Author: dcwordlover

Found this in an old email and thought I’d share.. ;-)

Enjoy!

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**Indian Girl in Woodley Park**

I got married in Spring 2009. Was working big-law litigation. The usual 60-80+ hours. Working Sundays. And on the Sunday after St. Patrick’s Day 2012, I was in the office. There was a missed connection post on Craigslist about a missed hookup on St. P’s the night before and so I wrote a “it wasn’t me, but.. ” message. And she wrote back. We flirted. Chatted.

She invited me over to her place in Woodley Park that afternoon. Met me at the door in a white t-shirt, no bra, sweatpants. And with NCAA tournament basketball on in the background we fucked on her bed. It was sweet. Simple. Easy.

The rest of that summer / fall there was a string of CL encounters. Mostly coffee near my office and making out in corners. Hands under skirts. Up blouses. No Sex. Just… lust. And lots of online words leading nowhere necessarily.

One was particularly articulate. And hot. And bi. And lived in Takoma Park. Not particularly attractive, but kinetic. Pure energy. A biker. A dreamer. Adventurous and restless and eager. Read more »

I once wrote a long email to a friend recapping some of my escapades.. I came across it recently and thought I’d share some choice bits. Here’s one. Let me know if you’d like to read others. All names changed.

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While in Paris during that summer of 2014, I met Emily on OKC (my account then only existing in Paris). We met in a cafe on Canal St. Martin (Le Chaland, it’s lovely) after work one night. She was from Seattle. Recently divorced. Starting over in Paris. She had a cute little apartment on the third floor that looked out over the 19e from a tiny balcony. A murphy bed. Thin, short hair, soft lips.
And that first night we talked and fucked and smoked and fucked some more. Played PJ Harvey videos and traded stories. She had been a caterer and worked, vaguely for microsoft on various creative-type projects. Creative and curious. Kind. West Coast energy.

Images. Standing in my boxers on her balcony in the middle of the night. Smoking. Wine glass. Watching the clouds slide across the sky. Picking her up while inside her, her legs wrapped around my back, carrying her from the kitchen to her bed. Read more »

So I’m officially in the midst of a slutty phase (see post history). Approaching the 1-year anniversary of my separation and 3 months after my divorce.. between work and co-parenting and serving as an adjunct professor, time is short. So.. Tinder.

Weekend before last, Columbus Day, my ex took the kiddo to visit family and I headed south to.. Mexico. Mexico City. An incredible place full of amazing food and art and really wonderful, deeply kind and friendly people. And a veritable paradise where the peso goes forever and Ubers are basically free and… Tinder works.

I had a fair number of matches, but the best was Becky. Perky and friendly. Fair skinned, but dark hair. 32B’s if I had to guess. Slightly provocative photos but nothing outlandish. Her mother was British so her English was perfect.. which was great because my Spanish is non-existent.

I was staying in an AirBnB in hipster Condesa – which was lovely. We had trouble getting our schedules lined up, but kept texting each other increasingly provocative lines. Finally, Sunday night, she caught a cab to the coffee shop near my place. She was wearing a blue button-down shirt, her hair freshly washed, smelling a bit like shampoo and soap and smiles. I was wearing jeans and my new hand-made leather shoes ($100 bucks!) and we looked at each other and smiled. Read more »

I’ve been on a bit of a Tinder spree lately (see my last post). And loving it.. ;-) I’m fit. 37. Short brown hair. Green-blue eyes.

About a week ago I matched with Sally. 44. Ivy League school. A fellow single parent. Thin, curly red hair, B-cups.

Her profile said she loved butter and bikes. I told her I loved the same and she asked “What do you like to do with butter?” and I said “Whip it. Sautee with it. Lick it, just a bit. You?”

She wrote back – “Yes to all of the above, I also love the slow melt of it in my warm mouth.”

And it was on.

We agreed to meet for drinks on a Tuesday night at an English Pub halfway between our respective houses. We sat upstairs and had two rounds and quickly started getting handsy. Eye contact. Smiles. Two sensual, tactile people teasing. Craving.

We agreed to walk to hers. She said she wanted to fool around but not fuck. I said fine. And kissed her. Deeply. She lived about a 15 minute walk away.. Read more »

We’d connected on Tinder a few weeks earlier. Trading fun, flirty messages. Often late. But never quite connecting. She was in the process of moving across town to a neighborhood near mine. I was traveling for work, etc. Her name? Laurel. Long brown hair, perky C/D cups. Amazing ass. 28, cute, and in the same line of work. I’m 37, relatively fit. Short brown hair, hazel eyes.

At one point she said that my “late and random” messages made her think of a hookup – and that she wasn’t interested in a hookup. So I figured, oh well – and went about my life.

Last Saturday night, I got home around 11:30p after a standard, generic, OKCupid second date (dinner + drinks + make-out, no sex) with a redhead. Maybe a future story in the works there, we’ll see.

So I was drunk, and horny, and not quite ready for bed. So I texted Laurel – “sufficiently late and random?”

She wrote back immediately – “yes.” Then – “come over.”

I didn’t know where she lived, asked for clarification, and… silence. Read more »

The usual Tinder story, no? We both swipe right. Over-educated, same profession. She went to a better law school, but isn’t obnoxious about it. The chat is fun – about the usual over-achiever things – travel, Siena, Ferrante. Book clubs. We’re both late-30’s. Relatively recently single. I’m 5’10”, brown hair, hazel eyes. She’s 5’5″, blonde, perky, blue eyes.

We meet for cocktails on a random weeknight at a speakeasy joint that’s been around forever. The bartender is superb and puts us on a magic carpet ride that ends with us making out as he slides the check under our entwined fingers. She says we can go back to hers – but no sex. Absolutely no sex. I agree. Of course.

And hers, of course, is close. An older building, gorgeous wood floors. Details on the doorways. She pours wine and we sit on the couch and.. kiss. Oh the kissing. It was like a conversation without words. Fingers, tongues, bodies entwined. With pauses for wine. And smiles. Read more »