That time I [f]ucked a Tinder guy whose profile only said “British.”

[NOTE: This is my first time posting here! Apologies in advance if my writing style is more rambling/bloggy than titillating; this entry is lifted directly from my diary. I just wanted to share one of my most fun sexual experiences with you all. Quick description of me, to make the story easier for you to picture: 25, Asian, tall, curvy, tan, long wavy black hair.]

Brendan's Tinder profile contained only one word: "British."

And I thought, "Why not?"

I've always found it dumb how Americans would fall for anything if it was said in a British accent, but I can't lie, I was intrigued. I'd never known or spoken to anyone British in my life before, much less fucked one.

To be fair, that wasn't the only reason. I only make decisions this risky when everything lines up exactly the right way. Were one of the following factors missing, I might not have responded to Brendan at all:

1. British.
2. Tall.
3. Blond.
4. Looked good in a suit.
5. Here on holiday.
6. Fancy hotel room.
7. Timing was convenient. I was going to be in DC dancing with my friends late into the night, and his hotel was fairly close by.
8. And because I'd be dancing until my feet hurt, the chance to wade around in a big bathtub then sleep in a luxurious king-size bed just minutes away from the club sounded especially enticing.

"I think meeting you will be the highlight of my trip, Sophie."

I experienced déjà vu walking into the hotel. I'd been there about two years ago, in a nearly identical situation: I met up with an Israeli surgeon from OKCupid, but backed out before we even got to his room because I didn't feel comfortable in the brief conversation I had with him in the lobby.

"Perhaps second time's the charm?" I thought to myself as I descended the escalator.

Even the feeling of self-consciousness about possibly being mistaken for a hooker that I felt two years ago bubbled up again. My outfit this evening, which I put together for the bubblegum-pop-themed dance party I went to, consisted of a pink bra visible through a sheer white blouse, with black shorts and gold heels. I was definitely the odd duck out in a lobby full of WASPs.

I asked him to meet me in the lobby to make me feel vaguely less like a hooker.

ME (over text): "Just be courteous and charming and stuff."

BRENDAN: "That I can do. After all, I am English. :-P"

Brendan was tall, lanky, and a bit awkward. True to his word, he was adorably courteous, having set up some bottles of water for me on the night stand.

He found me gorgeous, and constantly reminded me so as we started kissing. I lapped up the sweet talk, especially as it was wrapped in a cute British accent (yes, turns out I'm among the ranks of the easily impressed Americans I mocked).

His fingers trembled as he unbuttoned my blouse. "I can't wait to see what's under this," he said, looking at my bra. He struggled with unhooking it, nervously admitting "it's been a while since I've done this." After a couple of minutes, he gave up. I chided him, grinning, and showed him how to do it.

His lips felt like heaven on my nipples. He kissed further down my body, to my inner thighs. It was my turn to get a bit nervous then, as I'd been dancing for hours on a hot summer evening in clubs with weak air conditioners. I asked if I could wash myself in the tub for a bit before continuing.

Brendan was the sweetest bath butler. He even folded up the articles of clothing I left on the bathroom floor. In his nerves, he accidentally handed me a bottle of moisturizer instead of soap. Once that was corrected, I let him soap me up, encouraging him to pay special attention to lathering up my breasts. He started playing with my nipples, which is my weakness.

I arched my back and moaned. "This is making me wet."

"Even though you're already half-submerged in water?" he laughed.

"Yes." I unplugged the drain.

We fell on top of each other on the mattress. It didn't take long for me to come once he started licking my pussy. I don't think he had any particular technique, but his natural instinct worked on me perfectly. He still had all his clothes on, so I made a couple of grumpy noises as I not-so-nimbly undid his buttons. I remember his fancy-schmancy boxers having an inside pocket to keep his dick in place. I grumbled more about "complicated contraptions" while struggling to undo the pocket thing so I could pull his boxers off of him.

"You can just pull them down," he said, doing so quickly and easily.

He was on the skinny side of "swimmer's build," with very well-defined muscles. But I barely paid attention, because: "Oh God, your cock is gorgeous."

Cocks aren't particularly pretty, but his was beautiful enough to stop my brain for a moment. It was perfect. It was Goldi-cocks: big but not too big, thick but not Sprite-can, with a nice, smooth, perfectly shaped head. The skin was soft and smooth, which made stroking his cock was the easiest thing in the world. I'm normally terrible at handjobs, but with this cock in particular, I was suddenly amazing at them.

Putting it in my mouth was even better. His cock was very warm from how hard he had gotten for me. The mushroom head was wide at the base, and it felt fantastic in my mouth. Smooth, in and out. I could have sucked him off all day.

"Do you feel how hard my cock is for you?"

The way he pronounced "cock" in his London accent was fucking adorable: "kok."

One of the walls had a massive full-length mirror taking up at least three quarters of its width, which gave me an idea. I instructed him to sit on the edge of the bed facing the mirror, and I got on my knees in front of him, giving him a full view of my body in the mirror as I took his cock in my mouth again.

"God, those spectacular curves," he said. He reached down and played with my breasts as I continued to suck his cock.

He pulled me up off my knees when he got dangerously close to coming, and walked over to the dresser where he'd kept the condoms.

He'd bought Durex Extra Safe condoms from Heathrow airport. I frowned at the box. "Extra Safe" would never sell in the States.

He shrugged. "I reckoned they'd make me last longer."

We started off with me on my back and him curled up on my side, sliding into my pussy from underneath. It took us a while to get the angle right, but damn. It really was the perfect cock. It felt so good inside me (despite the "extra safe" condoms, hah), better than any other I've had.

Then he started rubbing my clit, and I really was a goner. Despite his nerves and inexperience, he was very good with his hands. Those wiry limbs were strong; he'd move his hands quickly and with a lot of pressure, and in seconds I was orgasming. He was on the rowing team in high school, which explains the strong arms and amazing stamina. Like many men before him, he had an awful lot of fun with the fact that I come very easily.

Once I'd had at least a dozen orgasms, I told him I wanted him to come. He got on top of me, pounding mercilessly until he gripped me tight and shuddered.

As I nestled in his arm post-orgasm, I said, "It's a good thing you're leaving town tomorrow, or else I wouldn't be very productive. I'd just stop showing up to work."

We lay around and talked for a while. He called me "Miss Jakarta" (I'm guessing it's a play on "Miss Saigon"), went on about how beautiful he found me (this never gets old, not when you're in bed), and asked me about my curious lack of an accent for someone who had only lived in America for a few years. He was a PhD student, currently teaching a class on some high-level econometrics — I could only comprehend about 10% of his sentences on whatever he was working on.

At some point in the conversation, he also admitted that I was the first girl he'd had sex with in two years, which explained the nervousness. I was amazed to find that out, given how good he was with my body, but I guess some things just boil down to the chemistry between two people.

We weren't talking long when he started kissing me and playing with my nipples and kissing my nipples and…yeah. Brendan was especially fond of my breasts. He'd only been with two girls before me, and both were A-cups, so with my tits he was like a kid in a candy store. While his other superlatives could be explained by physical activity (his strength and stamina) or genetics (his beautiful cock), I have no idea how he was also, of all the guys I've been with, the best at sucking on my nipples. I nearly came just from him sucking on them.

In the middle of one of our conversations, I'd mentioned his impressive stamina. He gave a shy grin and said, "I guess my body has a high tolerance for lots of fucking."

He marveled at the view when I rode him. (And I loved the way my body looked in the mirror as I bounced up and down on his cock.) He was a little harder to ride since he was very skinny, but the size of his dick made up for it. He started fucking me from the bottom, which is a move that always drives me crazy. I screamed like a mad woman. Screamed the entire night, actually — we were lucky the neighbors were nice enough not to call security on us.

The rest of the evening was a sex haze. Brendan and I ended up fucking six times in 10 hours. I wasn't even keeping track of how many times we fucked; I only knew it was six because we ran through the entire box of condoms. Every time we finished, we'd rest and talk until he decided to start playing with my body again, and I'd be helpless to his touch. He explored my body, trying to discover new erogenous zones. We kissed a lot, too — he was very fun to kiss.

Rear entry has always been my favorite position, so I asked him to fuck me from behind while we faced the huge mirror. I could see his muscles rippling and my tits bouncing as he thrust in me.

He declared bedtime after round three or four. It was one of the more restful sleeps I've had with someone else around.

The sunlight peeking through the curtains woke me up the next morning. I rolled over. Brendan scooted closer and greeted me with a "Good morning, beautiful." He said he had woken up to a fantastic view, since I was half uncovered by the blanket and my breasts were in full display.

We kissed, and he reached up to play with my nipple. "You know that's my 'on' switch," I said as I started writhing.

I slid down the bed to suck his gorgeous cock again.

"You're amazing, Sophie."

Brendan's was my favorite cock to suck. Not only was it beautiful, warm, and perfectly shaped and sized, but it was also perfectly responsive. He moaned and said he was extremely close to coming. I wanted to suck him a little more, but I also wanted him to fuck me, so I reluctantly pulled my lips away.

"This is the best sex I've ever had," I whimpered as I rode him.

"This is the best sex I've ever had," he said.

Later, he yanked me bodily to the edge of the bed, threw my legs over his shoulders and filled up my pussy with his huge, perfect cock. In this position, he was slamming directly against my g-spot, and it felt like electric shocks coursing through my veins. I was overcome and got a little hysterical for a while, screaming and barely holding on while he watched me and my fully exposed breasts and pussy with a self-satisfied smile. I was screaming so loud that the housekeeper banged a few times on the wall to get us to quiet down. I barely paid attention to the warning; I was too busy coming and screaming.

"If I had met you earlier during my trip, I'd be too exhausted to do anything else," he said.

Assuming we were done for the day, since 1) I had to leave at noon, and 2) holy shit, I asked him to take a bath with me. We sat in the tub together, and he soaped me up in an adorably careful manner.

I asked for one more cuddle before I left. After a while, the conversation turned to how mindblowing the last round was, and he said, "Talking about it is making me hard again." I reached under his towel to feel his cock. He leaned over to kiss me, and soon we were at it one more time.

Brendan entered me in the position we first had sex in: me on my back, him on his side. A blissed-out smile spread across my face as he started fucking me. My pussy felt so good with him inside me. I closed my eyes and savored the sensations. I'd spent most of the last 12 hours with a cock in me, and it felt like I was a completely different animal for that period of time. It was like my brain's higher functions had shut themselves off for a while, and I'd turned into a more primal version of myself who just wanted her next fix of cock.

We went on like that for several minutes, as Brendan never got tired or ran out of breath. After what seemed like a blissful eternity, I asked him to finish, so he got on top of me, made me come screaming one more time, and collapsed against me.

On our way out, we snuck past a housekeeper, and giggled at a sign outside the elevator asking guests to "please observe silence after 9:00 pm."

He walked me to the subway and bid me a fond farewell.

I was dazed for the entire train ride home. I could barely believe the last 12 hours had happened. I hope Brendan's encounter with me restored his confidence, and he's out there in clubs letting gullible American girls like me fall for that accent. They're in for a big surprise.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/3heqc0/that_time_i_fucked_a_tinder_guy_whose_profile