Every-time I think I’m out, I get pulled back in again.
When I first met my ex I told him he should go on Tinder. He’s a good looking guy and was single. I thought he would clean up. I hadn’t thought I’d be dating the guy. I was off to Mexico a month down the road. Plus he had seen another man’s penis on my phone.
Long story short: never show a married friend a dick pic. She will tell her husband. He will make you show it to everyone at breakfast when you are too hungover to quickly sit on your phone.
It’s a miracle our relationship ever got off the ground.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me when he popped up on my Tinder feed after the break up. But I deleted the app off my phone all the same. It was like he could see me.
Dating has always been my go to move when things are going badly in my life. When I say dating I mean Tinder. I have no desire to get to know someone in the hopes of cultivating a relationship. Not when I’m heart broken. Shameless superficial hottie snap, and texts filled with innuendo is all I look for when moving on.
I had signed up again because I thought I needed to move on swiftly. I needed to remember that other good looking men existed.
The shock of seeing his duck face staring back at me in various poses made me realise I wasn’t ready yet.
Cue Rio: a city where the word Sex is literally everywhere, and everyone is hot and semi-naked. It was a disappointment to find out that Sex- Dom was not a sensual version of the Crystal Maze, but the equivalent of Sat-Sun abbreviation. More of a disappointment was the fact I just wasn’t into anyone and would have had no use for a real sex dome unless I could charge my Kindle there.
My trainer acted like we’d conceded a goal when I told him I had just enjoyed the sights.
“What’s wrong with you?! Get laid woman!”
It had been 4 months. The ‘Get over it’ was coming in thick and heavy.
I decided to give it one last swipe.
Straight off the bat I gave a cute guy my number. Almost immediately his penis was on my phone, completely unsolicited.
The penis was a shock. But not as much as the fact the guy had been so quick to whip it out that he had forgotten to hide the bald patch he’d disguised in his pics.
He apologised for the penis, but couldn’t explain the hair. I no longer felt compelled to respond to his messages.
That’s when my Tinder game changed. How it happened I don’t know.
Instead of cuing me up some hot sex I built a small support group for the texting wounded.
Now all my messages seem to be pasta recipes, or stories of dates gone wrong. It’s almost like having a stable of boyfriends, who every now and then suggest a meet up.
I’m finding it hard to say yes though.
I said to one guy it was timing and location. If he wasn’t where I was at the right time then it wasn’t happening.
I may yet go on a date. I leave it to GPS, alcohol and wifi connectivity. But It’s not my priority anymore.
I won’t be deleting the app this time.
How will I know how ‘Strap’ and sex dungeon boy are doing on their quest for love?
Anyway, Dario told me he’d send me a recipe for cannelloni that I want to try this weekend.
Thanks to #TinderNightmares for this bounty. Mine were too explicit, or too boring to post.
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