Just as men candy-shop for hot babes, we females do the same. Tall, artistic, rich ‘n older, hot ‘n younger, stoners, swingers and subs – the flavors and possible combinations are endless. The personal profiles and stories are fab and help us all sort out our needs and wants.

It had been almost a year since my divorce. And after the torrid love affair with Gary, my awakening had left me hungry for male affection and attention. Online dating was blossoming and introducing me to tons of men. Two dates a week was all I could handle because naively and romantically I really did hope each one would ‘be the one.’

Finding dates on Match and Lavalife kept me busy, but it was early summer when the really interesting prospects started arriving in my inbox on Nerve. My first date for cocktails was with one insanely chiseled twenty-eight-year-old Adonis whose conversation skills managed to keep my attention for way over an hour. We wrapped it up after two drinks cuz David had to meet some friends for dinner.

Outside at the corner, I allowed my date a sensual but quick, PG-rated kiss on the lips as a goodbye. I really did hope he was sincere and I would see him again. Plus, I wanted to see if we were compatible kissers. As I started to pull back, David whispered “Vivi, please let me walk you home. Just let me into your place so I can bend you over and bang into that beautiful ass of yours until you beg me to stop”.

What did he just say? As perfect as this 6’4” creature was, did I really want to be pummeled from behind draped over a sofa? Where did courtship go? What happened to dating with a possible relationship in the future? Aya. Next.

I had another Nerve date set for later in the week and all I could do was hope he was a bit less uncensored. Seemed like the classy, flirtatious online banter with these bachelors lasted only till the actual cocktails started flowing and the inner dragon escaped!

With Mike, we certainly had a lot to talk about. He was well mannered, mega smart, and wrote philosophical books about God. After two $5 happy hour specials, my suitor declared he was on a budget and asked if I would like to share a joint. Fearful of getting busted – there was no way this was happening on the street – we proceeded to my place to indulge. He seemed harmless enough, with his semi-dweeby exterior and warm eyes.

Little did I know that Mike had an arsenal of secret skills. Obviously the pot was speaking too, but with virtually no booze in me, my mind was fully there and recording everything for eventual replay into my personal fantasies file. OMG. How did he get his hand down my top so gracefully and without me flinching? How did he know how to kiss me lusciously, just as I preferred. I so trusted him with my body.

As annoying as his know-it-all approach was, once his mouth made its way to my nipple and his hand in my pants, he was a true pleasurist. We were on even terms. He was, after all, an intellectual, a sensualist and understood reciprocal behaviors.

After an eon of fondling and caressing in a time warp, the condom slipped on and he slipped in. Slowly and purposefully, with maximum intent and eye contact, he crafted a climax for both of us. And a book-worthy one at that. A hot weather hair stroking and napping session followed, while an accidentally perfect mix of tunes played in the background.

“Thank you, you are an angel,” he said as he kissed me on the forehead and squeezed me close. From what my flushed face and zoned brain recall, his exit was just as graceful as his entry. “Speak to you soon.”

Even though I was mega confused with all the pheromones running thru my beautifully violated body, I liked being alone after sex. Maybe this casual mood wasn’t so bad after all. I got what I wanted physically and actually mentally, as Mike did know how to give a compliment. And I wouldn’t have to make him dinner or listen to his banter again till our next rendezvous. Hmm. I had just jumped on board, but were Mike and I on the cusp of a wave? Neither of us were needing totally monogamous behavior, but hookup culture and one-nighters seemed to be arriving full speed ahead.

In any case, for me, 44 going on 38 was a great age to be a newly single woman.

As Mike was an educated man, who knew how to butter his bread, a pleasant note arrived via text later that evening. “Thanks for a great date Vivi. Hope to see you again soon”.

Miracle Mike was a super quick learner and had understood my wishes without the need for categorizing our friendship. When we got together a few days later, he introduced the joint at the door… We always did pre naked-time catch-up and had post-coitus discussions, but relationship talk was not really necessary for our wonderful friendship.

I think I preferred and adored my intellectual pontificator in limited doses. : ) And likewise it seemed.