TriggeredByBeef, Author at NSFW story

42=29 (another true story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

We’re heading into a muggyish Friday night here. It might rain. It might not. Puts me in mind of another night where rain threatened, but there was still good reason to get out and risk the storm.

Let’s call it a warm-weather month, in 2005. I only remember the exact year because of something she kept saying, once I’d told her my age — a variation on “You’re not 42. You’re 29. That makes this okay.”

She, herself, was 24 — long red hair, fair skin, what you’d either call “curvy” or “chubby” — and you’d not be off the mark, either way. Apparently she had a five-year rule on older men. Equally apparent was that the “rule” wasn’t even a guideline, once we put it to the test.

You’ve heard the first part of the story. It’s a lot like the first part of any decent-sized number of these little narratives. It was around 10 p.m., I couldn’t sleep, and I was on Yahoo Messenger, and both of us were looking for someone to talk to. In her case, she was killing time waiting for her boyfriend to pick her up from a friend’s house, maybe fifteen minutes from here, and he was late. Read more »

Bending Rule 4 (True Story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

Well, here we are: The 25th confession, which feels like a small milestone. But I’ve been doing some tallying, and I’m not even close to a quarter done with these little narratives.

I’ve been asked what it’s like to keep all these secrets from people I know, even as I’m sharing them on here for strangers. The answer, I’m sure, says volumes: It’s not that hard, and to be frank, it’s more than a little bit … fun.

I do take precautions to minimize the chances of inadvertent crossover between my respectable life and — well, this one. Fucking at a workplace is fine, for example, or at church — but no fucking anyone who works for the *same* company (Rule 2) or goes to the *same* church (Rule 3). Similarly, there’s a prohibition (Rule 4) against fucking anyone who knows someone in my family well.

However … that hasn’t always been the case.

We met in the early 2000s (give or take) at what was then a coffeehouse not far from where I live. (Surprise! Yes, I know. More coffee. It’s kind of a recurring theme.) She worked there, and I — because of the work schedule I kept then — was a regular. Read more »

The Magic Bean (true story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

Apologies for the absence; trying to publish four times a week was wearing on me. I think once a week, perhaps twice, will let me keep more of my sanity and let the series play out over a longer time.

I’m in a coffeehouse as I write this, which has made me muse about how many of these tales have caffeine running through their veins.

This one, for example — and unlike almost all the other stories, I can pin down the date of first contact. It was the 25th of August, in 2014, when I opened an email from someone who liked something I’d written. That led to a back-and-forth exchange, which turned into banter with intent, and the next day, we were seated at a table maybe six feet from where I’m writing this.

She was 32 to my 51: short streaked blonde hair, soft sinful curves and a wide aquamarine gaze, the sort that gives rise to the phrase “A man could drown in your eyes.”

The conversation struck sparks, and an hour after the first hello we were behind the coffeehouse — in broad daylight and perhaps a mile and a half from my house, mind you — kissing like there wasn’t another soul on the planet who might see us. Read more »

Rain and Red Silk (True Story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

It was supposed to rain tomorrow. Now it’s not supposed to rain tomorrow. The heat wave goes on, apparently.

Still, the original forecast put me in mind of a rainy Sunday afternoon, just a few years ago.

Let’s get the beginning and the end out of the way first, shall we, and focus on the middle.

We met on Craigslist, in May 2017, when I was 54 and she 28. It ended when she, though polyamorous at heart, decided to focus on her core relationship for a while. I met him once, after she and I had shared that Sunday. Of course, he knew. There was no awkwardness in the meeting. I like him, and I don’t begrudge their exclusivity one bit.

Prequel to the rainy Sunday: The Thursday night before, we met at a bar in my neighborhood for wine. We went for a walk; we kissed in a pool of darkness between streetlights; my fingers stroked their way through soft hair between her thighs and made her knees buckle in a passageway near the bar.

(It wasn’t the bar from the first post, nor the same passageway. Secluded spots in my home area are my specialty.) Read more »

Merge/Exit (true story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

I spent a good part of my pre-work morning with some leisurely reading over coffee — in this case, reading on the meanings that words carry. That, in turn, led to a bit of thinking about how to characterize the dynamic of this particular confession — in particular, the distinction between “intersection” and “convergence.”

“Intersection,” to me, is more a single moment. Streets intersect, lives intersect, and the journeys continue from there. Given that streets and lives can take meandering routes, intersections might happen at different points in place and time, but each of those moments stands on its own.

“Convergence,” to borrow the traffic metaphor, happens when two lives find themselves on the same road for a while. They might enter it at different points, but at some point, they wind up sharing a direction, if not a destination. Then the routes and lives diverge — which, again, might happen repeatedly.

We intersected for the first time, she and I, at her senior art show — senior as in high school. I was struck by how clearly she’d identified a theme and executed it visually, and because we were both involved in the local arts scene, she and I — and her twin sister, also an artist — connected on Facebook. Read more »

Words are Very Unnecessary (true story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

This is not going to be a typical post. I’ll warn you up front, there’s not much sensuality to it at all — no finger play, no gloriously messy oral sex. There’s not even any kissing.

But I have promised to confess all, and this seems as good a time as any for this one. And, I must confess as well, the more I think back on the moment, the hotter it is — in some ways — in retrospect.

It was a fall Saturday morning, October or November 2000. I know this because a friend of mine died around that time, and he died in the fall of 2000 when I was working overnights — on a Saturday morning, but not this particular Saturday morning.

The shift ran from midnight to 8 a.m., and the last few hours of that — especially on Saturdays — were deathly boring. I suppose I could have brought a book, but there was Yahoo chat just right there, and so why not? Read more »

Too Shy, Shy (Hush, Hush) (another true story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

It’s a hot summer Saturday outside. Inside my head, I’m closing in on my 38th birthday and it’s an almost- spring Saturday night in 2001 in North Texas.

I was there on a work trip. It was my next to last night in town, and the next day promised to be a nonstop 12-hour grind, starting around 6 a.m.

And so, of course, I was in no mood to go to bed early — and there was Yahoo, and there was a willing younger playmate, and so at 11 p.m. I was walking her into my suite.

She was 23, petite, curvy with soft thick thighs (and a stylized black-ink tattoo of a bat on the right one). Streaky blonde hair, wavy, just short of shoulder length. Glasses — and oh, how I do love those, despite Dorothy Parker’s assertion that Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.

She had warned me that she would be shy in person, that I’d have to take the lead. So I did, but slowly, letting her body language tell me when to take each next step. Read more »

A Laughing Matter (true story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

A funny thing happened on the way to this confession — or, rather, when I say “We had some laughs,” I mean it in a literal sense.

I have an imperfect system for remembering the years in which things happened, especially if they happened around the turn of the millennium. I have to place a rendezvous in context, in terms of events happening in the world at large. As said, it’s not entirely perfect but it does the job well enough, often enough.

I can place this one in fall 2000 with certainty, though, given that our first meeting coincided with a campaign rally in that year’s Congressional election. (No, good Lord, not my campaign. Way too many skeletons in this closet. We just met for the first time on a day that I had to attend said rally.)

That we even connected at all was only due to an outside influence — her cousin, actually.

The day we met was a Sunday afternoon. I’d been in a Yahoo chatroom for a few minutes, just seeing who was around from my area, when a message popped up. It was from a woman who didn’t live in my area — but her cousin, who lived about an hour away, would be passing through my area that day. Read more »

Unhurried, for a Moment (true story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

It’s been noted that so far, nearly all of these stories involve hasty encounters: a quick coupling in a passageway or a passenger seat, a blur of flying clothes and tangled bodies, all with the clock ticking and Somewhere to Be.

That’s fair enough. In my situation (and sometimes, the woman in question’s situation as well), unfettered time can be a scarce commodity. It’s a tradeoff, and one I’ve obviously been willing to make multiple times — but sometimes, it’s nice to be able to relax, to unwind and to let things unwind on a slower reel.

This, as I’m sure you’ve already sussed out, was one of those times.

Early 2000s, year not quite pinned down. That makes me late 30s, or just 40. She was in her mid-20s. Again, I couldn’t say exactly. What I can say is that she was a sweet smiling preschool teacher, with generous curves and long, beautiful deep red hair.

On the minus side, she lived three hours away. On the plus side, her hometown was on my way home after dropping my family off for a week with the in-laws that summer. Read more »