I met Michael on Tinder. He was a barber, and I liked that he was well-groomed. He looked like a textbook scumbag: a muscled-up, heavily tattooed guy with a chronic smug look on his face. Not my usual type, but for some reason I was intrigued by this particular red flag with legs.
We got talking, and I liked him! We had some stuff in common, he seemed intelligent and funny. My interest was piqued and we started to discuss meeting in person within a day or two.
Before I meet anyone I run my own little background check on them, and this time was no exception. I had his first and last name, and a list of states he said he had lived in at various times. Usually that’s enough to get started, but his name wasn’t uncommon and I was going to need his middle name to find my guy. I asked him if he had one. He asked if I was running a background check. I told him that I absolutely was. He said his middle name was James.
So, I ran my searches, he came up squeaky clean. But something was bothering me, so I looked him up on another site I use and there was no Michael James with that last name where he lived. But there was a Peter James, and a Michael Stephen. So, I asked him if he was sure his middle name wasn’t Stephen. Whoops, he said, James is his brother’s middle name. Blamed it on autocorrect. Uh huh.
Then, he started to worry. Because what he knew and I didn’t yet, was that I was about to find out he was a convicted felon, a month out of prison, for beating his ex-girlfriend ‘without concern for human life’. There were one or two other women who also had protective orders against him. His background check was a shitshow.
I believe that people are redeemable, and that our legal system doesn’t always present the story exactly as it happened, so I asked him about it. He immediately took responsibility (good), explained that in the past he had had a serious meth addiction, and that three years ago he had stopped using it and had not been in trouble since. He said he had been a different person when he was using, and had made a lot of mistakes. He was open to answering any questions I had about any of it.
OK, so, I can buy that. I told him that I was still willing to meet, but that now I knew his history I would be scrutinizing his behavior at all times. At the first hint of any bullshit, I was gone. I told him he would never lay his hands on me in violence or anger. That he would never control or manipulate me. I told him that giving me a bogus middle name was red flag behavior, and that would be the only free pass he would get. I also told him I was proud of him for beating his meth addiction, that shit is no joke.
He thanked me for calling him out on his bullshit, and said it would not happen again.
So, we planned to meet. He gave me his address, where he worked, the make and model of his vehicle, and he told me where his probation officer was based. He explained that he lived in a small house on his Aunt’s property, and gave me her name, and that he would prefer it if she did not know I was there. I looked the Aunt up, and was able to verify that he was telling me the truth. I gave all of this information to a friend so someone would know where I was if anything were to go wrong.
Then, I made a series of really fucking stupid decisions that thankfully had zero bad consequences for me. Here they are:
- I drove two hours to meet him in his town, in the next state, where I had never been before.
- I agreed to leave my car parked in town, and let him drive me to his place – a large rural property where I did not know whether or not I would have phone signal.
- I agreed to sneak in and out so that his family who lived next door would not know I was there.
Not smart, Sarah. Not smart at all.
As he drove me to his house, he said we were going to take the scenic route. My true crime obsessed brain wondered if this was to confuse my sense of direction. We drove into a heavily wooded area on a winding road. I told him ‘It’s lucky I’m not afraid of you, because this is super murdery.’ He was mortified, and insisted he had only taken me that way because it was pretty and he thought I would like it! He said that usually there were people walking dogs, or women pushing strollers, and sure enough as we rounded the next bend there was a group of dog walkers. He spent the rest of the drive pointing out things that might look creepy and trying to reassure me that they weren’t as bad as they looked and that we weren’t going near any of them.
When we did get to his place, I snuck in as promised. I was pleased to find that my phone worked, and let my friend know that I had made it safely and that I wasn’t getting any weird vibes from him. He actually seemed very nice.
I don’t remember whether we hung out for a while, or just made a beeline straight for the bedroom. I suspect the latter. He was a great kisser and his body looked like it had been sculpted from marble. As we began to fuck he made a comment about sex outside of marriage being sinful, which I assumed was a joke. I laughed, and replied ‘It’s OK though, because I am married!’
The sex was fantastic, the man was like a machine. He ejaculated no less than eight times in the 12 or so hours that we spent together. I had at least twice as many orgasms of my own. He was just rough enough for it to be fun, but not so rough that I was in pain the next day. I left early the next morning and we made plans to see each other again the following day.
When I saw him again we went grocery shopping together and he cooked us a nice dinner. He wouldn’t accept my help with any of the cooking or cleaning up, instead he took breaks to bury his face between my thighs at every opportunity. I was delighted with this approach to cuisine, and fully encouraged it every step of the way.
We had another excellent night of fucking, cuddling, talking and sleeping. He told me some prison stories, which I can’t pretend I didn’t find fascinating, and even a little bit exciting. My favorite of these stories was when he was in prison in Kansas several years earlier, he had continued his occupation as a barber. One day, he was taken to the Administrative Segregation wing to give a haircut to someone imprisoned there. In walks none other than BTfuckingK. Who apparently was very particular about his sideburns. WHAATTTTTT. Fucking wild.
The next morning I woke up extra early. It was the day of the Queen’s funeral and I wanted to watch it live. I had already warned him that he was going to see me cry, but not to worry because I was fine really. As I got myself comfortable and began to watch the coverage at 5am, he got up, made coffee and brought it to me, and lit a candle. Then got back into bed and held me while I wept. He said he didn’t know what to do, I told him he was already doing it.
Once I had finished watching, he cooked breakfast and made smoothies. Again, paying frequent visits to my vulva. We ate, and made plans for our next meeting. In a week, he was going to come and stay at my house for a few days while I was home alone.
During that week he confided in me that he had always been very curious about cuckoldry and it was his ultimate fantasy to see ‘his’ woman get fucked by another man. I love seeing fantasies realized, so I offered to make the arrangements. ‘Give me three hours, I’ll have it organized.’ I told him. And I did.
Three days before the evening I had planned, he told me that he couldn’t do it. Not only could he not go through with just that evening, he couldn’t continue to see me at all. He attributed his recovery from drug abuse to a God who had ‘bestowed His grace’ upon him. I was a bad influence, a devil woman, the top of a slippery slope that would take him back to the depths of depravity. All true, probably.
My feelings were a bit bruised, and I found it difficult to understand. I told him I was sure God had more important things to worry about than two consenting adults having harmless fun together. No, he said. My marriage was a covenant with God (nope,I had a secular ceremony, I said) and he would not be part of breaking that covenant.
Of course, none of that stopped him from texting me a week later when his dick was hard to ask me if I’d fucked anyone else in the preceding seven days. Then got upset when I told him that yes, I had and yes, it was phenomenal.
That was the last I heard from him. Hallelujah.
Fat and Slutty 