Shape

Cock Hungry

When I moved to LA shortly after a breakup, I downloaded Tinder just for kicks. A few weeks in, I matched with a guy I’ll call Adam. 

 

In the first photo of his that got my attention, he was swimming in a spring, dark hair falling over his forehead and long eyelashes framing kind but mischievous hazel eyes. The next was of him shirtless, with a tiger painted on his muscular chest and stripes down the sides of his stomach. I decided to comment on the latter. 

 

“Is there a story behind the tiger on your chest?” I added a smiley face just to hint that I liked it. 

 

“It was painted by a friend at Burning Man.”

 

“Beautiful,” I replied. I think he knew I wasn’t just talking about the tiger. We got to talking about what Burning Man was like, then I asked him what he does when he’s not camping out in the desert. He mentioned hiking, so I told him I’d been wanting to explore Griffith Park and asked if he’d join me. 

 

I was not expecting the response I received the next day. It read, “Hey, you’re cute, want to be in a music video tomorrow? Yes, I would hike Griffith with you. Then take you to the music video shoot tomorrow. Song is called ‘Goddess.’ You’d like it. Spanish and English.”  

 

Is this a normal occurrence on Tinder in LA? I wondered. I got it together enough to type, “Wait really? Sure that sounds fun lol.”

 

He gave me his number, and over text, we decided to save the hike for later and meet at his apartment the next afternoon. “Bring clothes that give off goddess vibes,” he suggested.  

 

I packed up a long blue silk kaftan with tigers on it and blue sandals and met Adam on his porch that Saturday at 1 p.m. When I saw him, I clammed up. He was hotter in person, as if that were possible. 

 

He invited me into his one-bedroom apartment as he got ready for the shoot. “So, your profile was many standard deviations away from the typical girl on Tinder,” he said. The fact that he used the phrase “standard deviations” made me want to rip his clothes off then and there. Instead, I asked him what exactly he meant. 

 

“Well, you’ve got all these interesting things you’re doing, and this nice combination of photos where you’re being cute and ones where you’re being a badass feminist.” 

 

I blushed. “Thank you!”

 

“Want to help me pick out a shirt?” he asked, taking off the shirt he was wearing. I wasn’t sure what was harder to believe: how good he looked with his shirt off or the way he seemed to be flirting with me … unless that part was wishful thinking. 

 

He ambled over to his closet, and I followed him. Just being in his bedroom with him was turning me on. “Oh, here’s my favorite shirt,” he said, grabbing a purple button-down and throwing it on, leaving the top button undone just enough for his chest hair to peek out. “How’s this look?” 

 

“Looks good,” was all I could get out — as if anything wouldn’t look good on him. He began packing a paper bag full of pomegranates, props for the music video he was co-producing. 

 

“Sometimes it feels like I have too much pleasure in my life,” he mused.

 

“Me too,” I laughed. 

 

“I want to hear about your life.”

 

“Well,” I contemplated how much to tell him, deciding he was the kind of guy I could probably tell it all to. “My past week involved a San Pedro ceremony, an acid trip on Venice Beach, a polyamory meetup, and two sex parties,” I volunteered.

 

“You win,” he chuckled. “Tell me about the sex parties.”

 

“I didn’t actually do too much,” I told him. “Had some good conversations and made out with a guy while another one felt me up. Which was hot.” 

 

“You know, if I went to sex parties, I’d do it the same way as you,” he said. “I like to be conscious about who I mix my energies with.” Ooh, he was hot and enlightened. “I’m really into things like tantra and exploring touch and sensuality and orgasm.” Oh, this was going to be fun. 

 

“I’m into those things too,” I said, telling him about my experiences seeing sexological bodyworkers.

 

Then, he once again caught me off guard with an offer. “You know, you seem very sensual, and I think I’d really like to exchange massages with you later tonight if you’re down with that.” OK, so the flirtation wasn’t my imagination. I was more than down. 

 

As he drove me to the music video shoot, he told me about his interest in learning other languages, and how mathematics was invented earlier in places with cold winters because they needed it to plan. I told him I spoke Spanish. “Me gusta tu culo,” he said. 

 

“My what?”

 

He pointed behind him. Oh. He liked my ass. He was definitely not holding back on the flirtation now, and I was loving it. 

 

Once we arrived at the house where the video was being filmed, I changed into my goddess gear, and the next few hours were a whirlwind that involved me putting on a tiara, dragging a guy across a floor with a rope, shooting money out of a gun, and doing my most seductive dance in a room that looked like an enchanted forest. Throughout the shoot, Adam and I kept locking eyes and smiling at each other. 

 

Afterward, we all went out to Pizza Hut for dinner. Since the restaurant was so cold, we sat on a ledge in the parking lot eating, and Adam and I continued our conversation from earlier. That was when I learned he was 20% sub, 80% dom. 

 

“I’m curious about that stuff,” I said. “I just started exploring it. I got spanked at a sex party last month. It was fun.”

 

“What was fun about it?”

 

“The way the guy was teasing me,” I thought back to the experience. “He called me a bad girl. And when I asked what made me bad, he said, ‘You’re not fucking anyone.’” I cracked up at the memory. 

 

“Oh, that’s cute,” said Adam. “So, what’s it like to go to a sex party and not participate?”

 

“Well, I do participate. Making out is participating. Getting spanked is participating. And I’ve done more. I guess the most I’ve done is gotten fingered.”

 

“Ah, so you are a bad girl,” he met my gaze with a glimmer in his eye. Ooh, were we going to have fun later. 

 

Things started to wind down, and another guy acting in the video asked Adam what he was doing that night. “I’m pretty tired, so I think I’ll go home,” he said. “Maybe get a massage. I know a girl.” He turned to me. “Do you know a guy?” 

 

All I could do was nod shyly up at him and burst into a giggle fit. 

 

Soon after, we headed to Adam’s car. Another girl from the video came in to get some stuff she’d left there. “What were you guys talking about?” she asked. 

 

“You know,” Adam said coyly. “Likes. Dislikes. Preferences.” 

 

Once we got in and started driving away to Avicii’s “Peace of Mind,” he told me, “So, I’m feeling the need to put out there what I’m wanting. I’d like to get close to you and feel sexy but not engage in any kissing or sex.”

 

“OK…” I hesitated. “May I ask why?”

 

“I have a fluid sharing partner. I don’t like to mix fluids with anyone else. That keeps it clean.” I could respect that. 

 

“What does that leave, then?”

 

“Lots of things. Massages, cuddling…” he turned to his right to look at me with a smirk. “Spanking.” OK, yeah. I could dig it. 

 

When we got back to his place, he invited me to wait on his bed while he used the bathroom. “I feel like lighting candles,” he said when he got out, his shirt off again. Yum. “Would you like some candles?”

 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” 

 

He lit two candles on each nightstand on either side of his bed and put on dim lighting. Then, he pounced onto the bed and got on top of me, pushing me down on my stomach, and began massaging my back. I playfully squealed to encourage him. 

 

“Do you want me to spank you?” he asked. 

 

“OK, but start gently.”

 

“I don’t do ‘OK’s,” he said. “I need your full consent. So from now on, if you want something, you say ‘Yes please.’”

 

“OK.”

 

“What’d you say?”

 

“Yes please!”

 

He spanked me very gently. “I can take a little more than than that,” I smiled back at him. He spanked me slightly harder. I yelped and laughed. 

 

He rolled me around, alternating between massaging me and spanking me while making deep, throaty groans and growls. “The noises you make are so sexy,” I whimpered, which only made him get louder. He was turning me on so much, I had to get on top of him. I got up, flipped him over, and asked, “Can I bite you?” What can I say — it’s a little kink of mine. His body was so delicious, I just wanted to bite it. 

 

“Where do you want to bite me?” 

 

“Hmm,” I ran my eyes over him, searching for the most biteable spots before finally settling on the space right above his left shoulder. “Right here.”

 

“Yeah, you could bite me there.” Yes. I dug my teeth into him and growled. “How about here?” I breathed on his neck. 

 

“Mmhmm,” he moaned. I playfully nibbled him, then sat up to survey this beautiful specimen whose bedroom I’d somehow found myself in. He looked back up at me in turn, and asked, “How about we take off your dress?” 

 

“Interesting proposition.” I lifted my hands up, and he gathered the material around my waist and pulled my goddess dress over my head. I smiled back at him shyly. 

 

“What a beautiful pair of breasts,” he told me, cupping them with his hands. “These are real?” 

 

“Yes,” I laughed. 

 

“They’re so perky!” He threw me back down on the bed and began spanking me again as I erupted in another giggle fit, then whispered in my ear, “You’re a bad girl, aren’t you, going home with strange men from Tinder and biting them like this?” 

 

“I’m so bad!” I laughed. 

 

Then, he turned me around. “Can I take my pants off?”

 

“Yes please.” He stripped down to his underwear. With each of us nearly naked now, I could feel the sexual energy coursing between us. 

 

“Mm,” he playfully got on top of me. “I want to rub my cock on you.”

 

“OK.”

 

“Remember our rule? I can’t get hard if I feel like it’s just OK.”

 

“Yes please, I want to feel your cock on me.”

 

“Good girl. That’s what I like to hear.” He grinded himself into me as I looked up at his sculpted upper body, soft hair, and mischievous smile, wishing I could take a picture to prove to myself this was really happening. He bent down closer to me, and each time our lips almost touched, he kissed me on the nose or the cheek. It was like he could intuit exactly how to fulfill my cravings without compromising his boundaries. 

 

“You know, since you forgot to say ‘yes please,’ I think I need to spank you.” He turned me around and spanked me again. I stuck my ass up in the air for more. 

 

“Why’re you sticking your ass up like that, you bad girl?”

 

I decided to play along with the bad-girl narrative. “My slutty pussy can’t help it,” I laughed. 

 

“Your slutty pussy can’t help it?” he asked in exaggerated disbelief, then whispered in my ear, “What else does your slutty pussy want?” 

 

I thought about it, then timidly admitted, “To be touched.”

 

“To be touched?!” he asked, keeping up his mock incredulousness. 

 

“Yes,” I laughed. 

 

“Turn around.” 

 

I turned around and spread my legs. “Do you want me to touch your pussy?”

 

“Yes please.”

 

He gently pulled down my underwear and started rubbing my clit. “Would you like me to put my finger inside your pussy?”

 

“OK.”

 

“OK?”

 

“Yes, I want you to fuck me with your finger, please.”

 

He did as I wished, hard, and I started squirming and moaning. “Mm, happy girl,” he growled.

 

“Do you want me to take my underwear off?”

 

I thought about it. “I don’t know.”

 

“Why not?” 

 

“I don’t know.” 

 

“Are you scared you won’t be good at it?”

 

“No.” I honestly couldn’t figure it out.

 

“You know, I usually go for girls who are more cock-hungry than you,” he joked. “You’re a little cock-shy.”

 

I knew he was just teasing, but his comment hit a place deep inside of me — a place that knew why I was being “cock-shy.” I’d recently uncovered repressed sexual trauma from my childhood through my work with psychedelics, and he was triggering it. But I would not let my trauma rule my life. I would not let it dictate how this night ended. I was cock hungry, cock starved, and I was going to satiate myself. 

 

I looked him back up in the eye. “Please give me the chance to show you how cock-hungry I am.”

 

He looked back at me, his face at first skeptical, then a slight smile spread across his lips as he realized how serious I was. Our gazes met, and he nodded. “All right.”

 

“Take off your underwear.” He did. 

 

“Now rub your cock all over me.” He did. I could feel his desire building, and it was stoking mine as well. I reached between my legs and started playing with myself. 

 

“Are you touching yourself?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Good girl. Can I touch myself?”

 

“Yes please.” He got on top of me and started rubbing his cock with his hand. I rubbed myself more vigorously as I watched him get harder and heard him start moaning. 

 

“I want to cum with you,” he said. “Will you tell me when you’re going to cum?”

 

“Yes.” We both stroked ourselves harder. 

 

I fully planned to give him a heads up, but it kind of snuck up on me as I thought about him unleashing his load all over my tits. I let out a shriek. 

 

“Are you going to cum?”

 

“Yes” was all I could make out.  

 

I felt our bodies release at the same time, mine shaking in waves as I felt his cum cover my chest. I kept stroking myself lightly and letting out breathy moans as I rode the aftershocks, looking into his eyes so I could share this intimate expression of myself with him. He stared back with a look of raw passion on his face. Finally, the convulsions coursing through our bodies subsided. “Good girl,” he smiled. He got a towel to wipe me off, and I beamed as I arched my back and leaned into it. 

 

After we got up and got dressed, he sat on his couch and lit a joint. “It was nice cumming with you,” he said. 

 

I chuckled at his straightforwardness. “Yeah, it was,” I smiled, sitting beside him and leaning my head on his shoulder. 

 

“I kind of want some ramen.”

 

“I’d get ramen with you.” 

 

Thankfully, Google Maps found us a restaurant that was still open at 11 p.m., and he drove me there. On the way in, he asked if he could spank me. 

 

“Yes please,” I said, then kept walking, confused, while he didn’t do anything. Then, just as we were about to enter the restaurant, he took me be surprise and gave my ass a little slap. I squealed in delight.

 

“I’m not used to feminist sluts like you,” he joked.

 

“Really?” 

 

“No, not really. Actually, feminist sluts are my specialty.” I could tell. 

 

As we walked back to the car after sharing dumplings and noodles and talking about relationship structures, he asked me, “So, are you cock shy?”

 

“Not anymore,” I grinned. 

 

“Say it in the affirmative.”

 

“I am a cock hungry slut,” I giggled.

 

“You know, when you laugh like that, I’m going to have to spank you.”

 

“I don’t see you spanking me.”

 

“The time will come.”

 

A few minutes later, he dropped me off at my apartment, got out of the car, and asked me to turn around. “I believe I counted six giggles,” he said. “One… two… three… four… five… six.” With each number, he lifted his hand and gave my ass a generous slap. I laughed and laughed, hoping my laughter would rack up some spanks for the next time I saw him. 

 

When I got inside, I cried and cried, feeling my cock shyness released with every tear, this poisonous, not-me cock shyness. I was finally free to be my cock-hungry self.

 

The morning after this exorcism of sorts, I began composing a text to Adam: “So, when can I unleash my cock hunger on you again?”