no chemistry. I might have sex with them two or three times.”

I reflected on the last couple of hours for a moment. Everything had been very fluid, no awkward moments. I guess it had been a really good fuck. Or maybe I was just too mesmerized by his beauty to notice anything that could have possibly been out of place.  

“I guess it's like this with 10% of the guys I meet. So, yeah, I guess we could make a habit of it.”

I changed the topic to another that I had been curious about. “Am I the oldest woman you’ve slept with?”

He sharply replied, “Nope, two of my favorites are 50 and 55 years old.”

I think I did a good job of suppressing how impressed I was by this fact. This guy was not at all what I expected.

We went on conversing a bit. He dropped some clues that he is into some kink after I told him I had dated some pretty kinky guys in the past. I was very relaxed, but I could see from his body language that he was tired and anxious for me to leave. Ah, yes, of course, where are my manners? Fuck boys don’t do sleepovers.

I commented about having to work the next morning as I got dressed. He said his day would be especially challenging since it was his first day back to work after vacation. I collected my things and headed for the door. He came to give me a kiss goodbye as I pushed myself out the door.

Just like that, I found myself on the cobblestone street outside, expelled from the alternate universe of pleasure we had co-created for the past two hours. As I got my bearings and began walking towards my house, I thought, “Well, that went spectacularly well. I definitely want to do that again.”

(end of Part 1)