I’m done with talk. I want action.

“Oh girl, you sound so hot, I want u sooo bad,” big_dixxx_69 types.
“Why don’t we meet??” I type, sending him directions.
“OK!!!! See you soon…” he replies. The chat window closes with a chirp.

We’ve been sending increasingly dirty messages back and forth for a couple days. I’m not even sure what his real name is. All I know is that he says he likes to fuck, lives by Detroit, and that we have a mutual love of the movie “True Romance.” Close enough.

I call my friend to let her know I’m meeting some strange guy from the internet in case my body shows up in a ditch later. “Again?” she sighs. “I’ll be fine,” I tell her.  She admonishes me with a few unheard words of caution, then hangs up.

The restaurant I’ve chosen out by the freeway is easy enough to find and it has a vast dark parking lot used by commuters. I’m early, of course. I’m early for everything. I think about going in for a drink, but then decide I don’t want to get up to pee every five minutes. I keep flipping down the mirror and check my lipstick, my hair and my teeth, even though I look fine. Eagerly, I search the faces of drivers pulling in, but most of them are elderly couples coming in for the Friday All-U-Can-Eat fish special.

Finally a black SUV pulls in, the driver’s face searching out the parked vehicles. I flash my headlights once from the back row and he pulls in smoothly beside me. I check my hair one last time before I exit the car. We get out at the same time, as if it were choreographed. “Hi.” We both say it at the same time. “Jinx!” I say, “You owe me a Coke!” He looks at me confused, then smiles tightly. He’s little pudgy, but not bad. He’s bland in that non-offensive accountant type of way. “Huh,” I say, “I thought you said you were six foot tall.”  He shrugs. We stand there in silence for a moment, then he grabs my hand and pulls me in, but stops short of a kiss. “You wanna?” I ask. He leads me around to the passenger side and opens the door.

Nervously, he asks if I like country music. “Eh,” I say as he fiddles with the stereo knob. He keeps giving me sideways glances, like he’s afraid that I’m the creepy internet stranger. Finally, he settles down and I scoot over closer to him. We start to kiss slow and easy. His breath is very minty, as if he chewed an entire box of Tic Tacs before pulling off the freeway. I let his hand wander up to rest on my breast. I reach behind me and unlatch my bra, then move his hand under my shirt. He hesitates, then starts to awkwardly rub my breast with a cold damp hand.

I put my hand on his cock through his jeans and simultaneously bite his lip. His eyes suddenly get big, but he doesn’t resist. Still biting the edge of his lip between my teeth, I unzip his pants. I kiss him deeply as I rub the length of his cock, trying to gauge if I should go right for the deep throat or not. His unmoving hand rests on my breast, as if he’s forgotten how to use it. I place my hand over his and squeeze my tit, but he doesn’t take the hint.

I decide he’s not going to make a move, so I just go for it. I lick my lips,  lean down and take his whole cock in my mouth. He squirms around and he says “Uh!” in a really weird squeak. I suck the very tip of his dick as I jerk him off. I lick him like a lollipop. I run my tongue up his shaft and blow lightly, I pull out all the stops, but he seems frozen in place. Bobbing quickly, I hit my head on his arm and see that he’s tightly gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “What’s the matter?” I coo from his lap. I stroke him fast and firm. He jerks around like he’s been hit by lightning, his face scrunches up and turns bright red. He shrieks, then cum splutters down the side of my hand.

“My turn,” I say. I slide over to the passenger seat, leaning against the door. As I start to wiggle out of my jeans, I notice he’s looking at me with horror rather than lust.  “What’s wrong?” I ask teasingly, still struggling out of my too tight jeans. “I thought you said you wanted my pussy.”

“Jesus lady! I…I… just thought we were going to make out,” he stutters. “I think I’d better go.” He starts up the SUV, his pants still unzipped and gooey. “Fine. Go.” I huff. “Can’t fucking trust anyone on the internet anymore.”

5 thoughts on “I’m done with talk. I want action.

  1. Pingback: Wordpress Link Digest 02/19/2011 | Meandering Vaguely Around Timnah

  2. I wish. Would that ANY of my encounters been nearly that straightforward. Everything was more along the lines of, “How about we meet up and drive around listening to country music about how guys should just die”.

  3. I wish. Would that ANY of my encounters been nearly that straightforward. Everything was more along the lines of, “How about we meet up and drive around listening to country music about how guys should just die”.

  4. How inadequate on his part. I wonder if I could have done better though? I think I might have found the “courage” somehow!

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