Tinder | Online Dating
Tinderella Diary: An Erotic Memoir — Chapter 36
Chris aka “Lips” — From Hollywood
When I first saw this profile, I thought Chris was black. He is 30 years old, super ripped body, tattoos up and down his arms, facial hair is on point and he definitely has a good barber. It turns out he is Guatemalan, sexy as fuck nonetheless.
My opening line to him was, “Your lips should be illegal.”
Chris had the fullest, sexiest, juiciest lips, and I couldn’t stop thinking about them. He lived in Hollywood and we texted for several days before we made plans to get together.
He didn’t have a place for us to get together, and he asked several times if he could come to my place, especially late at night when I could tell he was super horny. He would tell me all the things he was going to do to me… with those lips.
We made plans to get together for the following Friday. I had a ticket to see the musical Rent at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood, and I figured I could maximize my time by seeing Chris when I was planning to go to Hollywood anyway. We talked about getting a motel room; he said he knew of one in the area that rented by the hour, and he could get 3 hours for $40. He asked me if I’d go halves with him and I agreed.
The night before our planned get together, I received 8 missed calls from Chris from about 1:30–4:30 in the morning, while we were all sleeping. After the first call or two, I turned my ringer off fearing that Rob would wake up and ask who was calling me. I started to freak out a little bit, thinking he might be near my neighborhood wanting to get together.
We hadn’t talked on the phone before, only texted, so it was weird that he was calling me. The next day, when we were finalizing our plans, he confessed that he was drunk, and just wanted to talk to me.
We agreed to meet up at Chase Bank on Fairfax at 3pm. I would pick him up, because, of course, his car was in the shop. Of course, when I got there, I was at the wrong Chase Bank on Fairfax. So, by the time I got to him at the right Chase Bank on Fairfax, I had been sitting in bad traffic for a way too long, and I was overheated and a little frustrated.
When I saw Chris approach the car, I was surprised by two things; how young he looked, and how little he looked. I mean, he is Guatemalan after all. He was probably around 5’6” and very small looking. Yes, he was buff, but very lean muscle and hard to detect through his t-shirt. I thought I might crush him if I got on top of him.
When he got into my car, I wasn’t sure he was going to be interested in having a physical relationship with me, but he quickly put those fears to rest when he leans over and kisses me for a little bit. With tongue. Those lips should be illegal. I was right.
Chris directed me where to drive to get to the motel, and while I drove we talked about soccer. His love for it. My son’s love for it. He mentioned he would like to train my son. He told me how he had played semi -professional soccer in his 20s and how he is now a personal trainer at Golds Gym. I believed he was 30, but a very young 30. It felt like I was going to be fucking one of my son’s barely out of high school soccer coaches. He also reminded me of my students, high school students, the way he talked.
“Ya feel me?” Chris would constantly say.
He told me a little about his childhood but left out some details. He was born in Guatemala and lives here in the U.S. without his parents. He came here around the age of ten and managed to avoid the foster system or immigration system by living with friends and family. He also mentioned that he is legally allowed to live in this country, but I am not so sure that is true.
I had very little in common with Chris, but my intuition told me that he and I were going to have fun together.
After a long, trafficy drive, in which we engage in polite conversation the entire time, we finally arrive at the motel and he checks us in and pays in cash. They give him some towels and a remote control. We start fooling around right away, and it was good. He does not eat my pussy the way he said he was going to, but I am not surprised. I do not go down on him either. Chris definitely tries my patience, in a good way. After fooling around for a while, I yearn to climb on top of him and ride him like crazy, but he makes me wait. He instead pulls himself on top of me and fucks me slowly, sometimes even stopping altogether. When I feel ready to cum and start to move faster, he slows me down until I eventually have a huge orgasm with him on top of me penetrating me very very slowly. He edged me. He did not let himself release yet. Just like Luis, these athletic types can go forever, and have so much control over their orgasms.
We stop for a while, and just talk. After a while, I look him into his deep brown eyes and said, “I’m ready to go again.”
He looks down at his flaccid penis and responds, “You’re gonna have to make him stand up.”
“Touché,” I think to myself, so I suck Chris’s dick until he is hard again. Harder even then before. This time he lets me climb on top of him, and shortly after I cum, he does too. I really enjoyed the lesson on patience from the boy who could be my student. Just as with Luis, where I really learned to savor the moment so I could remember every detail, Chris taught me that I don’t need to crazily make myself orgasm right away; if it feels good and I have an attentive partner, eventually I will get there. That would be the key from now on, to seek out attentive partners who expressed intention to please me.
Afterwards, we took a little catnap in the motel room; after all, we did have the room for another hour. Well, actually Chris slept while I just stared at his gorgeous face and trim toned physique.
When we woke up, he wanted to eat. I offered to buy us both dinner in lieu of giving him half the money for the room. He wanted Popeyes. He ordered a ton of food and ate it all, slowly. I ordered slightly less food, and mostly picked at it. It was a weird dynamic, back to being the old lady, and the little kid. I don’t think anyone in the restaurant would have guessed that we had just been fucking each other’s brains out in a pay-by-the-hour motel in Downtown LA.
After dinner, we started the short-distance, but long drive back to Hollywood, so I could drop him off on Hollywood boulevard, and I could get to my show on time. But first I had to get gas. Quick. So much driving. So much traffic.
The gas station was packed, and people were all over the place trying to line up for a pump. Finally, I was backing into a pump space, at the same time a man in the minivan was pulling up into it. He wouldn’t move. I wouldn’t move. It was like that Seinfield episode. The driver hurled profanities at me in Spanish.
Chris stuck up for my honor, even though he wasn’t entirely convinced I was right. It was the principal of the matter; the male driver should have let me go get gas quickly, and I would be on my way. So, we stayed both halfway parked like that for a while, until I realized the nozzle would reach my tank from where I was, so I just got out and started pumping. It isn’t something worth risking my life over, but I was literally running on fumes, and needed to get gas right away. Yet, another lesson on patience. I guess I had failed this one.
Eventually, we got to Hollywood, and went our separate ways.
The following Monday, when I was getting ready to work out, I noticed a bruise on my arm in the shape of Chris’ lips. It was a bite mark. It made me think of him the entire workout. I took a photo of it, and after class, I texted it to him: “A bruise the shape of your lips on my arm.” Honestly, I don’t even remember him biting me.
“Damn girl, you bruise easily.”
“I guess I do…lol.”
“I had lots of fun with you.” I was glad to see that. I wasn’t sure he enjoyed it, as much as I did. And I hadn’t heard from him since.
We started texting again for a while, and it got sexual. “Do you have any fantasies?” he inquired.
“Do you?” I asked back, dodging the question.
“I’ve always wanted to have a threesome.” I was not at all shocked by this revelation.
“With two girls, or a girl and a guy?” I questioned, pretending not to know the answer.
“Two girls. Would you be interested in that?”
Fuck, I thought to myself. I am trapped. If I say yes, he might bring up a girl who wants to do it with us. If I say no, then I seem like a prude. So I said, “It would be hard for me to share you.”
Wrong answer.
He stopped the conversation short, saying that he was weirded out by the idea of me not wanting to share him. Like I had suggested I wanted to have an exclusive sexual/romantic relationship with him. He had completely misunderstood me.
One of the first things he asked me when we started texting was, “What are you looking for on here?”
I responded, “Physical”.
Why would he think that I all of a sudden want something more with him? With this man child? I mean besides sex. I tried to explain what I meant, and he said it was fine, but the damage was done.
The next day, I told him I would be returning to the Pantages in two weeks to see Miss Saigon and I and asked him if he would like to get together. He told me that he kind of lost interest, but asked if we could be Facebook friends, so I added him on my Facebook, the one I use to communicate with my former students, not the one I use for friends and family. I also know that he probably hardly ever uses Facebook, being the age he is and type of person he is. So, now we are Facebook friends, and we haven’t seen each other or texted each other since.
The whole thing is kind of funny. I am a married, professional woman with multiple degrees and a son, living in a house that I own and driving a luxury car, and this ridiculous fuckboy thinks I give a fuck who he’s fucking.
You’ve got to be kidding me man-child. You are 30 years old, no degree, underemployed, no car, no place to fuck even, and you think I want a relationship with you just because you have nice lips, and a decent dick (it is in proportion to the rest of his body)? Get the fuck out of here! You’d be lucky if I pay you to cut my grass!
Maybe if he would have eaten my pussy…
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