+18 years

Trap in Sydney

I’m still not satisfied, I’m determined to use Tinder on Sydney for not very catholic purposes… unless a trap…

Tinder, the trap, Photo by Dainis Graveris on Unsplash

Arriving in Sydney, I felt like multiplying my lovers. Why? Maybe I had been left wanting after Cairns

Tinder, or fishing with a net

Barely arrived at the hostel, I don’t beat around the bush. Nothing is more effective in catching a fish than getting out the Tinder net. Left, left, left, go right, left, right… My fingers swipe at record speed, it seems I’m hungry as hell.

After a few matchs, a first man, Paul 25 years old, athletic by the look of his beautiful musculature, starts talking to me. Tonight, I go straight to the point, my hints are unmistakable, and he doesn’t need any encouragement either.

He’s in for the night at a Sofitel fifteen minutes from my hostel. I hesitate, tiredness is starting to set in, and laziness is starting to overtake my overflowing libido.

Some doubts… But come on…

We switch to Whatsapp. He asks me for a picture, which I naughtily send him, while making sure my face doesn’t show. (Golden rule of the sexting machine). As he gets excited on his own, I have a doubt.

In my turn, I ask him for proof, a picture of him right there, right now. He sends me a video of the view from his hotel. Fine, honey, but that’s not what I’m asking for.

I insist, he takes several minutes and sends me back a picture of himself in the bathroom, abs exposed, towel tied around his waist. Not bad at all.

Come on, girl, you want to, you only live once. Besides, it’s a five-star hotel, it’s still a beautiful night ahead.

However, my enthusiasm is riddled with doubts. Arriving at a hotel makes me uncomfortable, and then, I don’t know, my gut tells me it’s too good to be true.

Well, never mind, I’m going. Libido 1 – Reason 0.

Sex at the Hotel ?

One last wash, and I leave my inn.

I walk the streets of Sydney, marveling at its activity, its life, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that in a city.

The fifteen-minute walk passes almost too quickly, and I am already standing in front of the luxurious entrance to the Sofitel. A shiver runs through me. If my libido wets the lace of my thong, my instincts tell me to turn around. Tssss, anything! What could happen to me?

I feel like an escort. This is the first time I have ever joined someone in a hotel room. The receptionist looks at me with a questioning smile, room number, name of the host, a phone call, and he hands me the card to join the room of pleasures.

In the elevator, doubt begins to alter my excitement. What if I’m making a mistake?

The trap

Arriving upstairs, I quickly find the room. I knock a first time, no answer. Weird.

I then try to ring the bell. Not a movement inside. Even weirder. Again, my fist crashes into the door. Still no answer.

My fingers nervously tap on my phone screen. Should I go straight in? He answers in the affirmative.

Part of me imagines him lying naked on the bed, waiting for me to taste him. Yet, for the first time all evening, I listen to my instincts. This situation is starting to feel fishy.

I decide to open the door, but stay on the landing. No way am I going to get myself into an awkward situation.

For a few seconds, the door remains open to a midnight blue wall. I don’t move. Then a shadow moves forward and light finally shines on his face.

The shock

His face is hideous, his teeth seem at war with each other, his figure is stooped, muscles have given way to a fat, repulsive paunch.

And he’s well over 30 years older than the pretty Paul in the photos. It takes my pupils less than ten seconds to assess the situation, and my legs only take one to rush to the elevator.

Once inside, I finally take a breath. God, his gaze was so perverse, so unsettling. What did he expect from this trap? At what point did he think I would want to make love to him? Was he planning to rape me? Was this his first time? What would have happened if I had entered?

I text him immediately “This is really really not ok.”. He responds with a brief “Sorry,” but I block him before he says anything more.

I can’t go home right now, I’m in shock, I need to walk and get this thing sorted out as soon as possible. I need to get it back to Tinder immediately. Well, he deleted our match… I guess this isn’t his first time.

It makes you think

For several minutes I search for the heading to contact Tinder, my situation is a bit out of the box. But never mind.

I send a first message, and very quickly the Tinder team replies. Fortunately, I feel they are very concerned. I feel like this is not just talk, and that they are really going to do everything they can to find him.

From my end, the shock is over. Yet I keep wondering what his purpose was. I thank my instincts, promising myself to listen to it from the beginning next time.

I hope he hasn’t done this to others before, that he doesn’t set these kinds of traps for other, younger, more gullible chicks, perhaps with a muted instinct than mine.

So, this story got me thinking. I have no desire to swipe right or left again in the Australian capital. The end of my trip will be done by silencing my libido!

Australia’s sexual conclusion: Friendship 1 – Sex 0

After this episode, surfing apps is out of the question for me! One last alternative could however help feed my libidinal appetite… My Argentinian buddy I met in Cairns.

Our first afternoon together, we have a great time. He’s funny, tall (very tall), a little thin, but very charming. In short, I wouldn’t spit on him.

Besides, I’m spending the next five nights at his place…on his couch…that might change.

Well, no! Instinct, reason or deep respect, I wouldn’t try anything. Maybe I could have seduced him, slid into his sheets against his sleeping body, made my panther eyes at him and tasted him raw… Or maybe not.

No one will know. With him, the friendship was so beautiful, enjoyable, and unique, that for once, I decided not to spoil it with my insatiable hunger…

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