Late night. Phone glows in the dark. Dating app open. Galleries scroll endless. Perfect tits. Chiseled abs. Everyone’s a product. Skin and bones for sale. My cock twitches. Heart pounds. I’m no different. Just another swipe right waiting to be used. Tonight, I dive in. Fuck the judgment. Fuck the failure rate. That song echoes in my head—apps aren’t hell if you own the fire. Finger hovers. Her profile: sultry eyes, ass that begs. Bio screams ‘no strings.’ Pulse races. Thumbs fly. ‘Hey, wanna fuck?’ Direct. Ballsy. Adrenaline surges. Stomach flips. What if she ghosts? What if she says yes? Pussy clenches in my pants. Forbidden rush hits hard. Society says wait for love. I say swipe for sin. Message sent. Dots dance. ‘Your place. Now.’ Holy shit. It’s on. Legs shake as I grab keys. Mirror check: stubble rough, eyes wild. No time for perfection. This is raw hunger.