Rose is a great kid, and by kid of course I mean someone who also remembers the Nixon administration. She is divorced, raising a son, and works as a financial assistant for a Bay Area firm.
I met Rose on Tinder a month or so back, and we quickly hit it off. I always know I’m going to like a woman when I tell her I’m married and playing with permission, and I don’t get the door slammed in my face. If memory serves, the conversation went like this:
Me: “Let me give you a key piece of information. I’m in an open marriage, with permission to play, and I am here looking for FWBs. Let me know if that’s something you would be at all interested in.”
Rose: “It intrigues me – would your wife or other FWBs be involved?”
That’s my kind of response. (And that actually was her verbatim reply; I just now scrolled through my Tinder feed to check.)
Needless to say the conversation went interesting places from there. Likes, dislikes, fantasies, desires, and of course the inevitable arranging to get a drink. We picked a time and place for the following week, and she did some dress shopping in the meantime. She found something perfect – short and slinky, showing plenty of cleavage. I was well impressed.