Written by Tade
I have always ached to be just one man’s slut— to embrace my sexual power and be his Adderall. That day came hard!
Juiciness Attracts a Bumblebee
The quest for Mr. Perfect on a dating app began with a jolt of excitement. This lingering tingle warmed my body with high expectations. I was invested in a space other than the physical, navigating through black text, a white background, and the prominent yellow interface of an app that bore a hexagonal hive logo. How could I resist the popular Bumble with its clean and user-friendly aesthetic?
It gave the impression of sitting at a bar, sipping on a cocktail, and waiting to find the right one with aligned interests. However, my fingers sealed fates by sliding profiles to the left or right if I was swayed enough by a stimulating profile.
Charrington found me before I found him. What a weird Nigerian name! As a Bridgerton fanatic, I thought shamelessly, Lord Charrington, I hope our acquaintance shall deepen beyond formalities. You may yet prove to be my muse.
One look at his image, his locs framing his caramel face, sprung up a fantasy of curling my fingers around them and yanking that gorgeous face for a kiss, tracing the sculpted angles that didn’t deny his Igbo heritage.
Sexual Sanctuary: Unjudged Fantasy
E-dating can be disappointing, especially when you root for just one man to make sense. I tried not to be too hopeful, but then we began a deep conversation. Every exchange of words was intentional until it got a little extra spicy. I was turned on by his intelligence and the footprints of his possessiveness.
By day three, he crossed a boundary, but I made an exception. Over the phone, Charrington’s voice carried a husky richness that rang in my ear. I should have blocked him, dismissed the conversation, and told him I wasn’t having any of that nonsense. But for a techie I had stereotyped as more nerdy, less the explorer, he had his game on. Who would have believed a typical dinner conversation could steer into the erotic?
“If you were here, I would make you Bolognese and make you take every inch of it if you would allow me.” My eyes widened like a saucepan, and desire invaded my body uninvited.
Ah! He was the one!!!
Emotional Rollercoaster
For years, I yearned for a sexual understanding—to explore the kinks and freaky fantasies from swingers’ scenes to role-plays, from dress-ups to chocolate play, from third-party sex toys to unapologetic dirty talk, to being the sexual goddess without shame.
But a past lover said, “If you don’t keep this part of you hidden if you eventually move on from me, you will never marry well. Not every man likes his wife this way.” I allowed this to define me, fuelling insecurities as I aged and making me wonder if I would ever find the one to unlock desires I had buried for so long.
But then there was Charrington’s confession: “You bring out a part of me that I have never experienced, and I would like to try anything you want with me, baby. I don’t want to lose you.”
Charrington was staying, and I was thrilled to hear his heavy groan when I painted my images in his mind. I would tell him I loved to see his hands slide up and down his groin like my dripping pussy would, soaking and clenching around him. His bursting moans could be my ringtone anytime, any day.
Charrington and I sparked a dopamine and serotonin rush—the blend of sexuality-spiking hormones—and our attraction acted as aphrodisiacs as we got naughty on calls and texts. I loved how he purred my name, and I made him repeat how badly he needed to feel me as though we were having sex.
The Unforgettable Red Friday
That night, I was dressed in a red lingerie set he gifted me, with all knots and strings, leaving more to the imagination. I applied subtle makeup, painted my lips red, and lined with black.
It was our first spicy video call, and I saw the anticipation swell in his eyes. His throat jerked at an unwrapped gift. I dug my teeth into my bottom lips and unhooked the lingerie’s fastenings bit by bit, revealing my hard nipples. I ran my fingers over my body, just as I knew he would if he were here, holding his gaze.
Charrington’s hands disappeared into his shorts, bringing out my big bunny. My brain zinged at the sight of his thick length and his fingers gently rubbing the pink, bulbous cap. I was seated with my legs apart, inviting him to the creaminess glistening between my thighs. He muttered something in his language, almost breathless, and I slowly drove a finger into my wetness. Then he lost control. His body jerked uncontrollably.
And then Nigeria’s network decided to be against us, as that moment was spoilt, but it was engraved in my memory forever.
Haunted by Digital affair
Despite the miles between us, we looked forward to deepening our bodies into a bed, our bodies clapping to the fast pace of our erotic movement, the fusion of saliva and bodily fluids, our bodies entangled, our breaths trailing over each other’s bodies and the ride to heaven that I longed to have.
While soulmates are often guests in our lives, I am still haunted by our connection—by the ghost of Charrington’s voice. No one has come close to unlocking these buried desires since. Even today, I struggle to find a connection.
Yet, I boxed up the fear of exploring my sexuality. Should my so-sexual partner arrive, I am ever ready.
