Madeline (aka The Woman Invisible) and I are friends. We met through our blogs, have met in person, text regularly, and talk on the phone in times of need.
But you know how to really know when a straight same-sex friend is a true friend? When they pass off a Tinder match to you. On a recent Tinder binge, she was matched with a very hot guy who was visiting her city. She didn’t know he wasn’t from there at first. She didn’t end up hooking up with him, because they couldn’t quite make it work. Not for lack of trying.
Turns out, he lives in my city.
On the weekend, she sent me Tinder man’s photo. And his requisite cock shot. It made me laugh because it was the first one I’d received (even via someone else) in several months. I think the crazy Italian was the last one. She offered to connect the two of us but said he was probably a player and just looking for sex.
A random hookup was not exactly what I am looking for, but since being single, I’ve been living my life taking coincidences and opportunities seriously.
I sent her a face pic to send to him. She passed it on to him along with my mobile number.
He texted me shortly afterwards. I stared at the text – which referenced he thought I might be “up for some fun” – and debated for a while whether, and how, to respond. I thought – why not – and responded neutrally.
We texted a bit back and forth and he asked whether I wanted to meet. We were both free on Wednesday night.
Seated at the bar together, we had drinks at a pub close to my office. He’s perfectly tall (6’3″), handsome, amazing eyes, and a rock solid muscular body. Madeline knows how to pick ’em, that’s for sure.
I had low expectations, but we actually had a great and spirited conversation that lasted a couple of hours. There was definitely a spark. And another reminder of how small the world is – he and I were at the same university at the same time, and even more crazy, he was a sports trainer to one of my roommates’ girlfriends.
I wondered whether he was interested, but stopped wondering when he turned fully to face me and put his hand on my inner thigh. He’s never been married, so I asked him what his issue was. He said “fear of commitment”. While he’s had three long term relationships, he’s broken them all off before they got to an engagement. I asked him whether he had a “stable of women”. Surprised by my bluntness, he answered honestly: “yes”. Laughing, I asked if he’d been asked that before, and he said no.
I asked him why he felt the need to have a stable, and (paraphrasing), it was because it keeps things light. He sees them once a week. So I asked him whether he’d ever been with someone who was truly insatiable.
So I lightly explained that once a week wasn’t enough for me. He asked how much was. I said twice a day, but I knew it wasn’t feasible.
I’ve discovered when I have low expectations, and feel completely disconnected, I have no issue being brutally honest with someone. I told him I’d just come out of a relationship, and didn’t like liars or the games that men play. That I needed a good and regular communicator. That I wasn’t looking to get married or have children (I couldn’t, anyway), but I also didn’t like wasting my time searching for lovers who ended up being unsatisfying. That I wanted to date – meaning go out and do things – and I found it was a lost art for people who aren’t looking for serious relationships.
And finally, that I wasn’t sure, honestly, if I wanted to be part of a stable. I also told him I wasn’t online anywhere and wasn’t actively looking. That I had reservations about meeting him – because he seemed to be a player – but didn’t really believe in coincidences and figured I had nothing to lose.
After expressing his interest in me, and a very open conversation about porn, young and hot bodies versus knowledge and pleasure, sexual predilections (was I submissive? Yes) and some of my abilities (squirting, multi orgasmic, etc), and his hand roaming fully up my skirt (finding an oh-so-sexy barricade of pantyhose), he asked me what I was doing the next night. I have a dinner with a girlfriend. He has an early evening event.
He suggested perhaps the next night he could come over to my place and fuck me. I said “I have to kiss you before I’m going to decide to have sex with you”. He paid the bill, saying he had to go because he had work he had to do (although I’m 99% sure it was a date), led me by the hand out of the restaurant, put me up against the wall, put his body firmly against mine, and kissed me.
There was none of the liquid fire I felt the first time Tony touched my wrist. I did not go weak in the knees, or become an instant puddle.
When he said “I think you are going to be a lot of fun, I can’t wait to fuck you”, I felt nothing. No delicious shiver down my body.
We parted ways and I walked down the stairs to get to the train. Alone, I stood at the bottom of the stairs, about to burst into tears. I miss Tony so much. This guy isn’t Tony.
Chemistry is an elusive thing. While there is definitely a physical component, I know much of it is mental. But I’ve been a puddle with men I knew just wanted sex. I’ve fucked men when I’ve been grieving. But I’ve not felt so damn disconnected before. I’m not sure what it was with Mr Tinder. Perhaps a lack of kindness, tenderness, or a belief his attraction to me lacked real depth (yes, he thinks I’m hot, yes, we had a great conversation… but is that enough?) More likely, it has nothing to do with him at all.
I could care less if I hear from him today. If he reaches out I might have him over, to see how I feel.
But right now, I just feel sad. I miss Tony. The bar last night was playing a game with his favorite sports team. It took all the willpower I had not to text him. I’ve made a promise to a friend to not contact him until at least June 5. Of course, I will respond if he contacts me. But I will be surprised if he does.
We’ll see about Mr Tinder.