Chapter 50

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

My last card up my sleeve? The infamous Tinder.

And it was all downhill from there. One disaster after another. People on there weren't interested in connection, just sex—and they were direct, almost robotic. If you didn't fit, they blocked you without warning, without explanation, like you were just another disposable profile.

But what I'm telling you now happened on one of those days. I actually thought it might be different. I matched with this girl... drop-dead gorgeous. We swapped photos, social media, voice notes—everything. 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 on her phone, like I was invisible. At the end, she gave me a quick peck, hopped in a cab... and blocked me shortly after. Without a word.

I got back to my condo completely spaced out. The sky was already darkening, and I just didn't want to go up. Didn't want to see the walls of my apartment, or hear the silence. I was sad… but it was more than that. It was a new kind of loneliness, strange, that hurt in a place in my body I didn't even know existed.

I stopped at a convenience store nearby, bought 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 hit of smoke tearing down my throat, reminding me I was rusty. I sat there, staring into the void of my life and wondering what crimes 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, girl?"

My eyes took 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 was about my age. Pretty, the kind who doesn't try. Long black hair, baggy clothes, flip-flops. She had this weirdly comfortable presence.

"Uh… sorry! What'd you say?"

"A smoke. Got a smoke to spare?"

"Oh, yeah… I was distracted. Here. I didn't even hear you..."

I handed her the cigarette awkwardly. She took the lighter from my hand, lit it with the calm 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 was already part of the scenery.

"I'm trying to quit this shit. But it's too damn good, right?"

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

"I don't know you, but your face looks like hell. Come on, spill it, stranger. Get it out."

"I don't even know who you are, dude…"

"Neither do I know who you are. 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 a lecture. She finished her smoke, tossed it on the ground, and stepped on it. I wasn't even sure she'd heard what I said.

"So, I'm totally fucked, right?"

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

"And how do you meet people?"

"Ah, who knows. I gave up. Sometimes cool girls just show up out of nowhere. Until then, just casual stuff."

"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 no good."

"You're right, I'm not. 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 naughty smile that disarmed me. Lively 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?"

"Oh my god, you're embarrassing me, dude! Cut it out, please!"

She looked off into space, laughing like she was hearing some inside joke. There was something about her that intrigued me: she seemed so chill, so sorted out, even while saying the dirtiest shit. And the best part—without coming off like an asshole. It was just… her. Authentic. 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 dizzy idiot, not fully getting the mischief behind that word. She led the way confidently, like she already knew every inch of the place. She headed straight for the fire escape door, the iron one painted faded gray.

"Seriously, 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, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. We chatted about life, light stuff. She told me what she did for work—something with freelancing and computers—and said she'd moved in less than two months ago. Lived in the block across from mine.

"For real? Never seen you around…"

"I see you all the time," she said without much emphasis, 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 gaze lost its lightness. It got… empty. Intense. Like she was seeing something inside me I didn't even want to face.

"What?" I asked like an idiot, voice shaking a bit.

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

She grabbed me by the neckline of my top, firm and hungry. The kiss came hard, urgent, no rehearsal. She pinned me against the cold concrete wall, and the temperature shock just made my body react faster. Our tits crashed together in a hot clash, breath against breath, and her hand slid up my back like she was looking 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 shit… why do you go on a date in jeans?" she grumbled into my neck, already fumbling with my belt with an impatience that was almost fun.

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

"Someone's gonna pass by…" I murmured, eyes fixed on the frosted glass door.

But she didn't care.

In one move, she yanked my jeans down—with my panties and all—and without ceremony, dropped to her knees.

"Holy shit… 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 grind loaded with desperation. I moaned low, panting, feeling every lick like a direct jolt to my brain. She squeezed my ass hard, both hands holding me there like I was hers—and I was, right then, completely.

When I felt her finger slipping lower, easing slow into my asshole, my body froze.

"Hey… fuck," I let out, half startled, half complaining, trying to push her hand away but not managing. She didn't pull out. Just kept the finger there, still for a second, then pushing in firmer, like saying "relax, I know what I'm doing."

And she did.

The discomfort turned 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 orgasm that made me grip the railing hard and moan loud, muffled into my own palm. I came with her mouth buried in me, finger deep in my ass, my whole body pulsing.

I'd never felt anything like it.

I was still shaking. My body giving those involuntary spasms from cumming too hard. Breath ragged, knees weak, skin clammy. I thought she'd give me a second, a breather… but she wasn't there for that.

Without a word, she spun me around firm, pressing my face to the stairwell wall now. She grabbed my hair with one hand and yanked back, exposing my neck, sending shivers down my spine. The 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 a burn that mixed pain and pleasure in a way that made me moan louder than I wanted. And instead of pulling back, I just arched. Offered myself. Gave in even more.

"You slut," she growled in my ear, mouth glued to my hot skin. "Bitch… hot whore… grind for me, slut."

And I ground. In a dirty, animal instinct. Moved against her fingers like I was digging for my own orgasm 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, moan, and that desperate clench in my gut.

And then it came again.

Another orgasm, more violent than the first. My whole body stiffened, 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, followed by voices and footsteps echoing in the garage concrete. The shock hit us like lightning. We ran like two teenagers caught in the act, laughing, stumbling, me trying to pull up my jeans mid-escape, almost catching the zipper on my panties. 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, panting. Me leaning there, trying to catch my breath and some dignity. Her, totally calm, like it was just another day.

That's when I looked at her—and saw.

Her hand still glistened, wet from me, dirty, alive. She raised 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 reaction, watching the scene like it was a ritual.

Until she made a face.

"Ow, shit… gross," she grimaced. "That finger was in your ass!"

And that's when I lost it. I started laughing. Nervous laughter, from shame, from relief. She laughed too, leaning on the wall with that sly smile that was getting me wet all over again. We laughed loud but muffled, accomplices in our own mess. It was like I had no problems left, and I'd just found my soulmate.

"Come on," she said, taking my hand naturally. "Now you're gonna give me a decent drink and put in a little work."

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