This is something I wrote about the first boy that I properly matched with on Tinder, sexted and met up to fool around on a roof with. He would also be the one to teach me that you can't always get what you want and that sometimes, people can be absolutely terrible to you, while loving the way your ass looked.
He was my first encounter with anything sexual. What started out as an innuendo-ladened chat exchange turned into my first ever steamy, sexy, sext session.
He was my first encounter with anything sexual. What started out as an innuendo-ladened chat exchange turned into my first ever steamy, sexy, sext session.
I learnt what angles made my breasts look bigger, my stomach smaller; I learnt that some men absolutely loved pubic hair and I learnt that I could derive pleasure from someone else's pleasure.
I learnt that I could be desired, sexually desired.
Me. The goofy, chubby, loud, self-deprecating, constantly red from the slightest physical exhaustion, un-lady-like, jokester.
Then we met in real life and the sexy fantasy that we had created with our phones came to an abrupt holt.
Before that, post sexual revelation and newfound confidence in my body, I was excited to meet you. But I was also terrified that in the real world, with lighting and angles that I had no control over me, your attraction to me would disappear like every nude we had exchanged (or so we think...)
Was I attracted to him? Well, that didn't really matter did it. Because he was attracted to me, and he made it very known to me that my body made him feel things.
Problematic, twisted, indicative of some latent self-esteem issues - probably, yes. But I didn't have time to think about that, I was still trying to decide what I should wear. He lived all the way in the -insert a location in Singapore- and it just so happened that I was going to be in that area to visit my best friend in the hospital. She had just gotten out of life threatening surgery (destiny? fate? serendipity?). She fought for her life and I was picking out a thong.
I made up a half-ass excuse and left my dear, almost-dying friend to meet this lanky Indian man at -insert name of mall in Singapore-. We very covertly took the lift up to the rooftop, because apparently, living in that area meant that everyone in said area knew who he was and would tell all his friends that they saw him with a beautiful (ok, ethnically ambiguous) girl.
I later told said dying friend about this incident and we had a laugh because you could see the rooftop from her hospital room.
So, finally some alone time with my sext buddy. My tinder match. Some random dude who liked my ass. Where do we start? I'm assuming he has more experience (because... he told me he did). We have some casual but stranger banter, he proceeds to address and poke my vaginal area (boy does this guy have moves or what?). We begin kissing, or what I can only assume is kissing, and doing some of that heavy petting that they warn us about in primary school Sex Education.
I didn't feel much. I didn't feel anything. I had much more fun sexting. All those times I had wished that I had someone there to curb my sexual frustration with a cup of the breast, caress of the thigh, finger in the vagina, but no, nothing. It wasn't at all what I had built up in my head.
I would later realise that this would be somewhat recurring theme in my sexual and dating life: disappointment.
It was all (somewhat) fun and game until I realised that he was literally in love with someone. Information that I became privy to after following him on his private Instagram, something that he had insisted that I do. I had zero feelings for this man (man-boy may be a more accurate term). Okay fine, yes, I had entertained the thought of being something more for like 5 minutes, but I thought it'd be better for him, and better for me in the long run, if he just sticked to courting this girl he was so absolutely in love with. I didn't want to be forced into the undesirable position as "the other girl".
Not the girl he was in love with, but the girl whose ass he liked.
