Met her the evening of a rare Saturday that I spent unusually actively (and later indulgently)– a singles event. Flowed well that night, generally in high spirits and at ease with my routines. Got a few number closes, including hers. I contacted only her, the next day, to set up the first date.
Dinner. Opened up about myself. Good conversation. At some point I sensed she was down for something, maybe the way she drank from my glass. On our exit, I suggested we find a place to make out. “Did you have a place in mind?” she asked. Game on.
We found that place, and we did make out. Dry humped– seemed like she came or came close to coming just from that. I pushed to bounce to her place. A bit of back-and-forth teasing, and she relented.
It happened that night. It was good.
A month of this– once a week, strictly booty call. I avoided any romantic time, but we did hang out beyond sex a few times. The sex was great. She was good in bed, attentive.
Then I ended it. It felt wrong. Or not right.
I sometimes still feel like a jerk about how I ended it, but I’m moving on.