Everyone knows that Tinder is nothing more than a mass of losers in profound despair, facing loneliness by searching something as easy as sex in a mobile app. Everyone knows, but no one gives a shit.
And who am I to give a shit? Here I am, smoking a cigarette, after having wild sex with Sasha Grey, played with some elegancy by my loyal right hand.
The smoke slithers above my head while I swipe through the app’s Likes and Nopes in the empty hope of a real fuck tonight.
Her name’s Pamela, less than a mile away. I swipe through her pictures, all showing her in a bikini that would make my Sasha blush.
“Pamela was a famous groupie.” I say right away.
“LOL! I wish I was Des Barres.” She types back.
Her knowledge of 60’s rock history makes me even hornier than her revealing bikini. If that’s even possible.
“I saw that you live nearby.” I risk.
She doesn’t hesitate before giving me her full address.
“I can even walk there.” I tease.
“So come.” She answers with a wink emoji.
“Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink first?”
“No, but I’ll let you bring the beer.”
I ring the bell. She answers wearing only her panties and a men’s shirt. A lit joint rests between her fingers. Her smile has a naïve naughtiness that drives me insane.
“Is it cool if I smoke here?” I ask examining her vinyl collection while she puts the beer in the fridge.
“I’d rather if you didn’t. You’re even cuter in person and I don’t wanna wait you to finish.”
She comes towards me and I smile while putting the cigarette back in the pack.
I wake up with her poking my ribs.
“Good morning to you too.” I mumble sitting up on bed, trying to beat the weariness.
“Is gonna be by cash or card, cutie?” She asks while getting dressed.
“Why am I not surprise?” I ask myself.
“Too easy, huh big boy?” She says laughing.
I nod and frown at the same time.