Sexting With Mr. Trouble
The Second Month: Date #5
My body glistened with sweat as I lay there, spread-eagle on my bed, unable to move a muscle. My phone buzzed again with another message from Mr. Trouble, offering me something that I craved with every fiber of my being: Air conditioning.
The summer heat had hit me hard, and after spending all day working outside in 105 degree weather, not even the generous invitation to enjoy some ice cold air with a sizzling hot stranger, could get my body moving again.
But even without the participation of my body, every time my phone buzzed with a message from Mr. Trouble, I could feel something within me stirring with excitement. We had Matched on Tinder during his 24 hour business trip in town. That clock quickly timed out, and he flew home to San Francisco before I awoke the next morning. We had missed our opportunity to meet in person, but our messages continued with intensity. Each tap of a letter mimicking the buttons of our clothes, slowly and deliciously revealing more and more.
Me: You do put words together well, which is a rarity this day and age. Suuuper sexy.
Mr. Trouble: I thank thee. Ha.
You are doing a fine job of keeping me engaged.
Also a rarity.
Me: Ha! As I said you get me all finger-tied and then it takes me super long to get out even this short of a text message. Hahaha.
Mr. Trouble: There are other levels, of course.
Mr. Trouble: But I don’t mind the idea of you tied and twisted.
Mr. Trouble: (Not that tied is really my thing.)
Mr. Trouble: There’s phone. FaceTime. You know, those avenues.
But the anticipation of your responses is also fun.
It all depends on how you like to play. And how you want to connect.
Me: Texting seems a safe way to play for now. One more button unbuttoned than the app we were chatting on before.
Maybe work our way up to the phone some night. Preferably a night that is not as hot as tonight, because you tend to make me blush.
Mr. Trouble: I’ve been known to go further than a blush.
Me: Blush, giggle and sweaty palms.
And I can tell how much trouble you are just by your text messages! Scared to see what you would do with a more intimate device.
Mr. Trouble: Being curious, if I may…
Where does that fear come from?
Me: Oh, the fear probably comes from the advice that every young woman receives. Don’t trust cute strangers. 😜
Mr. Trouble: Well, I am a stranger.
But I’m no advantage-taker.
I’m just here…
Enjoying some semblance of intimacy…
I’m working off of what little I do know…
…which is that you’re sending back signals that you are playful…
…which has me mildly aroused.
Me: I’m just getting out of a serious relationship and it’s kinda exciting and scary to reawaken the flirtatious and ravenous part of myself.
Mr. Trouble: Well, for what it’s worth, “experimenting” here with me is safer than some “real-world” interactions and it sounds like you could use some liberation.
And the feeling of being free to be ravenous.
Me: Ah yes, you may be right there. But I speak better with my touch than I do with my iPhone.
Mr. Trouble: I wouldn’t doubt it.
I just lack the fortune to feel it.
I can sense it though.
Because that’s one key part of this — refreshing parts of you that you haven’t stimulated — in this manner — in some time.
Which, as I’ve mentioned, gives me pleasure.
Me: There you go getting me all flustered again. Luckily I’m outside now, enjoying a breeze with my cider.
Mr. Trouble: What is wrong with a little fluster?
Are you opposed to feeling that kind of…
Me: No, definitely not opposed. Just not entirely used to it.
Mr. Trouble: Understood.
And I’m glad to know you’re not opposed.
Because I’m having fun.
Me: You make me forget to breath! And you’re only a text message!
I spent the hottest nights of the summer stuck to my phone. Eventually moving from Text Sex to Phone Sex while his succulent words did things to my body that touch can’t always accomplish. Two strangers getting to know each other through language, both text and voice, with nothing more substantial than our own imaginations. We craved each other, but there was 600 miles separating us, and it was both tantalizing and torturous.
Mr. Trouble: Thanks again for last night’s conversation.
Me: You have been on my mind all morning. Your voice still in my ear.
Mr. Trouble: I even looked at flights to Portland, just to see prices.
Mr. Trouble: Indeed.
The idea of making it tangible and touchable was tantalizing.
Me: Mmm. I really like the mental image of you so overcome with desire to touch my skin, that you were compelled to check out flights.
I knew that he wouldn’t actually be able to make his way back to Portland; we just enjoyed the fantasy of it. So about a week into it, I thought it best to take a break from playtime with Mr. Trouble to meet a real life boy, Curious George. I didn’t really want to go out but laying around talking on the phone to a stranger didn’t seem like a long term solution for happiness. I agreed to a lunch date and suggested a slight variation on my usual First Date, this time heading to a taco place that also served strong drinks*. I was (of course) running late and it was miserably hot, so by the time I arrived, having made the 20 minute walk in 15, I was a sweaty mess. I offered my hand instead of a wet hug.
I was immediately relieved to see that there wasn’t the usual long line, and made a mental note to perhaps avoid places with long wait times on future First Dates. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem nice, he just had 10,000 questions and the heat had already turned my brain to mush — I wouldn’t have been able to handle standing there for long. I suggested that we go dutch and we ordered separately before finding a table outside.
Despite the heat, the food didn’t disappoint and there wasn’t any lack of conversation. He wanted to know everything about me and started with the usual questions. We covered all of the basics like family, education, occupation and goals. Even after only 5 First Dates I’m already starting to get tired of these topics. I found my mind wandering off to Mr. Trouble, who knows nothing about me and doesn’t need to know.
The conversation continued as we walked a couple doors down to a brewery† and made ourselves comfortable on their patio. He bought the round and then immediately requested that we selfie with our beers. “We look good together,” he said glancing at the photo and rolling onward, choosing to fill any silence with chatter. As a rule I never leave a drink unattended, especially on a first date, and I was kicking myself for not using the restroom before our beers arrived. I was already feeling particularly distracted and this added sensation wasn’t helping.
As we talked and sipped our slowly warming beers, I kept having to force my attention back to the man sitting in front of me. It really wasn’t anything that he was doing or not doing, I just couldn’t seem to keep my mind focused. Curious George wanted more, “So then what brought you out here?” I could have guessed that would have been his next question, since it’s another topic of conversation that seems guaranteed to come up in every date. My beer was almost empty and I wasn’t really feeling like sitting through another, so I came up with a condensed version, “Well, after Bush won for the second time, The High School BFF and I were feeling a tad dismayed by our country, so we decided to get in my car and spend the summer meeting our fellow Americans. We saw 38 states and twice that number of cities, and Oregon won me over. Particularly Portland even though we were only here for a couple of hours. It was love at first sight and I knew that I’d move here someday. I had to live in Colorado first, but now, here I am! And you?” I passed it off to him, and luckily he took the bait. As he talked my mind found its way back to Mr. Trouble.
“Can I walk you home?” Curious George offered, our beer glasses having sat empty while he finished his Portland arrival story. “Oh, that’s ok,” I said, and then seeing his disappointment added, “How about just half way?” He offered me his arm as we walked, and I clutched on as the heat and drinks made my head feel light and my legs wobbly. After a while I stopped him and said that we were about half way. I thanked him for a wonderful date and moved in for a hug. He countered with a kiss and I let it land on its mark. “Are you a smoker?” I asked, immediately recognizing it. “Oh man, busted! How could you tell? I haven’t smoked since early this morning. And I’ve showered since then!” I don’t mind smoking as much as I mind the feeling that he was trying to hide something from me.
As I walked away I felt relieved to be done with the date and happy to be heading home to call Mr. Trouble and curl up with his voice. A couple days later my phone buzzed with a message from Curious George.
Curious George: Hello! If you would like to go out again sometime let me know.
I paused for a moment. He was a nice guy but I really couldn’t see myself going on another date with him. So I mustered up the courage to be direct.
Me: Hey [Curious George]! I hope that all is well with you!! Things have been suuuper busy in my world, and it looks like that’s going to be the theme of my summer. I enjoyed our date and think you’re an awesome person, but I don’t want to string you along! I wish you the absolute best! So glad that our paths crossed, if even just briefly! Have a wonderful summer and I hope to see you around the hood!!
Curious George: Right on. Thanks for lettin me down easy. Good luck and I had a nice time meeting you as well.
Nice. Felt good to have that done and settled. And he took it well. My phone buzzed again. This time it was Mr. Trouble.
Mr. Trouble: Wouldn’t it be Pavlovian if…
Me: If what? If I started to get wet just by hearing my phone buzzing, knowing that it’s you texting me?
Mr. Trouble: Ha, yes.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Portland Date Options:
*Por Que No is one of my favorite spots. Portland’s take on a taco, with local ingredients and a fun ambience. Expect the line to be long and the drinks to be strong. I promise that the line will go quicker than expected, but maybe just not quick enough for a first date. You might want to check out their Taco Tuesday and Happy Hour specials.
†StormBreaker Brewing has a great patio for all seasons and it’s always hopping (get what I did there, hehe)!
___________________________________________________________________Liked what you just read? This piece is part of a series called Men & Meals: One Woman’s Feast. I’m indulging in 100 dates in a year and I invite you to Follow along!