Chapter 50

Nothing was going right for me. I just wanted love — someone to share my days with, build a life together, nothing fancy. I tried everything: friend setups, chats at dive bars, even dipped my toes into Reddit forums… but nothing panned out.

My last resort? The infamous Tinder.

And it was all downhill from there. One disaster after another. People on there weren’t looking for connection, just sex — and they were blunt about it, almost robotic. If you didn’t fit the bill, they’d block you without a word, no explanation, like you were just another disposable profile.

But what I’m about to tell you happened on one of those days. I actually thought it might be different. I matched with this girl… drop-dead gorgeous. We swapped photos, socials, voice notes — you name it. We even talked about the future. She seemed interested, seemed real.

We set up to meet at a mall. And I went. Heart wide open.

But the second she saw me, I knew: something had changed. She spent the whole date glued to her phone, like I was invisible. At the end, she gave me a quick peck, hopped in a cab… and blocked me not long after. Without a single word.

I got back to my condo totally spaced out. The sky was starting to darken, and I just didn’t want to go up. Didn’t want to face the walls of my apartment or the silence. I was sad… but it was more than that. It was this new, weird loneliness that hurt in a spot in my body I didn’t even know existed.

I stopped at a corner store nearby, grabbed a pack of smokes and a lighter. I’d quit, I swear. But this was the exact moment to start again. I sat alone on one of the empty garden benches. Lit up and felt the smoke hit my throat hard, reminding me how out of practice I was. I sat there, staring into the void of my life, wondering what sins I’d committed in a past life to deserve this. And how many cats — and plants — it would take to fill the hole opening up inside me.

That’s when I heard it.

“Hey… you okay there, girl?”

It took my eyes a second to focus. I was totally out of it. When I snapped to, I saw a woman next to me. She was snapping her fingers near my face, trying to pull me out of my daze. She looked about my age. Pretty, in that effortless way. Long black hair, baggy clothes, flip-flops. She had this oddly comforting presence.

“Uh… sorry! What’d you say?”

“A smoke. Got a smoke to spare?”

“Oh, yeah… I was zoned out. Here. I didn’t even hear you…”

I handed her the cigarette awkwardly. She took the lighter from my hand, lit it with the ease of a longtime smoker, inhaled deep, and blew out the smoke with a pleasure that almost made me jealous. And she stayed. Just like that. Like she belonged there.

“I’m trying to quit this shit. But it’s too damn good, right?”

“I… just started smoking again,” I confessed, my voice cracking, on the verge of tears. Again.

“I don’t know you, but you look like hell. Come on, spill it, stranger. Let it out.”

“I don’t even know who you are, dude…”

“Neither do I know you. Even better. You’ve got until this cigarette burns out.”

And I talked.

The woman next to me just listened, didn’t say a word, and when I finished, she didn’t give advice or lecture me. She finished her smoke, tossed it on the ground, and stomped it out. I wasn’t even sure she’d heard what I said.

“So, yeah, I’m totally fucked, right?”

“Nah, girl. I’m a dyke too… and folks around here just get screwed over. Either they wanna marry on the first date or they freak out full of neuroses,” she said, blowing out smoke with her words.

“And how do you meet people?”

“Ah, who knows. I gave up. Sometimes cool chicks just show up out of nowhere. Until then, just casual hookups.”

“That’s what kills me. They just wanna fuck me.”

“Well, ‘cause you’re hot. And totally fuckable.”

I looked at her, surprised. I let out an awkward laugh, trying to hide the flush creeping up my face. In the hole I was in, hearing a line like that caught me off guard.

“You hitting on me?”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

“I’m needy and sensitive right now. You’re trouble.”

“Damn right I am. I’m the type who blocks on Tinder.”

I laughed. For real, spontaneously. The whole situation was so bizarre it felt like a movie scene. And her… she had this wicked smile that disarmed me. Bright eyes, relaxed body. And a chill vibe, nothing forced. An idea hit me — one of those that comes out of nowhere, and before you know it, you’ve said it.

“Hey… it’s getting late. You got nothing going on? Wanna come up? Have a drink?”

“You inviting me up for a dyke date?”

“Hmm… could be.”

“Could be ain’t enough, I wanna know. You wanna hook up with me?”

“Oh my God, you’re embarrassing me, dude! Cut it out, please!”

She looked off into space, laughing like she was in on some inside joke. There was something about her that intrigued me: she seemed so chill, so sorted, even while saying the dirtiest shit. And the best part — without coming off like a jerk. She was just… her. Real. I was into it.

“What floor you on?” she asked, standing up slow.

“Fifth.”

“Let’s take the stairs then.”

“Why stairs and not the elevator?”

“Fetish.”

I stood up like a dummy, not quite getting the naughty edge to that word. She led the way confidently, like she knew every inch of the place. Headed straight for the fire escape door, those iron ones painted faded gray.

“For real, we’re climbing all that?” I whined half-jokingly, half-seriously. Besides the five floors, there were the two garage levels and the playground.

“Keep complaining, I like it,” she shot back without looking.

We climbed. Step by step, our footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. We chatted about life, keeping it light. She told me about her job — something freelance with computers — and said she’d moved in less than two months ago. Lived in the building across from mine.

“No shit? Never seen you around…”

“I see you all the time,” she said casually, like it was no big deal.

When we went from the first to the second garage level, she stopped suddenly. Stood there facing me in the middle of the staircase. Her eyes lost that lightness. They went… blank. Intense. Like she was seeing something inside me I didn’t even want to face.

“What?” I asked like an idiot, my voice shaking a bit.

That’s when I got what she meant by fetish.

She grabbed the neckline of my top, firm and hungry. The kiss came hard, urgent, no warm-up. She pinned me against the cold concrete wall, and the chill just made my body react faster. Our tits crashed together in hot friction, breath on breath, and her hand slid up my back like she was hunting for a secret way in.

I didn’t know if the air I was missing was from the kiss or the shock. My fingers scrambled for something to hold onto, to anchor me to that body that seemed made to swallow me whole.

“Holy fuck… why’d you wear jeans to a date?” she grumbled against my neck, already fumbling with my belt with this almost playful impatience.

I got nervous. The fire escape was open; anyone could come by. The thought of getting caught made it all more dangerous. More real.

“Someone’s gonna come…” I murmured, eyes locked on the frosted glass door.

But she didn’t care.

In one swift move, she yanked my jeans down — panties and all — and dropped to her knees without a second thought.

“Holy fuck… what a tasty pussy, girl,” she murmured against my lips before diving in fully, her hot, firm mouth finding shelter in the chaos like it was home.

It wasn’t gentle. It was precise. Hungry. Her tongue moved with rhythm and force, tracing circles, sucking hard, like she knew exactly where and how to take me apart. I gripped the railing with one hand and her shoulder with the other, legs shaking, trying not to fall, not scream, not lose it completely.

But I’d already lost it.

My hips started moving on their own, in a slow, desperate grind. I moaned low, panting, each lick hitting my brain like a jolt. She squeezed my ass hard, both hands pinning me there like I was hers — and I was, right then, totally.

When I felt her finger slide lower, easing into my ass slow, my body locked up.

“Hey… fuck,” I let out, half startled, half protesting, trying to push her hand away but not really able to. She didn’t pull back. Just held the finger there, still for a second, then pushing in firmer, like she was saying “relax, I know what I’m doing.”

And she did.

The discomfort flipped into something else. A different heat. A delicious invasion. My body opened up, moaning, writhing. Her tongue kept at my clit relentlessly, in calculated, merciless strokes. When the finger started moving inside, slow and deep, there was no going back.

The pleasure hit like a violent wave. A hot, thick cum that made me grip the railing hard and moan loud, muffled into my own palm. I came with her mouth buried in me, her finger deep in my ass, my whole body pulsing.

I’d never felt anything like it.

I was still shaking. My body twitching with those aftershocks from cumming too hard. Breath ragged, knees weak, skin clammy. I figured she’d give me a second to breathe… but she wasn’t there for that.

Without a word, she spun me around firm, pressing my face to the staircase wall now. Grabbed my hair with one hand and yanked back, exposing my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Her other hand went straight to my pussy from behind, still open, sensitive, throbbing — and she started fingering me hard.

No mercy.

Her fingers plunged in deep, and I felt her nails scraping inside, leaving this burn that mixed pain and pleasure in a way that made me moan louder than I meant to. And instead of pulling away, I just arched back. Offered myself. Gave in even more.

“You little slut,” she growled in my ear, her mouth hot against my skin. “Bitch… hot whore… grind for me, you dirty girl.”

And I ground. In this filthy, animal instinct. Moved against her fingers like I was chasing my own cum with my body. And she didn’t stop. Yanked my hair harder, pressed her tits to my back, thrust deeper, slamming her fingers inside in an almost cruel rhythm.

“Yeah, grind… show me how much you’re my little slut now,” she whispered, and my mind couldn’t form a single thought. It was all flesh, pulse, moans, and that desperate clench in my gut.

And then it hit again.

Another orgasm, fiercer than the first. My whole body went rigid, forehead against the wall, mouth open silent. I came like I was possessed, with her deep inside me, dirty, sweaty, whispering filth in my ear like it was poetry.

I could barely stand.

That’s when we heard it. A door creak, then voices and footsteps echoing off the garage concrete. The shock hit us like lightning. We bolted like two teens caught red-handed, laughing, stumbling, me yanking up my jeans mid-escape, almost snagging the zipper on my panty lining. She laughed low, pulling me by the hand toward the second garage exit, where the cars hid us a bit better.

We stopped behind a pillar, breathless. Me leaning there, trying to catch my breath and some dignity. Her, totally calm, like this was just another Tuesday.

That’s when I looked at her — and saw.

Her hand was still glistening, wet from me, dirty, alive. She lifted it slow and started licking her own fingers, one by one, with that sharp, mischievous tongue, like she was savoring some rare delicacy.

I was stunned. Turned on again. Mouth half-open, no words, watching like it was some ritual.

Until she grimaced.

“Ow, shit… gross,” she made a face. “That finger was in your ass!”

And that’s when I lost it. Burst out laughing. Nervous, embarrassed, relieved laughter. She laughed too, leaning on the wall with that naughty grin that was getting me wet all over again. We laughed loud but muffled, accomplices in our own mess. It was like all my problems vanished, and I’d just found my soulmate.

“Come on,” she said, taking my hand naturally. “Now you’re gonna fix me a decent drink and put in some work.”

We headed up to my apartment laughing, horny, bodies still buzzing from what just went down… and the promise of what was still to come.