I’ll start this story by saying that Tinder has never been ‘worked’ much for me, at least in the sense of crazy, hyper-sexual first date hookup encounters. As someone who doesn’t like being super forward (and often as a result super creepy and disrespectful) to random strangers on the internet, I’d never landed a date with the intention of fucking from the outset.
That changed a few months back, following one particular late night, self-loathing fuelled swipe session. As I made my way through the queue, I happened upon the profile of a really cute teaching student – like dead cute, with her pictures stopping me dead in my zombie-swiping tracks. A few in various formal dresses showing off her taller, athletic physique, and a couple of photos in more festival-going attire that were definitely enough to round out my perving.
Her bio stuck out of the usual Tinder masses with a few simple lines:
“3 inches is only good for exhaust. 2 minutes is only good for noodles. And if your idea of fun involves clothes, then swipe left.”
To my surprise, I was greeted by the match screen when I swiped hard and fast to the right in an already growing state of semi-horniness. Confused as to how to open the chat, I decided to roll the dice on playing dumb, but coy:
“Sadly I’ve been on a few too many Tinder dates that wouldn’t agree with your definition of fun, so I thought I’d message you to learn more?”
15 minutes later I heard the buzz of my phone, with the reply I’d honestly hadn’t expected to receive:
“Well maybe it might be better to show you? I feel a hands on experience is always a good way to learn…”
Heart racing, I started making plans to meet up with her the following evening. Our only stumbling block was a location to meet, with both of us living back with our parents. We’d come to a potential roadblock. At least until she texted:
“If you want to… I’ve heard cars are a fun place for activities. If you’re up for it.”
Now I’d never done anything public to this point in my life, but I didn’t need much encouragement the way our conversation had gone. The next day felt like the longest day of all time, to the point where the 20 minutes I spent on the sidewalk at our agreed drop off point, patiently waiting with a six-pack of ciders, felt like hours.
Eventually my date showed, in her small hatchback beckoning for me to hop in. We exchanged the usual first date pleasantries, albeit instead of doing so at a bar we did it as she drove around the suburbs of our city looking for a quiet spot to settle in for the night.
Eventually we settled on a leafy backstreet, behind several stacks of apartments that looked pretty sleepy midway through a Saturday evening. Rain pelted down softly on the car, which gave me some reassurance that we’d be saved from being spotted by any curious passers-by (though not enough to take away all the nerves).
Our first date chat had turned to some surprisingly deep life conversation by that point, and then slowly to tentative flirting. I’d already complimented her on her cute uni outfit and messy, post-stressful-day-of-study hair, and had moved on to how adorable her self-conscious giggling was when I’d made fun of her for it.
I decided it was time to make the first move, leaning across the seats for that first, risky kiss. It was tentative, and sweet, considering the lead-up to this point. Peeling back from the kiss, we each took a moment, almost sizing each other up before hungrily leaning back in for the second, and third kisses.
Our tongues began to hungrily explore each other, and my hands wandered around her waist to draw her in closer to me, as hers felt up my chest.
Five minutes of this, and we were becoming all too aware of the limitations of making out in the front seats of a car, and over the console between us.
“We should probably move.” She sighed, wasting no time in climbing through the gap in the seats to reach the back with an ease that told me that maybe she hadn’t just ‘heard’ that cars were fun after all. I followed her with much less grace, ending up semi-in her lap, and looking up to her again-giggling face.
“You’re not very good at this, are you?” She teased as the lent in again to pick up where we left off – this time being the one to pull me in tighter, forcing my chest up against hers, and my face against her shoulder as she made out with my neck with a renewed and intense hunger.
I let out a moan as she went to town on me in the cramped space afforded to our entangled bodies. I had nowhere to go, even if I wanted to – and I couldn’t imagine any scenario in which I would have.
Perhaps satisfied she had me under her spell, my date pulled back from me once again, sitting straddled atop my legs. Wordlessly, she moved to remove my belt, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time as she pulled it off me and discarded it on the floor. With a mischievous grin, she started on the zip of my jeans, before unbuttoning them to release my by-now straining erection, now only hidden by my boxer briefs.
Forever the advocate for safety, I was about to volunteer to put on some protection, but she beat me to it before I could finish the offer – ‘I even brought a couple, if you need them. But I’m going to need you to put it on.’
I don’t think I’ve ever worked as quickly to roll a condom onto my member as I did then, what with this smoking, athletic brunette sitting atop me expectantly, amused with my lack of composure.
After a few nervy fumbles, her look of amusement changed to one of satisfaction.
‘Finally.’
Taking my fully-wrapped cock in her hands, she positioned her hips above me before guiding herself onto me – revealing to me in the process that underneath the dress she’d worn to uni that day she hadn’t been wearing anything in the slightest. She slid down the length of my shaft slowly and purposely, using every inch to it’s fullest, and letting out a deeper, breathier moan than anything I’d heard in the evening to date.
Needing no encouragement, I started working my hips underneath her weight, earning further gasps of pleasure, at the expense of rapidly building my own impending orgasm.
Maybe sensing what was to come, one of my date’s hands felt it’s way up my chest and gently closed itself over my throat, gripping me delicately but warningly as I pumped in and out of her. As I got more excited, I couldn’t help but speed up, only to be slowed by her tightening her grip on my airway in response until I relented in my pace, keeping me from the orgasm I wanted as I pleasured her.
She played my horniness all too well, keeping me at a steady pace, until I felt her legs clench on top of me. Knowing what was to come I did nothing but maintain my steady rhythm, as her thighs quivered and her head rocked back with a sweet orgasm. I slowed my thrusts as her now-sweaty body slumped forward onto my shoulder, exhaling heavily as she nuzzled against me.
Unsure what to do now, I paused hesitantly – at least until she whispered breathily, but exhaustedly into my ear; “Aren’t you going to finish?”
It was all the encouragement I needed. I guess cars are a fun place for activities after all.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/by7ug7/mf_who_could_have_known_that_cars_were_fun_for