I matched on tinder with this lonely lady stuck in a bad marriage q while back. I asked quite a bit of her over a multiweek period, and afterwards, asked her to write out everything she felt. Nothing is sexier/kinkier than raw authenticity.
*I can’t remember how long ago it was when we first talked. I remember that I saw your picture and knew immediately that I wanted to know you. You’re the only person I initiated a conversation with on tinder. You’re the only person I pursued at all. I remember you were an asshole, a lot of the time. And sometimes that made me laugh, and sometimes it pissed me off. But you stayed in my mind. I wanted you to talk to me. I wanted you to boss me around a little.*
*I talked to some different men on tinder, to varying degrees of depth and interest. I liked the idea of exploring without consequences. Of being able to say anything I wanted to. Of not caring. Of being able to end something the second it got tedious or weird. I spent about a week or so texting with a man, probably about your age, who wrote me the dirtiest stuff. But he kept talking about ‘pleasuring’ me, or ‘servicing’ me, or worst of all ‘nursing’ on me. And that all seemed ridiculous and gross to me. But I kept it up for awhile, not because of anything he wrote to me, but because of what I wrote to him. That I was learning how to say out loud things that I wanted.*
*I was practicing turning myself on, learning something about what I wanted and didn’t want, just by writing it down. I wrote down anything and everything and texted it to him. And I’d never done anything like that before. And I surprised myself with what I was able to ask for, and what I was able to feel.*
*I also spent about a week texting with a man who had, I guess, a more formal approach to dominance/submission. I knew I was curious. He was older than me, and Italian, and also kind of gross actually. But I was interested in what he had to say. For a little bit. He wanted me to call him sir. And he wanted me to text him every morning and say good morning, sir and every night and say good night, sir. That seemed corny to me. And the scenes he described didn’t turn me on. Although he sent me a video of a girl getting grabbed from behind by a man in a mask that I watched quite a few times. So, I ended that as well. And figured maybe that kind of relationship wasn’t right for me after all.*
*And somewhere around this time, my husband moved back in. And there was a part of me that had really wanted that, and another part that did, and does, feel just trapped. So I kept deleting my tinder account, and putting it back up again, because I was confused, and often bored and lonely.*
*You texted me one night, soon after my husband had moved back in. I don’t think I’d expected to hear from you again. And I wanted you. I wanted you to talk to me. I wanted you to want me.*
*Something about the way you talk to me and the fantasies you describe make me so hot and bothered. I spend my days imaging the things you might do to me. Much too much time thinking about all the different ways you might fuck me.*
*But it started to seem like it was never going to happen. That sometimes we just communicated badly. Or I would be too scared or confused about what I wanted, so I would put it off. Or just that I have almost no freedom or privacy in my life. That I can’t have an hour to myself that isn’t accounted for. And it didn’t seem like you understood that. Or cared, anyway. But it’s not understanding, or caring, that I want from you. There’s something I think you can make me feel. Something I want.*
*So this week, these past few days, it felt like you were serious about wanting to see me, in a way that maybe you hadn’t been before. I loved that you would tell me to come to you. To come tonight, to come right now. I wanted that. I pictured myself fixing dinner, getting a text from you, setting the knife down on the counter, walking out the front door, driving to wherever you might be, to do whatever you might want me to do. In my ultimate fantasy of what things might be like between us, that’s what I picture. That you might think of me, wonder where I am, think that you might like to fuck me. That you would text me, and wherever I was, whatever I was doing I would come, and you would fuck me, and then I would leave. That’s what I want. That right there is everything that I want.*
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/i5m8ec/the_lonely_tinder_wife_mf_part_1