I Asked For His Number And Got Great Sex In Return

I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it.


I’m very much aware that I’m not the first one to share this kind of story. A girl asked for a guy’s number, wow, how revolutionary and how fucking brave. So, no, I don’t intend to preach some big message here. And yet, I have an impression that many of us still feel that it’s a big deal somehow.

I get it, showing someone that you like them, especially on the very initial stage (whether it’s a first date or a random encounter at the bar, whatever) can be scary, no matter how grown-up you would like to act or think of yourself. Why? Because there are so many things that can go wrong. You don’t wanna look stupid, you don’t wanna act pathetic, you don’t wanna face up to potential rejection and first of all, you don’t wanna let your vulnerabilities show. But lately, I learned that being openly vulnerable can be easier than you think, actually.

I went to a club with my friends recently and I had a great time. While getting tipsy and, simultaneously, getting horny, a guy who worked at the bar caught my attention. Really cute, tall, a nice body hidden behind an oversized tee, painted nails, jewelry sparkling on his neck. Very much my type (or rather, one of my types because I have many). Yeah, I really liked him.

Initially, I played it safe like many of us are taught to and like I usually would as well. Sending awkward smiles yet pretending that I don’t see him. Looking in his direction but not too often. Felt like high school, pretty much, you’re not wrong. It was exhausting, sending those subtle signals. And, as proved by all stories that I share here, it’s quite obvious that I’m not a queen of subtlety.

So, the minute when the opportunity presented itself and I bumped into him at the staircase, I started chatting to him (and it was probably the most basic and embarrassing pickup line you could think of, literally something like ‘What time do you finish’), and asked for his number eventually. And he gave it to me. Just like that.

Waking up the morning after, I cringed at my drunk and horny self, the number of shots, the money spent, and the audacity to ask a hot barman for his number. But as the hungover Sunday progressed, the morning turned into an evening and the party wounds slightly healed, I decided to give it a shot (no pun intended) and text him. Nothing to lose. I was quick cause I’m not a time waster – either of his or mine. Hey, it’s me, when are you free. Praise the Lord, he was even faster, and replied that he would be free after midnight. Yes, the same night.

After he came over and took off that oversized tee, he proved my initial impression right cause his body was indeed very beautiful. I feel bad singing praises of yet another dick but for the love of God, he had the biggest penis I’ve ever seen, and believe me, I’ve seen spectacular ones before (and hopefully, I will again). He was a long-runner too, so he fucked me for an hour or two, really enjoying a classic cowgirl position (I envy him the view but mine wasn’t too bad either). He massaged baby oil into my body, and he patiently fingered me until I screamed my lungs out. He also asked me to give him a hand job with both hands, which was exciting cause I’ve never done it before.

The best part though was that on my end, everything felt really comfortable from the very first minute. One-night-stands (or rather, casual hook-ups in this case cause we met again for the same purpose) can be very awkward and weird. Even for someone like me who does them often because a new person always implies a new experience. And while of course, I still didn’t know him, the fact that I chose him instead of being chosen, gave me an uplifting sense of empowerment. That’s why I kissed him first when he sat next to me on my bed and the minute he took his clothes off, I didn’t hesitate to tell him, ‘You look so beautiful.’ (He really did). Saying it felt even better than getting the compliment returned from him.

Until recently, I used to act quite the opposite, being almost mean towards my fuckboys. Sounds like high school again, I know, but aren’t we taught precisely in high school, or maybe even earlier, that we should keep our crushes a secret? That we should ignore them? And however childish that may appear, I observe that the fear of showing vulnerabilities prevails.

So, the lesson I learned: be nice to your fuckboys (or fuckgirls, or fuck buddies). I recently told one of them that he was the best sex of my life (which wasn’t far from the truth), and he lit up like a Christmas tree. ‘I’m gonna be thinking about it every time before I go to sleep,’ he said and after he left, I was almost mad at myself that I didn’t bite my tongue. He’s gonna get so full of himself from now on. But I’m not mad anymore. What’s wrong with boosting someone’s confidence? What’s wrong with being nice, for fuck’s sake?

Of course, this is written from the perspective of someone who prefers casual hook-ups rather than cute dates, but this advice refers to any sort of encounter really. Check this out. Same night, same club, my best friend, who’s very much the opposite of me (so you get the picture), did the same thing. Yes, she asked a guy whom she fancied for his number as well. Two days after, they went on a wonderful date and they’re planning another one soon. Hocus-pocus.

Once upon a time, when I still used to want a relationship, I made a mistake, telling a man whom I really, really liked that I wasn’t ready for commitment. Guess what, he has a girlfriend now and that girlfriend isn’t me. I was too scared that he wouldn’t handle my feelings for him, but it turned out that I couldn’t handle them myself. Many fuckboys later, as a happily single woman now, I know that I don’t have to hide my intentions anymore, whatever they are. Being an open book is hot but first of all, it’s just so much easier for everyone.

Up Next, The Courier Who Delivers My Parcels Is My New Fuckboy