Bear with me, guys. This is my first time on this portal, so please forgive me if there are any mistakes.
Let’s get started.
I am V, 25. I come from an upper-middle-class family, have above-average looks, and stand at 5’7”. I’m not going to brag about my manhood; it’s average size – 5.8 inches long and 2.6 inches wide, full of nerves, with a small mole on the top. 😉
I’m from northern Karnataka, now living in Bangalore and working at an MNC. City life feels loud most of the time, but somehow still lonely – the kind of lonely that creeps in after midnight. Only because of loneliness did I register on this Kannada dating app. I didn’t expect much; just wanted to talk to someone who understood the same language, maybe the same silences too.
And then I met Shreya. She was 26, her stats 30-28-32, with a dusky skin tone, yet one of the most beautiful women I have come across. She had a calm smile that made her profile feel different.
We started texting, and I never realized when we exchanged numbers — no effort, no small talk that dragged. We spoke about old songs, travel, our jobs, and even the strange comfort of chai on rainy nights, as both of us are from another city in Karnataka.
Two weeks in, one evening around 9 pm, she called me and said quietly, “I don’t feel like being alone tonight.”
She didn’t have to explain more. The city can get heavy sometimes. I told her, “If you’re comfortable, you can come by. (I didn’t have anything else in mind; I just wanted to spend time with her.) We can just talk.”
She arrived later that night around 10, as she stays in a different part of the city. (I got some chocolates of her liking from a particular place that happened to be near my home.) The lane outside my building was quiet, with only the sound of a stray dog barking somewhere far off.
When I went down to meet her, she was standing near the gate, her hair slightly messed from the ride. As I walked toward her, my heart was beating at 300 km/h. Being an introvert, this was like a dream for me.
My hands were shaking and sweating as I went for a handshake. She gave a side hug. It was the first time I’d hugged such a beautiful woman. She smelled like a vanilla cake, and her hair was cold, as if struck by lightning.
We went inside. She sat on the couch, I prepared tea, and we talked. It felt easy, like we had known each other much longer than we had. Time slipped away. We laughed over old stories, complained about traffic, and somehow ended up talking about the people we used to be with and the things that still hurt.
I gave her the chocolates I’d gotten earlier, and she was really happy, giving me a small slap on the cheek.
When it got late, around 2:30 am, I told her she could take the master bedroom and that I’d sleep in the guest room. She hesitated, then said, “Can I sleep in your room instead? I don’t really want to be alone here.”
So we did. I really respected her, so I didn’t want to make it awkward by doing something that would make her uncomfortable.
The room was dark except for the dim light from the streetlamp outside. We lay side by side, talking quietly. There were long pauses between sentences, but the silence didn’t feel awkward — it felt warm. I was sleeping on the left side of the bed, and she was sleeping in the center.
At one point, our shoulders brushed. Neither of us moved away. Then she turned slightly toward me, and her hair fell across my arm. She looked up, smiled softly, and said, “You’re easy to talk to, you know that?”
I smiled back. “You are too.”
(Until that point, I had never imagined her in a bad way; I totally respected her choice and didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.)
There was a pause. I could feel her breath against my chest, and for a moment, everything outside that room just faded. Without saying anything, she rested her head against my shoulder.
My arm found its way around her, and she didn’t pull away. We stayed like that for a while — no words, just quiet breathing and the faint hum of a city that never really sleeps.
Eventually, she looked up again, and before I could think, we kissed. It wasn’t rushed or heavy — just soft, slow, the kind that feels more like a promise than an impulse.
When we finally pulled away, she smiled a little and said, “I don’t know what this means.”
I said, “Maybe it doesn’t have to mean anything right now.”
(I’m not the kind of person who is always horny and looks at women as sexual objects; for me, foreplay and the emotional connection give more of a high than the actual penetration.)
She nodded and leaned back into my chest. I could feel her heartbeat — steady, strong, close. I remember thinking how strange it was that someone who was a stranger two weeks ago could now feel so familiar.
And here the action begins. Slowly, I started to suck her lower lip passionately, holding and pressing her neck. I never knew kissing someone could be this kind of high. I can still feel her lips. Even she started to respond. Nobody was rushing things; we were just being in the moment and enjoying it.
Slowly, I started to suck her tongue. She went mad, bit my lower lip, and there was a drop of blood. She licked it as if she were licking the tip of an ice cream cone. I never knew this sweet kind of pain.
And that’s it for today. I will continue with the remaining part in the next post, where I’ll write how wild we were. Never in my imagination would I have dreamt of a night like that.
*****
Feedback/contact: [email protected]
Just a small note at the end – I live in Bangalore, and I am open to meeting new people, but I’m not interested in anything sexual.
I enjoy connection, conversations, and spending time together, but without taking things into that zone.
If you’re okay with that, I’m happy to meet.