Nikki
With all of the social media outlets at our fingertips today, it’s no wonder that some people view Twitter and Facebook as viable hook-up options. Personally, the only thing I use Facebook for is to find out who died so I can strike them from my Christmas card list ASAP. Nothing turns me into a raving lunatic faster than wasting stamps. Well that and stupid people.
Anyway.
Unlike mega dating sites eHarmony and Match.com, the anonymity of Twitter lends a certain boost of confidence to behave like an impossibly over-sexed porn star. Especially since a hefty percentage of Twitter hook-ups are nothing more than dirty direct messages and text fucking with the occasional Skype screw. You can claim to be anyone or anything you want, and no one will be the wiser. All you have to do is say you’re a Sex God and suddenly you’re a Sex God.
The challenging part is weeding through the bullshit, and there is a ton of it. It can be overwhelming, and at times, invisible until you’re ankle-deep. There are the wanna-be’s who’ve tried to dom me on my TL. It always makes me quirk an eyebrow because a true Dom would find that behavior deplorable. Just ask one.
There are also the players who think they have all the bases covered as they haphazardly juggle multiple playmates, not realizing that their TL reads like a laundry list of bad deeds. Unfortunately, neither do some of the women who fall into the carefully laid trap. Try to run that game on me, and you’ll get a swift punch in the nuts.
Then the unexpected happened when I discovered an unlikely match. Well, he discovered me and when he told me his age, I just knew I was going to hell. There was no way I could take this guy’s avatar seriously, but I couldn’t stop staring at it either. And so our innocent flirtation began with subtle innuendos and polite tweets simply saying, “how’s your day gorgeous?”
Then the DM’s began.
In this situation, most people would assume the DM’s blasted full speed into all-out raunch, and I’m not going to lie and say that they didn’t. In the midst of them though, we took a chance and exchanged numbers and pictures. Some dirty, some not. The conversations turned deeply personal and little by little, the protective layers slowly peeled away, exposing the real people behind the fabricated personas. That’s when we began to spend hours on the phone talking about our lives, laughing about everything imaginable, and yes, making each other cum repeatedly.
All pretenses of a customary courtship were set aside, and we fell fast and hard because the nervousness of looking perfect and how our body language was perceived wasn’t a concern. It doesn’t get any more honest that Skyping in pajamas and no make up. It’s all what you make it. Now would I go out on a second date with him that way? HELL no, but by the time we’d reached the point where Skype was the natural next step, we’d already crossed so many boundaries it didn’t matter anymore.
Geography can be a big hurdle, but only if you make it into one. That’s the beauty of flying the friendly skies, people. My Twitter beau and I have shared our fantasies about our first meeting, the anxiety and the lust that will consume us. I imagine with all of the hot phone sex and emotional coalescing under our belt, we’re sure to be asked to leave the airport terminal for inappropriate behavior. The best thing we can do at that point is seek privacy as quickly as possible, put out the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and fuck each other’s brains out.
Over and over again.
