I Thought I Was Being Catfished. The Sex Proved She Was Real.
Her Finsta looked too good to be true.
A part of me still thought I was being catfished, even though she had responded thoughtfully to a number of my Instagram stories about sexual fluidity and consensual non-monogamy.
But when you have a body like hers, you start to question—because no one actually looks like that, right? And she didn’t have her face in any of her photos. I understand why—this was her private Finsta—but without her face, I was dubious.
I didn’t initially flirt with Kitten. When someone I find attractive slides into my DMs to discuss my work, it doesn’t seem like the right time to say, “show me that ass.” But when I don’t flirt, I’m sometimes pigeonholed into a role of sexual sherpa, where I help them on their path to sexual authenticity, pride, or what I prefer to call it, shamelessness. While I love helping others remove any sexual shame they experience—that’s my whole thing—I also can’t be that person to everyone. There are only so many hours in the day, and I can’t reply to every message.
And at the risk of sounding like a dirtbag, I rather fuck than discuss bisexuality. My job is to discuss sexual identity, so when the workday’s done, I don’t want to talk about it—I want to live it.
So, after learning she lived in Brooklyn, I took my shot, asking her out for drinks.
“Yes please! I usually don’t meet strangers from the internet but you’re an actual person and I’ve seen you on virtual parties back in the day.”
I replied, “Omg! From a while ago! Hahah. Also down to FaceTime beforehand if that makes ya feel more comfortable!”
“Haha I’m good. Does it make YOU feel more comfortable? I am the faceless stranger 🙈 … that sends you sexy dms late night.” (All right, maybe she showed a decent amount of interest, so I wasn’t going off on a huge limb here.)
I thought about it but decided against seeing her face before we met up. I often get to have anonymous encounters with men, which I love, but I don’t get to have that same experience with women.
I replied: “I kinda love the anonymity of it... and also the surprise for when we do finally meet up!”
We met at All Night Skate, a queer-friendly bar just a 15-minute walk from my old place in Bushwick. I walked over with zero expectations whatsoever, and to be honest, it was exciting. It was like what dating used to be before I had greater access to sex. I would go on a date, and if we hit it off, I would have to work up the courage to kiss them. There was also the fear of rejection that I found exhilarating. Now, being poly, queer, and sex-positive, I am so blunt about sex. I know before every date if we are going to tentatively plan on having sex or not because we discuss it prior.
While undeniably healthy to communicate openly about sex, it’s exciting, in the beginning, for there to be a little mystery. Will this happen? Won’t it? Are they into me? Is this a friend date? It’s weird to think I missed the initial ambiguity. (I say “initial” because there should be zero ambiguity when you two start getting sexual together. You should have enthusiastic consent for all your actions.) Perhaps, just perhaps, I liked the proverbial chase a little more than I cared to admit.
I arrived at the bar a little early, so I could tell her where I would be sitting. She would recognize me, but I would not be able to recognize her. Twiddling my thumbs, I couldn’t help but think one thing: “God, I hope she’s not a butterface.” I know, douchy, but if you guys didn’t think I was at least a little superficial, then you haven’t followed me on Instagram long enough.
Looking around like a schmuck, I asked one woman passing by if she was Kitten. She was not, obviously. If she were, she would have introduced herself. Even though I knew this logically, I still couldn’t help but ask this random woman.
Then, across the bar, I saw a woman standing nearly six feet fall, giving me a big smile and wave.
Under my breath, I whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She was breathtaking, with big blue eyes, full lips, blonde hair down to her tits, and a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts.
“Zach,” she said, jumping up and down from joy. I stood up to hug her. “Are you what I thought I would be?” she asked.
“I, um… I, wow, um.” I’m usually pretty charming, at least I like to think I am, but I was tongue-tied. Eventually, I mustered, “You are everything and more.”
Since she is in the scene, I don’t want to share too much of what we spoke about because, while she agreed for me to share her Finsta and tell this story, she wouldn’t appreciate it if I detailed too much.
But here’s what I’ll say. Her European family is more traditional, and she was, up until recently, straight and monogamous. But like everyone else in Brooklyn, she’s now bisexual, ethically non-monogamous, and living her best fucking life.
What captivated me the most about Kitten was her excitement about new experiences and her ability to find something positive to say about everyone. As a jaded, cunty queen, it sparked some new life into me. It helped me remember that my life is in fact awesome. If my awkward 16-year-old self could see me now, he would shit his mother fucking pants.
I remember asking my brother in high school if girls will ever like me and if I’ll ever get good at flirting. “Yeah, but honestly, it might not be until college.”
He was right, college Zach definitely found his footing with women, and then post-college Zach eventually found his footing with men and nonbinary folks.
But New York City Zach found himself. I am currently a sex writer who gets to travel the world to have sex with people. What the actual fuck? My life is incredible. Sadly, the novelty and excitement of my life and career often feel mundane. There are a shocking number of emails that come with being a sex writer.
Talking to Kitten helped remind me of how special my life was. How happy I am to be bisexual and polyamorous, and how, because of my job, I get to hopefully fuck one of the hottest, smartest women I’ve ever met in my life. What’s even wilder? She slid into my DMs and with a message so innocuous.
After a couple of hours of getting to know her better, I invited Kitten back to mine to get to know her even better. It wasn’t long until there was the lull in the conversation, and looking into her baby blues, I asked if I could kiss her. It wasn’t long until we were on the bed, naked, and I was worshipping her body. She had—has—a body that demanded to be worshiped. Her 90’s supermodel legs went for miles until they reached her perky ass. Her stomach had this cute, little innie, and then those breasts. They were perfectly cup-able with just one hand and had pointy nipples that you had to pinch, ever so gently.
After I kissed her lips, I licked all the way down until my face was buried between her legs. I teased by first licking her outer labia and gently began rubbing her clit so, so softly. The wetter she got, the more turned on I became. My tongue made its way to her clit, and I put one finger inside of her. She arched her back with a moan. I started sucking on her clit and then inserted another finger. She grabbed the sheets with her hands to stable herself. I feasted like a king. I was insatiable and could not get enough of her.
When I finally did enter her, I felt… home. Like this is where my dick was meant to be, what he had been searching for his whole life. We were in sync when we fucked. Our bodies moved as one. In missionary, I could look at her face and lose myself in her beauty. When we kissed, it was like we were starved for each other’s touch. It was like I had just returned from WWII to see my fiancée for the first time in years.
But when I came, it was with her on her stomach and I, entering her from behind. I tilted her head to the side and kissed her as I ejaculated deep inside her. I know I lost a part of me with that orgasm. But I was more than happy to lose it to her—to lose it to this woman whose body captivated me and face left me speechless.
She didn’t spend the night, which is for the better. If she stayed, I would have fallen in love. Lying alone naked in my sweat-soaked sheets, I realized that while I now knew her name, face, and every inch of her body, I still felt I was being catfished because there was simply no way a goddess like her would ever slide into my DMs—no way she’d end up in my bed.
But no, she was real—she is real—and it’s high time I see her again.
Fuck 🥵