Content Notes: The following sex diary contains mentions of various genitalia, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, oral sex, kink, D/s dynamics, sex toys, stripping, drinking and light cannabis and psychedelic use. This content is 18+ only.

Welcome back to our Anonymous Sex Diaries series where queer and trans people from around the world let us into a seven day snippet of their sex, love and dating lives.

My sexuality is fluid, my gender is fluid, and so, too, the ebb and flow of dynamics with my various dates and partners is fluid. No two relationships or dates look the same and no two weeks look the same way either. Still, I appreciated this week for the way it brought me flashing lights and textures and scents, celebrations of queer bodies in so many iterations, and an openness to emotional intimacy and an invitation to trust and to give others the same kind of chances they give me.

DAY 1

I sign off from my work meeting which I’m taking at a partner of mine’s kitchen table, change my Slack status to indicate that I’m going on break and shut my laptop. I can take a long late-afternoon lunch hour, I figure, with the fact that by this Friday afternoon, I’ve already clocked more than 40 hours for the week. The partner, J, returns to his house a couple minutes after the meeting’s finished. He knows that I wanted to do him before heading back to my place to finish the workday. We pour some cold brew and I let myself take him in for a few minutes while he looks up TikToks of clearly closeted conservative men to show me. He’s got ADHD and I do, too, but his is definitely the variety where he dashes back and forth between points of attention, while mine’s the stare-into-space-lose-track-of-what-I’m-doing kind. I’ve been into tall men lately — I’ve never liked them before, used to say I didn’t like having to look up at cis men — but this dude’s six foot five, lean and athletic from dedicated martial arts training, in his 40’s with dyed hair and tattoos and a bit of a tan, so I can’t say I mind. After he shows me several TikToks, but appears to be stuck on a hyperfixation about finding one in particular, I gently ask him if that’s how he wants to spend his time or if there’s something he’d rather be doing. I slip my hands around his neck and pull his face down to kiss him. I’m right. There’s something he’d rather be doing. We make our way upstairs where we lie down in bed and kiss some more, grind against each other until we affirm that we’re still going with the plans we’d made before. I flip him onto his back and put my weight on him. There’s a look he gets in his eyes when I’m domming him that makes me want to tie him up and rail him until he’s screaming. I kiss him and put a hand on his neck, feeling the stubble down his jaw.

“I want to peg you and hear you call me ‘Daddy,’ do you want that?”

He nods and I tell him to pick out the dildo I’ll wear. He pulls out a blue Bad Dragon that’s all scaled and knobbed and veined. It has a delightful girth and weight to it.

“You want to fit all of this in you?”

He’s sure and while he goes to get “ready” in the bathroom, I locate my harness in my bag and the lube, too. When he gets back I have him lie down and pull him so that he’s more centered in the bed. He’s naked from the waist down and I can see one of my favorite little treats, his three dick piercings, little barbell rods that penetrate his soft, sensitive skin. I take off his shirt and feel the weight of the metal butt plug in my hand. It’s a quality toy, njoy brand. It’s making me consider getting the wand to have in my repertoire. I lube it up and position myself between his legs. He puts his ankles around my neck and I smile while fingering his hole with a slippery finger. His little gasps and noises when I penetrate him with my fingers make me want to absolutely rail him, but not yet. I push the toy inside him and admire the way he just winces and accepts it. I love praising him when he does a good job like that.

I leave my boxers on but take off my shirt before pulling the leather straps of the harness through the D-rings and positioning the dildo before tightening the thing. It was custom ordered and I love the way it fits, and the kinky way the D rings bruise my skin just a little.

I tell him I want him to suck my cock and climb up so that I’m straddling his chest and feeding my dick past his lips. He’s a really enthusiastic cocksucker, and I pay close attention to the way he licks and sucks it in, to the way his long eyelashes flutter. Then, I grab him by his hair and fuck his face for a while. When I pull out, I’m once again surprised at how much he’s taken without complaint, at how covered in spit the dildo is.

I crawl back down to my boyfriend’s ass and put his ankles back on my shoulders before reaching down between his legs to take his cock in my hand while playing with the handle of the toy with the other. He’s panting and moaning and telling me that he’s my woman.

After a while, when he looks good and warmed up, I remove the toy.

I lube the toy up, then add more when he asks. I guide it into his hole and go slow, asking him to use my harness to pull me deeper when he’s ready. When he asks me for more, I push in, then further until I’m completely inside him.

“Good boy.”

We fuck for I don’t know how long. Switching positions, bending him backward. At times I’m grabbing his cock, others, he’s stroking himself or pulling me into him, urging me to go faster. I love all his little gasps. When he comes, his cum squirts all over his stomach. I slide out slowly and lie next to him. He checks in with me, confirming that I just wanted to fuck him, that I was good. I tell him, yes, that was what I wanted, and also, I have to go.

I drive home and go back to work before finishing for the day much later than planned. I shut my computer off and dash into the shower to get ready for another date, also with a dude, C. Luckily, he won’t be out of work until past 11pm, since he works in a restaurant. The timing works out and while I’m driving to go pick him up, the radio starts to play “Building a Mystery” by Sarah McLachlan, a song that played ceaselessly on the radio when I was a kid in the 90s which I absolutely loved. I roll down my windows and sing along while making my way to my date’s apartment. I’m pretty tired and it’s so joyful and I just push myself a little because he’s both newly out as queer and also moving away soon, and I’d invited him to accompany me to a gay bar I think he’ll like. I’ve been putting up with the whole going-to-gay-bars with a cis man thing because it’s important, though I get annoyed when it makes me slightly less legible. And then I remember what I’m wearing and think it’s a little silly. I’m in my dad’s actual sweater from the 90’s, a pair of black pants, combat boots, hair in my queer haircut, single dangley earring, tattoos. I give myself a break and let my date into the car. He’s just over 6 feet, shaved head, pale but not as pale as me, a few tattoos, mid-30’s — with these subtle blue eyes. He’s got a thing for flamboyant shirts and he’s giving off appropriately chill-daddy-top vibes.

The bar’s packed with a horde of cis gay dudes and the lightest sprinkling of dykes. My date notes that a mixed drink with coke is practically clear. I remind him about gay bar pours. He opts for a beer.
“What’d you get?” he asks me.
“Vodka soda.”
“How’s it taste?”
I take a sip and cough. “Like vodka.” We crackle and go outside for a smoke on the deck and chill to let him acclimate to the sheer amount of queers and especially gay men that he is among, a part of. It’s been rewarding in its way, to take someone who just came out in their thirties around to queer spaces and to be like, “it’s okay, there’s people here, ready and waiting and not judging you.” I only smoke socially, and I can never keep up with him. He has two cigarettes to my one before I ask him if he wants to go upstairs.

We climb past a bar employee in a high vis green harness and up the narrow staircase. Under the dancefloor lights, there’re are numerous signs reminding patrons to be respectful and that photos and video aren’t allowed. The DJ’s in a pup mask. The dance floor is small but full. And in the center of the second floor is a rectangular bar ringed by old-school stools, with a bartender in the center and a smattering of naked twinks dancing on the counter. They have a bar attached to the ceiling above them to hang onto while sliding around in their only item of clothing — their cute little socks. My date and I dance for a while. At one point, he gestures to a very drunk dude who shimmies up to him and I take off my sweater, roll up my black t shirt sleeves and occupy myself by dancing around the floor.

After a while, I ask him how he’s doing. He says that he feels a little weirder about dancing here than in other spaces. I wonder aloud with him why that is, if it’s the size of the bar, the way that it’s pretty sexually charged in here, the sheer number of men? He nods and thinks. We go to the bar for another drink. We get lucky and two barstools are open. I get out some dollars so I’m not some dykey person taking up space at the twink buffet, not tipping. My date’s delighted by the dancers and we spend some time chatting while he admires them. C tips and bats his lashes at a svelte little thing who bends down to ask him about his day. My eyes wander to this total hottie who is un-self-consciously taking up space at the bar. I obviously have a thing for people with tattoos and she has black ink tracing designs across her skin. We’ve got a nose piercing, glasses, curly hair and a gorgeous body wrapped up in a tight red tee. I’m trying not to stare and go back to my date to chat. Then, we’re interrupted by a dancer bending down to say something to me. I’m a bit surprised and stand up to better hear what he’s saying into my ear.

“My friend in the red shirt says that she thinks you’re really attractive.”

“That friend?” I confirm that it’s definitely the person I was trying not to stare at.

“Yep!”

“Thank you.”

He gets up and dances off and after a moment of sipping my drink in shock and wondering if she’ll look my way (she firmly avoids eye contact), I lean into my date to tell him what happened.

“Mind if I go get her number?”

He doesn’t and plans to meet me outside for another smoke when I’m done. I make my way behind her where she’s engaged in a conversation with an elder gay man. I awkwardly make my way to her other side and wait for him to realize that maybe he should let me talk to her. He does. Eventually.

“Hi,” I open, and then just lean into the awkwardness, “So…your friend.”

She has her hands to her mouth and is making this ‘oh no’ face.

“Your friend said you thought I was attractive, and I wanted to come over and I say that I think you’re pretty cute.”

“I knew he was saying something when I saw him bend down. I KNEW IT. Hi.”

We introduce ourselves and chat for a while about how long they’ve known each other, about queer kids finding each other, about being new to the city. I try to get a read on her age — obviously old enough to be here, but I can’t tell much otherwise — and we exchange Instagrams. I’m not really one to just kiss strangers, especially when I don’t know whether I’m kissing someone who’s 21 or someone who’s 31, so I wish her a goodnight and go back to my date.

We have a great conversation about the way he was raised to think of the cis male body as completely utilitarian, as not made for beauty. “I didn’t think men could dance like that.” He says.

It’s about 1am when we head back to his place where he tips me over onto his couch and has my shirt and pants off and all the rest of his clothes still on. He pulls my boxers off and starts to go down on me. He takes his time, devouring me for what feels like an eternity. When he finally comes back up, he tells me that eating me out is like eating a perfectly ripe peach, that he loves the feeling of my juices dripping down his chin. We fuck and it is loud and vigorious. C fucks hard and is hung like a Bad Dragon toy and by the time we’re done, I’m always absolutely cock drunk. We finger and fuck and suck in various positions until about four in the morning when we’re exhausted and I slink into the bathroom to take a photo of my cum-covered face to send to J because he loves to get photos like that. I get a little shot of my boob in the frame via the mirror in there, too. It’s hot.

Day 2

After a light breakfast on a roof at a coffee shop with C, I leave with very little turnaround time for my next date. I have time to do some chores, shower and head right out to the art museum where I’m meeting R. We met at a party and have been on just one date so far. We haven’t kissed and I’m wondering — will it happen this time? We wander the art museum, admiring the exhibits when they’re good and sharing gossip between when we’re less enthusiastic about them. R’s older than me, also, mid forties and wearing what I might consider to be a very adept styling of a go-to trans masc look with bandanna, tee, relaxed jeans and sneakers. They love to run their fingers through their short red hair. They’re swaggery as fuck and it is so hot. They update me on the various juicy goings on with their interactions with the queer scene in our city, and I wonder how I’ve managed to avoid the sheer level of drama they seem to be involved in.

When we finish with the museum, we both seem to want to keep the date going. We take their small dog to the back patio of an Irish bar and keep talking over IPAs in the breeze while the dog scampers around, looking at rocks. My date tells me that the dog will eventually choose a rock and I’m fascinated.

Then, R starts laying out what seems like a disclosure of various red flags, telling me they like to have it all out there so it doesn’t seem like they’re keeping anything from me later on. Among these red flags is the fact that they fucked their therapist.

“Slow down,” I say. “Tell me about fucking your therapist. That sounds hot. Please.”

They get this look but I explain that I want to know, again, because it sounds hot. I just need to know. So, they indulge me. Luckily, it was just during the intake and actual therapy never happened, and yet, it’s captured my imagination. It’s still forbidden. Still sex on the floor of a therapist’s office. I’m turned on and sitting way too far from them but the outdoor furniture would make it awkward to try and get closer. Then, it comes up. They’ve never touched a man’s penis. It’s a thing for them. They express wanting to stay away from people who date men. I bring up that I fuck queer men. Not straight men, sure, but men.

“You fuck cis, queer men though.”

“Yeah, I fuck cis queer men.”

They seem to chew on this, rolling it around in their head, but we keep talking. Their dog does in fact bring me a rock in his mouth. He drops it in my lap. I thank him and lift it up to inspect. The dog raises its front paws in the air and barks like a total little weirdo when I do.

“Oh! We praise the rock!?” I lift it up higher and exalt the rock and the dog freaks out. It’s great.

When we say goodbye, I try to give off “kiss me” vibes because, listen, can you blame me for wanting to know what the therapist knows? And by that I mean I want this person’s fingers in my mouth and down my throat and all over me. What I do get is a very long, very firm, very intentional hug — and an invitation to go out to dinner for our next date. I agree, even though I’m not sure that I believe this person’s sides to their various stories 100%. I did tell them that, too, and they said that’s fine. I’m very interested in seeing where this goes. They’re hot and a good hang. What can I say?

From there, I take care of some things at home before heading back over to J’s house for our date. Our plan? Trip balls.

It takes a couple doses of shroom tea to get the desired effect, and then we start to build a fire in his backyard. It’s secluded and getting dark but neither too warm nor too cold. He pulls out a concoction his other partner invented, a mix of various herbs with hallucinogenic and helpful properties that “enhance” other psychedelic experiences. I have yet to meet the other partner who’s currently long-distance, but his experiments with plant medicine have me intrigued. We have an active fire going and I’m not sure how hard the shrooms themselves are going to hit me, so I decline the concoction for now. The shrooms are working, and besides needing to pee a lot because we used a lot of water in the shroom tea, it’s a pleasurable high. I’d said a prayer before and I’m starting to feel the edges of some spiritual experiences creeping in. I invite them. I don’t know how long we spend like that before we decide we want to go in, at least an hour or two. My date puts out the fire and we climb the stairs up to his bedroom.

There, he takes another swig of the concoction. Now that we’re safe inside, I ask for some, and take a small sip, seriously afraid that it’s going to gag me. But it tastes almost like a Christmas candle might, spicy and piney. “This is not what I expected this to taste like.” I take a more generous sip.

When I get back from the bathroom, he’s in bed looking cute and cozy. I take off my clothes and join him. We kiss and he starts touching me and that’s when I notice that the concoction is hella working. His fingers on my clit feel like electric green and touching my nipples produces flashes of pink that run across my vision. It helps that we’re in the dark. The hallucinatory part of the trip is better able to take hold. I don’t know how long it is until I ask him if he wants to fuck. He does and gets a condom and then we’re entwined, and I’m simultaneously topping him from the bottom with the kind of degrading, humiliating dirty talk he loves to be on the receiving end of — and also I am conscious of the fact that the room has been filled with the presence of a tree, that we are simultaneously in the tree, and that our skin is merging with the bark of the tree, becoming wooden and pulsing with sap. We are the tree and there is a witch in the tree and she is talking to me and I can still taste the way her high-pitched words in my ear tasted like apples. The fucking, him inside me and grinding against each other, skin touching, smelling his neck and holding him close feels amazing and we revel in it for a long time.

We exhaust ourselves and note that it’s unlikely we’ll come on shrooms. We cuddle and discuss our trip so far. I tell him about the tree. He asks me if I can remember what the witch said, but I can’t. I figure it might come back later. He falls asleep quickly, but I’m still tripping quite hard. I go back to the bathroom, then back to bed, drink water, and trip pleasantly while spooning him (I like to be the big spoon often) until I fall asleep, too.

Day 3

J and I wake up and flirt and play around in bed, but we both have things to do in the afternoon and we want to go to an art festival that we’re sure to see people we know at, so we get up and go out for coffee and art. After, we part ways and I head back home for an evening of chores. At one point, I lie down on the bed, grab my vibrator and masturbate, thinking of the sex from the past couple of nights with C and with J.

Day 4

I meet a friend for mini golf after work a ways outside of the city, in the suburbs. We gossip and putt. There aren’t many other people there so our talk gets quite explicit and I divulge one thing then another. They do the same. I love having a friend I can be raunchy and explicit with. We’re cackling through the whole course.

On the way home, I get a text from R. I suspect it’s a booty call, so what do I do? I pull the fuck over to read it and answer it because I have no shame and also because the drive is long and I don’t want to miss out if tonight is suddenly gonna go a different direction than I thought it would. They’re thinking of grabbing a beer and want to know if I want to join them. I’m a half hour outside of the city and explain that, but they tell me where they’re gonna be, so I tell them it’s not far from where I live and that I’ll text them when I’m home.

I get home, but they’re just leaving because the place was unexpectedly packed. Is it a beige flag? A slightly pink flag if they ask me out for a drink, know I am a half hour away, go out right away anyway, then go home? Who’s to say? Do they not understand that I would have absolutely hopped into their bed? I should probably say something about that soon. Still, I’m exhausted, so I crawl into bed and text a few of my dates and friends and then simply pass out to an ASMR video.

Day 5

I have a date night with K. We’re planning to play video games and just lowkey hang. While I’m driving to the house where they live with their four-person poly family, Sarah McLachlan plays again, this time, “Adia.” Is she following me? Or are the DJ and I just in tune? A lot of sexual tension between me and this radio station this week.

It’s my first time actually going upstairs inside K’s place, instead of picking them up or dropping them off. I say hello to one of their partners, who’s playing video games in the living room. K takes me up to their camming room. When they open the door, I’m absolutely surrounded by pink. We’ve got pink art, plushies, a pink backdrop on one wall, sex toys lying around, a rack of clothes and stacks of makeup and calming blue-tinted fairy lights.

Their outfit is…distracting. K’s wearing a cropped tank with nothing under it and booty shorts in sweatpant material — and they’re missing the usual collar that I assume their Daddy puts on them, which they wear when out and about. K’s shorter than me, curvy, cute, with short tightly curled hair, glasses, nose piercings, anime-inspired tats and a smile so bright it could power a lighthouse.

I give them the chocolate bar edible I picked up for them on a recent trip. I don’t usually ingest much weed, but they’re a huge pothead. They love it, hug me, and immediately want to go tell their other partners. Their energy is boncy and nervous and adorable. While they sneak out of the room to go take care of something else, I can hear them telling their Daddy about the edible. I’m tickled they’re so excited and sit down and play with my phone while I wait for them to come back.

We don’t play much in terms of video games and just wind up sitting on the floor, eating snacks, smoking pot and talking about how we grew up. At one point, we go downstairs for a cigarette. K opens the edible and shares it with their girlfriend and . I have the tiniest bite, which might be a bad idea, and talk to their girlfriend who I’ve met several times at this point. We go back upstairs and sit in their pile of plushies on the floor. The edible hits and the conversation gets deep and goes on and on. They show me a silly and also sexy outfit one of their simps bought them. At one point, their Daddy Dom knocks on the door and asks if we want French fries, which he returns with. I feel for a moment like I’m a kid again, flirting with someone in their bedroom, and the dad has shown up to see if we want snacks. But, honestly, my high ass welcomes the fries.

When the conversation turns to how much fun we’re having, it also inevitably turns to kissing. K explains that they’re actually new to kissing and I’m not sure if they’re serious, but they are. They never liked it, but they started working on it, and now they do. I ask if they want me to kiss them and their yes comes with lots of devastatingly cute nodding. Their lips are soft and there’s just a little salt. I put my hand on their neck and feel their warm, soft skin. We kiss here and there between chatting. K giggles a lot and waves their hands around whenever we stop. It’s really nice. We end the night with a cigarette on their front porch and a few more kisses. I drive myself home and when I get there, open up my phone to a text from K about how much fun they had, where they also call me “smooth.” I’m not sure what to think of that but it keeps me smiling.

Day 6

I have a threesome tentatively scheduled for the afternoon, specifically with a couple of people who are the only ones who use he/him pronouns for me, but due to life events, it gets canceled. No one wants to have to take their cat to get put down and to have scheduled group sex in the same week, so I get it.

I’d taken a personal day, anyway, though and had planned on both getting chores done and getting a massage. The massage is better than expected, and from a friend of a friend, so it’s nice to support someone I know running their small biz out of their house. I take a few selfies while I’m in the pre-massage sauna and send them out to dates, including the group sex group chat, which starts a conversation for a little while. I wind up sending an encouraging text or two and then give myself permission to leave off the emotional labor and just relax in the sauna. In the evening, I see if J wants me to sleep over. We get ice cream at a really good place while we still can. Season’s almost over. By the time we get into his bed, he’s too tired for sex (I’m not lol but that’s totally fine), so we just fall asleep.

Day 7

J and I start the morning with grinding into each other and kissing. It feels inevitable when we wake up. We bone for a while and then we’re both pulling out monster dildos and fucking ourselves with them. We come while muttering dirty fantasies to each other about what the aliens are doing with us, to the other person. I love coming in his arms even if I’m doing it to myself. He comes onto my stomach and we stay like that for a few minutes.

I go to the bathroom and come back and he shows me a dick pic he just got that is rather appealing, from a guy at a coffee shop he frequents. We draw a bath and get into the tub, facing each other, to rinse off before I go to work. The dick pic comes up again (because I was just like – damn) and he’s like “Yeah, he’s got an incredible dick, but he’s a bottom” as though the two are mutually exclusive. It gives me a little chuckle.

After work, it’s time to get ready for another date night with K. We’re going out to a sapphic / lesbian / dyke takeover of a local gay bar. There’ll be one of our favorite DJs and one of K’s favorite burlesque performers. We both text each other that we’re wearing black.

I pull on fishnets under a pair of men’s jeans I’ve turned into just-under-the-butt-with-pockets-hanging-down cutoffs, pull on a long sleeved black crop top, glow in the dark ghost socks, combat boots, off-putting jewelry and black lipstick. I rush out to pick K up from their house, but when I’m on that front porch and they step out in sparkling pink fishnets, a black velvet mini dress with the most goth flowy sleeves and these super tall Pleaser black boots, I’m floored. Their Daddy tells us to be safe and I wave at him before walking with K to my car. They give me the download on their day while I drive us to the bar”My friend in the red shirt says that she thinks you’re really attractive.”

When we get there, it’s a rush in the way only a sapphic space where everyone’s absolutely turning out can provide. Each and every person is hot, in the outfit that makes them feel their best. We have butches in plaid and goths in chains and glittering femmes and nipple pasties and sweater vests. I buy us some drinks at the bar and we wander around for a while, chatting and hanging and making meaningful eye contact. K gets a lot of compliments on their look, and they eat them up. It’s a treat to watch. When we come back in from having a cigarette, it looks like the show’s starting. We grab a spot in the crowd and make a joke about there not being much room to move. The host gets on stage and she is loud and vibrant and has a HUGE Dolly-esque blonde wig on. The night starts with a game to see who can win a LESBIAN YOGA PORN DVD. This game involves the winners of a coin toss getting closer and closer to the stage until they’re winnowed down. K and I lose pretty quickly but we wind up dead center and front of the stage for the rest of the show, so that was a reward in itself.

Every performance is gold, but by the time a dancer is on stage in drag facial hair and an orange neon fishnet lingerie set, lip syncing and doing floor work to “Pink Pony Club” by Chappell Roan, We. Are. Screaming. Their performance pits drag king makeup against hyper-femme highly performative lingerie. The dancer keeps lip syncing passionately while making expressions and moving their head in jarring ways that juxtapose the sensual, flowing way their hands and body are moving. It gives a sense that their body’s possessed, driving them to slut it up on the stage floor. No one in the rooom is saying anything intelligible by the end of it. It’s a room full of queers just full-throated and atonally yelling. K is bouncing up and down in their heels somehow, from a squat and back up and yelling and fanning the performer with a paper fan they pulled out of their backpack. Dollar bills fly onto the stage. My throat is raw.

A funny number takes us back down before the last person arrives on stage to treat us to an incredibly sensual and energetic dance while wearing a hooded mask and black strap on. When they’re doing a handstand against the back wall of the stage and then reach up to stroke their strop on with one manicured hand with stiletto nails, while supporting their weight with their other hand, K and I are losing it, holding each other, flirting with each other and screaming for the dancer at the same time.

After it’s over and time to dance. K sits on the edge of the stage while I get them some water. Their feet hurt. I offer to grind on them and give them a tiny, demure lap dance. They’re like “OH OKAY” and smile up at me. Our energy has been bouncing around, and I can tell we’re kind of trying to figure out who’s going to be the toppy-er one here. It feels, for all the times I’m goofy, like they’re leaning more and more into their subbiness when we hang out. When they let me take care of them and then flirt with me and pull out their cute mannerisms, it makes me absolutely feral.

We go out for a cigarette and to change their shoes. While we’re smoking and talking, the conversation crosses gender and race and performance and feminitiy and drag and penises and strap-ons. They’re a deep thinker and I can’t stop thinking about how compelling talking with K is.

Their girlfriend calls, then. She’s gotten out of work. I’m invited to go back to the house to hang out. We decide that this is what we’re going to do. It’s almost 1am anyway. Before we drive back, I ask if I can kiss them and we make out a little before driving off.

It’s my first time hanging out extensively with their Daddy, who’s my age. K is a few years younger, just enough to have gone through some different high school trends than their Daddy and I have, which we discover while they pass a blunt around and we all decompress together in their living room. I start to wonder if their Daddy and I are going to wind up bro-ing out if I continue to see K. That’s the vibe I start to get. I know that some people feel like their whole situation is weird, but the vibe is good. Solid. Their girlfriend makes it home from her shift and we spend some time all together on the couch just shooting the shit before I tell them I have to head out. It’s about 2am. K has a session with a paid sub of theirs later that night / morning, anyway. We kiss goodbye on the porch. It’s sweet and their lips are always so soft and I can feel when they start to get overwhelmed by the kissing and giggle. I admire the effort they put into their outfit one last time and tell them how hot they look. We agree, with a lot of giggling on their part and a lot of smiling so much that it hurts my face on my end, that we both want to hang out again soon. They ask me to text them when I get home safe.

Back in my kitchen, I try to wind down and then with a start remember I’m supposed to text K. I do and see they already texted me to check in. We text for a little bit, but it’s not long before I fall asleep thinking about how darn cute this person is.

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