Annalise and the Anaconda
She flirts on Tinder, has a strict No Dick Pic policy, but what about the first date?
**CW I have toned this down, but there is mature content**
I feel like I’m in my prime right now. My body is more curvaceous than when I was in my twenties, and I’ve really got my act together with my career. I wouldn’t want a fella who didn’t put as much effort in as me. I travel a lot and work long hours, often reading through client briefs in bed.
Still a gal’s gotta have some fun, right? I’m not looking for a partner, just someone to rumple my sheets sometimes!
My besties Aaron and Wayne invite me to all the parties and shows, everywhere they go. They always make me feel like royalty. That’s probably why I get picky with the guys I meet on dating apps. Nobody fusses over me like Aaron and Wayne, and I seem to have lost the will to stroke a guy’s ego.
Yesterday, I was checking my Tinder notifications and swiping left on most of them, but this fella’s profile made me pause. He had a nice body and dressed well, but what grabbed my attention were his dimples and grin; little lines fanned out from his eyes, so I concluded this guy smiled a lot.
I swiped right. What the hell?
Sipping my Prosecco I kicked off my sandals, pushing aside my plate. The velvet voice of Mr. Michael Buble crooned from my iPod, and I only had one pitch to look through tonight. Maybe I’d have an early night with my Satisfyer.
I was absorbed in the paperwork I’d brought home, when my phone pinged. I checked the screen and saw that I had a Tinder match. It had to be Mr. Smiley. I decided to open a conversation.
Thank goodness I didn’t have much work to do, or perhaps that’s why I let it get so intense, but we had a divine evening; vanilla fact gathering led to flirting, until soon he was texting outrageous things that made my fanny flutter.
“I wanna send you a dick pic!” he messaged, which nearly brought things to a halt.
“I never accept dick pics,” was my response. “Any sent unsolicited result in an instant block.”
“Surely a woman of your discerning taste needs a sample of the goods,” he persisted.
“Well darling, if you’re so determined, why don’t we arrange to meet?”
Then I actually held my breath.
I’d been getting to like Mr. Smiley, but so many fell at this hurdle. Men will happily spend the evening sticky texting, as I call it, rather than put their best foot forward and meet up for a date.
“I’d love that,” he responded. “Tell me where and when.”
I had a business trip the day after next, and Mr. Smiley had his own commitments, so we finally agreed on a date a couple of weeks away. It was frustrating, but I warned him I take my business seriously: Best to start as I mean to go on.
That night, I used my Satisfyer. I got myself in the mood by lying in bed with my legs spread, playing insistent, flutters of air over my sensitive flesh. Soon, my body tightened all over, legs, belly, my nipples were hard enough to cut glass, and as my mouth fell open, gasping for air I cried out:
“Give it to me Dermot!”
Surely everyone gives their vibrator a name?
Then I was climaxing, a leg shaking, body melting, kaleidoscopic finale that left me a hot mess, but a happy one. I took a shower to clean myself up, then slipped bonelessly into bed.
The day of my date with Mr Smiley came around, and I’ll admit to feeling excited. We’d enjoyed flirty banter since that first night, which had led to more instances of self pleasure for me. I couldn’t speak for Mr. Smiley, but knowing men, I’m sure he’d cracked a few out.
I put on a nice navy dress, that plunges at the front, wraps over in the skirt: It gave pleasing glimpses of both cleavage and legs. I’ve still got it, why not flaunt it? I messaged Wayne and Aaron a sneak preview of what I intended to wear, and they were all for it — Wayne said I should leave my hair loose and waved, but Aaron thought an up-do was sexier. It was a warm night, so I put it up to keep my neck cool.
I’d invited Mr. Smiley — whose real name was Simon — to collect me from my house.
Wayne and Aaron were having a drink in the pub nearby, and would call me every half hour, until I gave them the signal that I felt comfortable for them to stop.
I had a window open, so I heard the crunch of gravel as Simon pulled up on the drive. I checked myself in the mirror before opening the door.
Holy Moly! Simon stood there naked, wearing nothing but the cheesiest grin.
What a body. He mentioned he liked to keep fit, but he’d been underselling it. I saw sculpted abs and firm quads, and his pecs and biceps were bulging. And damn he had a cute dick. I’m not sure a snapshot would have done it justice.
“Hi Annalise, you refused a picture, so I thought I’d show you in person,” Simon chuckled. “I hope you’re not offended.”
“Not at all,” I smirked back, “and it would seem you’re quite pleased to see me.”
His cock had swelled in length and girth since I’d opened the door. Simon had his hands behind his head like he was in a Mr. Universe competition.
“You’d better come in,” I laughed, “there’s a strict dress code where we are going, and that outfit does not comply.”
Simon picked up his black sports bag and stepped inside.
That’s when I noticed a shocked face at the window of the house opposite.
Well good, a ‘concerned’ neighbor couldn’t hurt. After all, who knew if Simon was a good guy? Only time would tell.
Inspired by an image shared by Sabrine Shiva on X entitled ‘Inspection’
Sexy. But where is the rest of it? I neeeed more!