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"No. I don't want," he said. His followers were in the thousands plus. Mine was small too because I kept mine private only inviting the men I wanted to play with or the ones I could trust to show my

semi-nudes. Both of us could hit it sky-high if we wanted to. Create a following in OF but we were choosing not to. I always assumed that he was the same. I gave him an offer for a photograph I could

publish in my book, online, and in my socials. He said Ok. I was creating a contract for him and asked to meet him online just once — face only.

He didn't respond. Then he was asking what ‘face only' meant.

I told him this was strictly business. I wanted to respect his photography art and to do it right.

Business was business to me. Pleasure and fun were their own. Suspicions were eating inside that he was pushing back on something so simple as showing his face on a call.

"Do you think he is real?" I asked my Assistant. I showed him Hotguy's insta account. "He's not the same person. Look at the pics from this one to that," he pointed.

"Really?" I bent over close to stare at the screen. Assistant and I were past that point of flirting.

Work consumed us now. Our bickerings were insane, followed by my sorry-s after.

"They're not the same? Maybe it's in the angles," I said.

It wasn't the first time those angles fooled me. Fifty-fifty chances the guys I saw on dating apps didn't look exactly like the men I met in real life. Other than time, it really was the angles.

"It's filters. Many people use them these days." He fingered through the guy's insta and threads.

"He's not real."

"You sure?" I was beyond disappointed, and desperate to prove Assistant wrong.

"What are you doing?" H asked as I was frantically going through my Hidden Folder.

"Looking for sex tapes and pics of Hotguy," I said. H knew about Hotguy. Whenever we had sex, H would ask whom I'm thinking of and sometimes I'd say — Hotguy.

After days of back and forth on DM and then Hotguy said — "Sorry. Can't. I think. I don't like video call. Sorry."

"Ok. Sorry, but I need to verify. So ok. I won't use ur pics," I said.

"Use that. My pic," he said.

"Because this is business," I replied.

"Don't worry."

"I need to see u to match. U see my face many times. Can u take a pic right now with face holding paper and my name?" I asked.

"Haha. Just use my pic."

"Why?" I asked.

"Do u have an original pic. This is a screenshot." I was pointing to the highest resolution

photograph he'd said I could use.

"That origin," he replied.

"Thanks :) Is it okay if I usethis for my social media promotion? If u want to get paid n I use it for my

book, we need to verify you and I need your PayPal account."

"Ah ok," he replied.

"Good morning :)," I said the next day. "How can u prove to me u r real? If we cannot vid call?" I was trying my best to make it work, sending him my ad promo with his hot pic in it.

And what did I get?

Hotguy blocked me. In one mighty tap, the wolf destroyed a year and a half of lustful feelings.

Along with it, he birthed the smite of a woman scorned.

"Don't piss a writer off or she'll put you in her book and kill you." It was a saying I heard from a friend. In addition, there should also be another: "If you bite her, be ready for her to bite back."

Because he knew what he was getting into when he met me, and maybe that's why he bit and ran.

The Pup - Part 2.

This guy was a pup. A twenty-three-year-old, Korean American guy who grew up in my city and went to Socal and came back again.

I told him I write about some people I met, and I'd at least give them anonymity. So, there, I kept my word.

He had the unluckiness of meeting me the late morning after I was dropped by Hotguy.

He didn't have to run. I was already thinking of letting him go after the bam bam.

An one-afternoon-er and an one-evening-er because that was how long we lasted. Not even enough to call a day, a day.

It would have been better if he told the truth that he wanted a quick fuck and go.

That would have given me a better chance of giving him a firm ‘no' to the play.

Maybe it was because he knew when I told him, after he asked if I did my std tests, and I said yes I passed, I wasn't intending to go all the way that day.

I wanted to keep my clean slate clean for as long as I could till H was ready to have sex.

There was no reason to dislike him. Other than he'd excitedly gave me a ginormous mark on my neck.

Hey, it was as big as three-quarters combined, and purpling like a stormy sky.

That pupboy had a big mouth. It was a typical Saturday when I usually head to a cafe to get some writing work done.

Recently, I was into this BM cafe because there were lots of spaces and wooden tables for the people

who work and study outside of home. Coffee, tea, or even brunch food were very decent but what's

great was it had my type of people. Youngish in their twenties and early thirties, Asian, and in general more guys than girls. As I

often told my Assistant (whom I really wanted to write our origin story but he'd kill me and he won't need to write that down), I needed the male testosterone vibes.

I am a method writer. If I'm gonna write about sexy, horny, fun, playful stories with young men, I needed to be near young men. Even if I didn't screw any of them and just replayed the naughty

scenes in my head, the mojo juices needed to be flowing. Being a nympho byeontae, I needed my fix. A long-term FWB in this situation would be

ideal. I could ask him out for a coffee or dessert and we could hop to a hotel and make out till

our bodies sung with satiated lust. Both of us were happy and contended, kissing and saying goodbye till

the next time when we were free enough to hang out and have some fun again.

How difficult was that to get? Mountain high, apparently.

"You can't get a long-term FWB or even a FWB," said H.

"Why not?" I replied to my endless Universal question as too why I couldn't get someone who understood my needs and have somewhat similar interests as I did.

I was blessed with H but he fulfilled a different type of role in my life.

Sex was good when it happened but it wasn't often enough for my desires and these days I was reverting back to my old self because of the lack of sexy choices — in person and online.

Why was everyone tired and sick? Where were the fit, horny, young, and successful person that

I could hook up with every week or every other week if I had two to play with?

I was expecting too much.

"You can't have them so young, financially stable, and emotionally mature," H said.

"I so can!" I replied with all rebelliousness.

JW was like that. My first stable FWB was in the US. He was my go-to call guy. We met almost every

week after I asked him to be my FWB and he said yes. It was short-lived because I had to go to Asia for the summer, and he had to go home to his family.

A year later, being apart, I'm still hoping time would move fast and we would be back together again.

Even if we were friends or more than friends, I would still be happy to meet.

As for Pupboy, we chatted in the car as he had questions about sex.

My voice and our topics was too eye-rolling and loud for everyone in the cafe to hear.

Perhaps it was his plan all along — to take it to the car.

"Are you sure about this? This is insane," I said.

Evening light drew in and there were many cars going in and out of the parking lot. People were walking everywhere around us and his jacket hanging at the side of the

window wasn't going to hide us from the cars in front of us and with what he was doing to me — fingering my pussy and making me cum, as I kept saying, "This is insane!"

"I don't think this is a good idea." There I said that again, and the many times I softly rejected him and he took them all as ‘yes'.

So I gave him blow job in repayment for the two times he rubbed and made me cum.

"Where can we go that's darker?" he asked.

"I don't know...maybe let's meet tomorrow. It's getting late." I checked my phone.

Again. Somehow, Pupguy got me there and before I knew it, we were doing it in the back seat of my car in a dark parking lot of a bank.

The road beside it was swarming with cars zipping by as night took a shade of dark blue.

The lamps were bright but their rays didn't touch the car but as I cowgirl-ed him, I worried a little that there could be cameras pointing straight at us.

He pulled me down as he got up, and I sat back up again, and then he bit me.

"Hey..." I tried to push him away. "Don't bite my neck."

I blamed it on my orgasm high. He was good at rubbing and making me cum. I wasn't thinking straight. Like a vamp, he took me, and like that damsel, I fell for it.

As I waited for dinner, I got a message saying this wasn't for him.

So, he bit and ran. The truth was, letting me face the consequences of questions that everyone would ask about the giant-size bite was fine. What was uncool was he didn't apologize for biting.

Was it a trend? Biting and running? A twenty-two year old guy did the same on my boob, and a twenty-three-year-old on my back neck.

Puppies with wolf teeth.

It'd take more than biting to prove you were a man ready to take on the world. Banging a cougar didn't make you one.

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