“I definitely have a different opinion of you now.”

Jin’s words made me smile. It was something she had a talent for doing. Making me smile. She did that in our first messages on the dating app, and now that we had moved into the world of text messages, it was no different.

“How so?” I asked.

“That was not what I expected you to say,” she answered.

“What?” I asked. “What did I say?”

“You know,” she replied.

“Oh…that last exchange? Let’s see…what did we say…?”

I scrolled up in my messages on our chat. I had been telling her about a particularly violent work experience, and then she had brought up the fact that I don’t drink or do any drugs, and she commented that it was “interesting”. I made a slightly sarcastic comment, asking her, “Were you hoping for someone with more color? Some vices?” Jin’s response floored me.

“At least some violent tendencies.” Wow!

Was she being sarcastic too? It was tough to tell. We’d only met online the day before, and we’d exchanged some messages, enough to know that I liked her and I think we had a good rapport, but not enough to know her comfort zone. Or to know when she was being serious, or not. Her profile did make reference to a sarcastic and dry sense of humor. So…maybe…?

I had a decision to make. How do I respond to that one? I don’t believe in violence. Up to that point, I think I was showing my true colors, that I really did try to be respectful, and compassionate. A gentleman, I suppose. I didn’t want to blow this by sounding like every other guy she probably met on this app. No false or inflated sense of self. No ego. No male bravado. I hate it when I see that kind of macho front being put on. But sounding like a real pussy….that was the other risk. I know myself. I’m not a pussy. You can be respectful and still be confident. You can treat a woman as your equal, and yet still have a bit of passion in your words and actions. Fine line. I know myself, but she didn’t. Not yet.

I took a chance. I responded to her comment about violent tendencies.

“If you like being spanked, that’s one thing. But beyond that, no violent tendencies. Sorry.”

There. I said “spanked”. She’ll know what I meant by that. And then she paused. The silence in the texts worried me. Maybe I had crossed the line? Too soon. Too much.

“That was not what I expected you to say.”

Uh oh. How do I interpret that? Was that good unexpected, or bad unexpected? My instinct was to pull it back a bit. I didn’t want to lose Jin. At least not over a comment that may have gone beyond her comfort zone.

“I hope I didn’t offend you. I’m sorry if I did.”

Wuss. If I looked in a mirror after that text, I’d see a wuss. Or maybe just a Canadian. We apologize for everything. Maybe she’ll just take it that I’m doing my patriotic duty by apologizing. Kind of like suggesting we use maple syrup during sexual food play, and not whipped cream or chocolate sauce. Fuck…my brain needs to slow down sometimes.

“Not at all!” she answered. And she used an exclamation point in her answer. Damn! That was so hot!

I decided to go with that flow. I hadn’t lost her. Not yet.

“I tend to be a bit blunt,” I wrote. “I try to be honest. I’m not shy either.”

It’s out there now. Good. I like being honest, and I’ve told her. Warned her, perhaps?

“I was kind of pleasantly surprised if I’m being completely honest,” came her reply.

Pleasantly surprised. Surprised? Ah…slow and dense man’s brain at midnight starts to understand smart woman’s brain. She saw me differently. My spanking comment was out of character from everything I’d said up to that point. The wheels started turning in my exhausted mind. I responded.

“Well, I didn’t think spanking would strike a nerve. Well, maybe it actually does strike a nerve…I guess that’s the whole point.”

“Sure does.”

“If done properly,” I added.

“I definitely have a different opinion of you now. Not better or worse. You just seemed very not someone I thought would bring up spanking. I just didn’t expect it from you based on the rest of our messages. You weaved it into the conversation in a very benign way.”

I thought back to an earlier comment she had made, describing herself. I adopted her words, and responded.

“Well, even a naggy bitch deserves to be treated with genuine consideration and respect. Before being spanked.”

Had I gone too far? Damn! The hamster on that wheel inside my head was running again at full speed. Stop thinking! Just text with her. Just enjoy. Enjoy her. Enjoy the conversation.

And then her next message. “Spanking = good.”

Then she said she needed to get some sleep. Ok. Spanking is done for the night. Fair enough. It’s after midnight. She works. She’s got kids. Sleep is a necessity. Brain…stop thinking about spanking.

And in fairness, I didn’t know what I’d be spanking, even if I tried to visualize it with Jin. I had one picture of her from her profile. A head shot. No clue what lay below shoulder level, let alone the spanking zone. Get that image out of your head! Too abstract. Too early too.

But she had me. She had me at, “I was kind of pleasantly surprised…” She sealed it with, “I definitely have a different opinion of you now.”

I answered her.

“I’ll let you get some sleep. It will give me a chance to consider and review the accompanying necessities of a good spanking. Some like a bit of hair pulling mixed in. Some have technique preferences. Some like certain language mixed in.”

Some. Not you, but some. God, even I am smart enough to know that was not very subtle. She’ll think I’m a perv. A middle-aged perv.

“Some do like some other things,” she answered.

Some? Does that mean her? Or is she just…? Over-thinking it again. Stop it!

I responded.

“I enjoy being surprised too. I’m glad you surprised me. I can only promise you that I have some other surprises, if you’re ever interested in asking. All depends on how open-minded people are, and what they want to know. Good night! Sleep well. Thank you for more lovely conversation.”

I left the text messaging and went back to the dating app. To look at her picture again. She really is lovely, I thought. I’ve never even heard her voice, though, and here I am writing about spanking, and now alluding to my “activity” – at least this one activity.

I write. Plain and simple. I write erotic and romantic stories. Writing is a big part of who I am, well, any creative expression I suppose. And the past decade, I’ve been writing stuff that some people would be shocked by, if they knew I wrote it. It’s fun. It’s not hurting anybody. And…

“Wait”.

Another notification on my cellphone. There was another text message. Jin needed and wanted some sleep, so I had said goodnight. But now she was texting me again.

“Wait. You can’t drop that and say goodnight. Well ,I guess you did.”

Shit. I did just drop that and say goodnight. My bad.

“I’m still here,” I replied. “So…are you asking?”

“Of course I’m asking.”

“And do you consider yourself pretty open-minded?”

“I do. I’m wondering if I’m going to regret this though. It’s kind of like a bedtime story.”

“Ok…how do I put this…do you enjoy reading? As in literature that may be more titillating than the average bedtime story?”

“Sometimes.”

“Not offended by it?”

“Not at all.”

Confession time followed. I told her about my last decade submitting bedtime stories, with a bit more emphasis on the bed.

“And you cook,” she added.

“And I cook,” I responded.

“I’m looking forward to speaking with you. Sweet dreams.”

And so we both went to sleep. At least I did. I believed that she did too.

That was a bit before one in the morning. Around 4:30 I was awoken by the sound of my cellphone vibrating. I was curious who and what it was at that hour. I looked. Another message.

“Fuck! And I won’t say pardon my language, because I imagine you use that word a lot in your bedtime stories that you write. You left me hanging! I want to see what you write. You’ve got me curious.”

Pandora’s Box was open, and no puns were intended by that when that went through my mind. Not a very good pun, anyway. It’s too early to be witty, I thought. My brain was still in sleep mode.

“Really?” That was the best I could muster as a response.

“Really. How do I see the stuff you’ve posted? Where is it?”

“It’s not always that good,” I answered. “A lot of it is older…less polished.

“I don’t care. I won’t judge.”

I was already awake. I wasn’t going to fall back to sleep at this point. May as well make good use of my time, I thought to myself. So my next words just came out of me, and I guess I really wasn’t thinking.

“How about if I write a new story? Something for you?”

Another pause. Maybe she’s fallen back asleep.

After the pause.

“Really? You’d do that?”

I guess I would.

“Yes. But…I have to be honest…I don’t have much to go on. I have one picture of you. If we’re talking erotic literature, there’s going to be some sex going on, or at least some nudity. Something. Something beyond my limited set of facts. I don’t know what you look like, for example, except for your face and hair. Both lovely. But everything else I write…I’ll be making it up. Speculating. I don’t want to get it wrong and offend you.”

“You won’t offend me. It’s fiction, right? It doesn’t have to be correct or accurate.”

“And I don’t know your…how do I say it…preferences? Your comfort zone. If I’m writing for you, and I put in a really vivid scene of…ok, let’s just go there…if I put in a scene about anal sex, you might think ‘never in a million years, buddy’ and feel I’ve crossed some line. I don’t even know if you shaved or trimmed or go full 1970’s bush.”

“You don’t need to know. We’re not going there now anyway. This isn’t me asking you to describe the two of us. It’s me asking you to see your writing, and you’re offering to write one for me. Not about me. For me. Give me a bush, if you want. Pull my hair and spank me. It’s not me anyway. It’s some fictional chick you’re creating so that I can read your stuff. And get off to it.”

“You serious?”

“Damn serious. You think I’m going to read some smut that you write and not take care of myself? Think again.”

“I didn’t expect to hear that.”

“Well, it’s not just you that has some surprises.”

She was right. I didn’t expect to hear that from her. From anybody, I suppose. Not after two days of online messaging and some texts.

“So, are you up to it?” she asked. “Will you write me something?”

“I said I would. I keep my word when I make a promise.”

“Good. I like a bit of follow-through. Some integrity.”

“Ok, but give me a day or so. I’m still half asleep, and I’ve got a busy day ahead with work…”

“A day or so? Fair…but if I’m being completely honest, I’ve been thinking about this since you dropped that bomb on me last night. I’m kind of…in need. Can you give me a sample? You know…talk dirty to me but in some texts…just to hold me over?”

Another surprise. I never expected her to ask me to talk dirty.

“I suppose I…wait a minute. To hold you over? In need? Is this going to be like…like me talking dirty and you will…you know…?”

“Jesus. For a writer of smut, you’re pretty shy. Say it. You’ll talk dirty. I’ll read it as it comes along. And I’m going to take care of my needs at this end as I read it. You’re going to help me get over the edge…and I’m pretty close to the edge already.”

“Isn’t this a bit much? Too fast? I don’t even know your last name, for God’s sake. I don’t know…”

“Make it up. If I was watching some porn, you think that actor or actress knows my last name? It’s just a stimulus. Or stimuli? Whatever. You’ll be my porn this morning.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“100% sure. Come on…talk dirty.”

“Like, how dirty?”

“Like how dirty? Seriously? Come on…fuck me with your words. And don’t worry…I’m clean, so you don’t need protection, and I can’t get pregnant, so don’t be afraid to cum inside me.”

Fuck. She wants me to talk dirty? She doesn’t need me for that.

“Ok…if you’re serious…”

“It’s almost 5 o’clock. Let’s get going. I have to be up at 6 to get ready for work and look after the kids. Time’s a wasting.”

“Ok. Here goes nothing…”

I reflected. All I knew was that she might be ok with some spanking, but I didn’t even know if that was light-hearted spanking, or leave a red welt on the ass spanking. Bare, open hand spanking, or gentle taps. I didn’t know anything as a frame of reference, except that she had beautiful hair…damn, my mind was racing with scenarios, and I didn’t even know if they were thoughts I was having about her, or just my writer’s hat being put on. Fiction pure and simple, or fantasy, not so pure and definitely not so simple.

“Ok…Jin, I’m seeing you lying there. I’m glad you’ve got the lights on, because I want…I need to see everything. I need to see you, your face, your hair, and every square inch of that body. Your body. The body that needs to be touched. The body that needs to be held. It’s early morning, before work, and there isn’t much time. I can smell the shampoo you used in your hair the morning before, and the soap you used when you showered. I can smell the faint traces of that perfume you put on. But more than all of those, I can smell your arousal. Don’t be shy. You know that you’re wet. You know that you’ve been thinking of me showing up and continuing our conversation. That conversation. You know that you left the side door unlocked, and gave me instructions about where to find you…on that sofa downstairs in the basement. In the bright pot lights that you’ve left on, so that I see you. Not in your bedroom, but in the basement, so nobody else can hear us.”

I continued.

“You know I can smell your arousal. You can feel it. You’ve done exactly what I asked. You’re naked except for that light blanket you’ve brought downstairs, covering you. It’s cold downstairs, especially with the air conditioning, and you didn’t want to be shivering while you waited for me to arrive. It’s early in the morning. It’s still mostly dark outside. But there you are. Wide awake. Every one of your senses on high alert, waiting for the inevitable The touch. The smells. The tastes. The movement. The sounds. You’re naked under that blanket, in the bright lights, waiting for me, and you can’t help but slide your right hand down to feel your own sex. You’ve shaved for me. I didn’t ask you to, but you’ve shaved just in case that’s what I expected and wanted. Thank you, but I didn’t expect anything or want anything. Besides you. That’s all I want. You. I want to come to you and explore you. I want to come to you and please you. I want to come to you and start your day in a way that will stay with you for the rest of the day.

“You hear my footsteps coming downstairs into the basement. You shiver as your fingers slide along your cleft, picking up moisture, the same moisture that I can smell a mile away. Your arousal is no secret. Not to me, at least. I know that you’re wet, and now you can feel it for yourself. You touch your own wetness as you then slide your index finger up to your clit. You instinctively run circles around it, touching it every so lightly. You think and wonder if I will touch you that way too. You wonder if my tongue will feel that way, the way your finger is feeling right now, gliding in circles around that little nub as it gets harder and more prominent.

“You push the blanket off of your body with your other hand, as you see me arrive in your basement. You are surprised, as your naked body is exposed to me for the first time, and as you see that I too am naked. You didn’t hear me take off all of my clothes as I came down your stairs. You didn’t expect to see my own sex, hard and proudly standing up in anticipation of you, or that slight glint of light reflecting off that drop of moisture forming at the tip. You didn’t expect any of this, but perhaps that is a lie. The wetness grows as you continue to touch yourself, almost without thinking, and that wetness gives away what is going on inside of you.

“You become shy for a moment. Not because of your hand touching yourself – you are barely aware of that now. No, you become shy because your breasts are what you see I am looking at. You can see it in my eyes, as I look at you and you see my eyes devouring your breasts. You see my mouth form a slight smile, and you know that in moments that same mouth will be surrounding your nipples. You feel them stiffen, maybe from the cool air in your basement, or maybe from the thought of my tongue swirling around them within my mouth, as I suck on them and feel the hard points of your arousal. You feel your nipples stiffen, and your shyness disappears, as your free hand now moves without any hesitation to cup your breasts, one at a time, and you rub your open palm over your aroused nipples, feeling just how hard they have become.

“I come to you. I kneel down beside you, and you watch passively as your thoughts become reality. You watch as I don’t even kiss you on your mouth, but rather take your full breasts in my mouth, sucking hard on your nipples almost to the point of pain. You speak, saying to me that it hurts a bit, and asking me to be gentle. I hear you, and ease up on how hard I am sucking, but at the same time biting gently on your nipples, alternating between your two lovely breasts. Nibbling gently, but firmly enough that you are more aware of my teeth than of my hands, a distraction. You wonder where my hands are for that brief moment, until you feel my right hand on your sex, and you feel the first of what will be several fingers penetrate you, easing in without resistance because of your wetness, your arousal inviting me inside.

“You feel my index finger like a piston, penetrating and then retreating and then penetrating again, so resolute and so forceful. This is fucking. This isn’t making love. There are no words, no tenderness in the way my finger is filling you and in the way you feel that emptiness as it retreats, almost fully out, until it plunges back into you, rubbing the sensitive pink folds inside, that velvet tunnel in which I have taken up residence with my hand. At the same time, you feel my thumb passing over and rubbing your clit, also in that back and forth motion accompanying the in and out of my finger. Each time I touch you there, you feel the need to gasp. It has been a while since you felt any hand, not even your own, be so forceful with your sex. It surprises you how much you want to be fucked by my hand. You want my finger to fill you and to do whatever it has planned for you. You can’t speak, as you gasp with each thrust and retreat, with each firm caress of you hardened nub. With each bit of sound, as the wetness within you becomes audible, palpable and as it allows my hand to fuck you with increasing intensity.

“The one finger is joined by another, as my index and middle finger join together and fuck your sweet wetness, as they fill you even more. You imagine them to be filling you the way a cock would fill you, but then you reach down with one hand and find my hardness just beside your own body, and you feel how full and thick it is. Two fingers don’t come close, you think, and you wonder how it will feel when I…or if I enter you. That wasn’t part of the plan you discussed with me, when we laid out the scenario the night before. This was our first time meeting face to face, and the plan was to use hands, to use mouths, to do almost anything I wanted except to fuck you with my cock. It seemed less crazy, working our way gradually up to something more intimate, more like sex and less like fooling around. It seemed more appropriate, for two new…can we even call ourselves lovers? Is that what we are? Is that what this is? Or is this just fooling around, something intense yet causal? Am I just here to get you off? Am I basically a vibrator with legs and a brain?

“You hold my hard cock in your hand and instinctively stroke it, reaching down to your own sex to gather some of your wetness as I fuck you with my hand, our hands meeting momentarily in motion, and you take some of that wetness to help you as you stroke me, as you feel the texture of my cock in your fist. As you feel the heat emanating from me, and the pulse of the blood in my veins. As you imagine it inside of you, as you feel the unrelenting pistoning of my hand, as I fuck you like the human sex toy you asked for the night before.

“I lean down toward you, and replaces my tongue where my thumb had been. My tongue brushes over your clit, and then as I pull my fingers out of you, I use my full mouth to inhale you. To suck your labia into my mouth. To caress them with my tongue, and to let your wetness coat my tongue, letting me taste you for the first time. You think back to my words from the night before when we planned this encounter. You remember me asking if you enjoyed having a man going down on you. You had answered very clearly, and I promised to stay there, to keep my mouth at your sex until I helped you to reach your climax. I promised that I would eat you as long as you wanted, and maybe even longer, long after you had your orgasm and became too sensitive to have me continue. I promised to make you cum, to taste all of your wetness and to make your pussy the only focus of my existence as I did that. You had laughed at me and you said that a man will promise anything, even to eat pussy, just to get a chance to fuck a woman. Now…you’re not so sure about that laughter.

“My tongue plunges in you, firm and resolute, different than my fingers, but no less exciting. You feel me sucking on your clit, and nibbling on it too, as I keep up the oral assault on your resistance. You’re trying not to cum so soon. You want to see just how long I will stay down and eat you. You want to see if my words are just words, or if I really will worship at your pussy with my mouth. You begin to writhe as your climax begins to build, and you take both hands and frantically grab my head and pull me in deeper to you, my face mashing up against your sex, your wetness covering my beard and mouth. You taste indescribably delicious, and it only heightens my need to devour your pussy.

“You let go of my head. You feel me sucking your labia, and running the shape of butterfly wings against them with my tongue, stimulating you as the butterfly wings become figure eights. You feel me reach down and play with your clit between my thumb and forefinger as my mouth continues to engulf your pussy. You don’t hear me speak with words, my mouth is too occupied. But you know which words I am using with my mouth and my hands, and you concur, saying out loud, ‘Yes, I want you to keep fucking me with your mouth’ – saying to me that you’re getting close and you can’t believe how wet you are. You apologize for it, wondering if I will drown because of how wet you are. I keep on fucking you orally, savouring your juices as you continue to squirm under my touch and my taste.”

“Fuck!”

That one word comes through on my cellphone and interrupts me.

“Fuck. That’s enough. I’m so fucking wet…I can’t cum anymore. I need a break.”

The dirty talk has come to a stop. I wait for a few moments, knowing that if she's saying this to me now, I need to give her that break.

“Ok,” she wrote after a minute. “You’ve proven your point. Shit…gonna need to do some laundry tonight. My sheets are soaked. Should’ve put a towel under me.”

“Serious?” I ask. “Did you just bring yourself off while I wrote all that dirty stuff to you?”

“Jesus…if you need to ask, then you don’t understand squat about sex. That was so good. I came like three or four times. Gushing.”

“I’m glad,” I answered. “So that will hold you until you get to read some of the other stuff? Or until I write a story for you?”

Jin didn’t answer.

“Hello?” I texted after a minute. “Still alive?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Still alive. Just thinking.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way…but I’m just thinking if it’s such a good idea for you to write a story for me.”

“I’m sorry. Did I go too far? Too much? I’m sorry if I…”

Jin interrupted me.

“Don’t be. Don’t be sorry. It’s not that. Not at all.”

“Then what’s the problem?” I asked.

“How long does it take you to write a story? On average?”

I was confused.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. You don’t have to be precise…but approximately how long?”

“It all depends. On the length, on the topic…but usually I spend around three hours on a story. Why?”

“Have you ever co-written with anybody?” she asked.

“Why all these questions?” I responded.

“Still just wondering. Do you? Do you ever co-write?”

“No. That’s not how I work. Not yet, at least. Why?”

“Ok…and just wondering when you planned on writing a story for me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the weekend. I’m busy today and tomorrow, but probably I’ll be able to spend some time on it this weekend. Why?”

“Today is Thursday. Saturday is just around the corner. I’ve got nothing happening this weekend. I’m just wondering if your three hours couldn’t be better spent on something else, instead of writing a story.”

“Ok…”

“I’ll leave the side door unlocked,” she added. “And I’ll bring a towel downstairs. The sofa is leather. We can work on your story together, and try to make it non-fiction this time.”

More surprises, I thought. More surprises no doubt.