Tag Archives: pancakes

Additions

Well, in true Lynn fashion, “Tinder 1” quickly turned into #73. Drinks one night, dipping his wick, one official date later. He invited me to dinner at 7:30, I said 5:30. Dinner could come later, I needed to cum now.

I didn’t even care that I didn’t remember what he looked like seeing as our meet and great was in a dark bar and by the time I got into the light those 3 Ketel Ones had hit me and blurred everything except that he was a man. I when I opened the downstairs gate, I was a little surprised. He definitely wasn’t my type, but he had a dick, brought a bottle of wine and I wasn’t wearing panties under my dress. Everything would be fine.

He opened the wine, Malbec. Then he looked at me and the next thing I knew, his tongue was in my mouth and his teeth on my lower lip. I was glad that I had dress appropriately. It was not long until he discovered my easy access snatch and promptly put his hand under my dress. But rather then go in for the kill, he touched everywhere but the hot spot.

Obviously this was going to take some patience on my part. But I went with it. He pushed me into the “couch of a thousand naps” but I knew any wet spots would be a bitch to get off, so I mentioned the bedroom.

I should have known by the kissing that he’d be good, but I was not prepared for what followed. His fingers were in and out of snooch the entire night, beckoning me to cum. We know that looking at me a certain way can get me wet, but when you add digits and tongues, it just ups the ante. And there was a lot of tongue. After all that time of no mouth to puss puss contact, I was eating this up, almost as much as he was.

I needed to get his dick in me to qualify for pancakes. And it’d been so long since any part of a man was between my legs, I was not going to blow this opportunity. His cock was a little nervous but come hell or high water, that dick was going to get hard enough and in my trap before the night was over.

Finally, entry! Not the largest of cocks, but I didn’t care. It was in me, it felt good and I was getting pancakes. After an hour I realized I was fucked out. It’s been a long time and the puss puss was out of shape so I sent him on his way.

Fuckadilio. An over fucked pussy, dry skin on my chin, chapped lips and amazing sex is a great way to reign some action back downtown. I might actually call him again. I mean it was the best sex I’d had in years. Actually it was the only sex I’d had in years.

Moral of the story, a sore pussy is better than a lonely one.

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Tinder 1

I went on a date last week the first one since breaking up with #72. Tinder 1 and I met through the phone app that’s replaced online dating. I had mixed feelings about it about dating again but the Ketel One and soda (with a lemon twist) I was drinking while I waited for him, kind of relaxed me. And I’m sure the half Ativan I took before leaving the apartment helped, too.

I put on my first date gear. Leggings and a flowy sweatery thing to hide the ring o’ flab and camel toe. And high black boots. And then, finally, my leather, beat up police jacket. I love that jacket. It makes me feel like the badass New Yorker I once was.

It’s been a week and I don’t 100% remember what Tinder 1 looks like. It was dark in the bar, but I could definitely see that he didn’t look like the pictures he posted on Tinder. Or maybe it was the half Ativan before drinking. What I do remember is his teeth were a little fucked up. I kept trying to look at his mouth while he was talking so I could check them out all the way, but I didn’t want to stare for confirmation.

Of course I made out with him when he drove me home. It was better than I thought and not as good at the same time. Sure he stuck his tongue in my mouth, and he has a big tongue, but he just kind of left it in there, almost choking me. I had to keep pulling back to breathe. But then he bit my lower lip and I thought there is some pancake potential here. Maybe I could teach him how to kiss, but the lip biting earned him points. Enough points to make up for the teeth and misrepresentative photos.

He sent me a text the next morning which is what #72 did everyday before noon. I missed those texts in the three weeks since I ended it. I was one of the nice things he did. Tinder 1 said that there are nice guys out there who will also fuck you. I realized he’s right and have already decided to test him out.

I still feel kind of bad about ending it with #72, but the 50 matches I have on Tinder make it easier. I’ll go out with Tinder 1 again, if for anything else, I want pancakes like, well, like a mother-fucker. And I’ll be that much closer to triple digits. Maybe being single isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Moral of the story, you don’t need a computer to meet people, an iPhone works just fine.

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Pancakes Part Deux

I’m a picky eater and basically eat like a 6 year old, plain hamburgers and a very real fear of mayonnaise.   I have the few vegetables that I’m fond of and that’s it.  But one thing I do love is pancakes.  Fluffy, syrup covered rewards for getting laid.  Most of the time.

Last year, on my birthday, #72 had big plans.  The night before was whatever, but he was excited about the morning.  He was going to make me pancakes from scratch.  What could be better?   Pancakes and then pancakes.  Unfortunately because of a medical issue (more on that after we break up) he couldn’t get it up that morning.  Sure he fingered me until I came, but that’s not good enough.  According to the rules, I can’t have pancakes unless his dick makes a visit inside the puss puss.

“Come on, just this once.  What’s the big deal?”

First of all, I’ve had this rule for the past 25 years, I’m not giving it up for a guy I’m probably not going to be dating in a few months.  Secondly, fuck that shit.  So I told him he had to fuck me or the pancakes were off.  He was pissed but tried to force it.  Oh what fun.  Not!

10 minutes later #72  put some buckwheat pancake mix from Trader Joes in a bowl and looked at the box.  He asked me if canola oil was okay when the recipe called for vegetable oil.  I said I didn’t think so.  I was right.  When he ceremoniously put a plate of three misshapen pancakes in front of me, I faked a smile and poured on the syrup.

The pancakes were as bad as the sex.  I used to be a good actress, but that hobby is long gone.   It was obvious I was once again not impressed with his efforts.

“The first batch is never any good.  I’ll make you some more.”

I forced myself to eat most of them and gushed about how no one had ever made me pancakes before and that it meant so much to me.  It kind of did, but I have to say I’m glad he hasn’t made them since.  We’ve got to work on the pancakes and then the pancakes.

Moral of the story, sometimes fucking and feeding go hand in hand.

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