When they say that dating is a rollercoaster, my god, they must’ve been talking about dating on the apps in the age of covid because honey, IT * HAS * BEEN * WILD.
Right off the top, let’s start with John (the silver fox) I mentioned in the last newsletter. I assume he died in Vegas because though the man messaged me for weeks (WEEKS!), I haven’t heard a single peep since my last message to him which was something about being an optimist because I could find a silver lining in anything. We were literally in the middle of a back and forth exchange and then that was it. Silence. I assume he’s dead and/or that he doesn't like optimists. Either way, baby I’m gone.
Swipe away your tears for John’s demise though because there’s more.
Honorable mention goes to my two regular hook-ups from back in Montreal. I sent them both a flirty message on a day when I was feeling particularly horny. I should’ve just masturbated but here we are.
One guy responded immediately and things were sexy until I realized he wanted me to do all the writing and honestly I’m bored of that shit. I spent three years writing porn scripts and I’ve spent a lifetime crafting the erotica that men experience when we’re sexting. I’m tired of my labor being unpaid and unappreciated. If you want to be my sub, you’d better fucking come prepared with notebooks of filth for me. Plus, honestly, it’s just not that fun unless we’re both contributing, otherwise I’d just close my eyes and write the whole story myself.
The other guy read the message and then waited a week to write back
I had written something like You should come out here to visit. It was something we’d briefly discussed before (after telling him I wasn’t returning to Montreal). He waited a week to respond. Can you even?!? He read the message and then waited a week to respond. And the thing is, I’d have been fine with no response. Or even a cute banter type response, like Oh yeah, how many days can you handle me visiting for? Or idk even a Why? You miss this tongue huh? Gross but in like a filthy way that’s fine. But he just responded Yeah? Which is like ugh what? Anyway, I left him on read because it’s a week later and I’m not still horny lol.
Next up is Ben. Now, I have some empathy for Ben, a lot of it actually because Ben’s been waiting for months (what feels like years and possibly could be) for me to be ready to meet up. We matched on Tinder before there were boosters and second doses. We matched on Tinder before there was even a single vaccine let alone the plethora that causes us to make jokes about being #teamphfizer and #modernamafia (okay I don’t actually know that anyone has made the moderna mafia joke but honestly I just love alliteration so whatever, let me have this). Ben and I matched when we were all still scared and in this thing together. He was young(ish) 26 I think but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. He said he was 6’2, he was cute, he seemed quite eloquent and thoughtful (ie. full sentences that made sense and the ability to ask questions). And here’s the clincher—he’s British and when I tell you oooohweeee do I love an accent. I mean truly, British, Australian, South African, and my all-time favorite—Irish—will really get you past so many other hurdles. He had read my profile completely and was totally onboard with meeting up, licking my pussy, and having that be it. In fact, he seemed quite excited about it. We planned to meet once we were both vaccinated.
Except our first shots came and went, and I still wasn’t ready. Ben would message every so often so say hey, which in theory is probably a good idea, to keep touching base with someone you hope to meet one day, but honestly I can be a moody bitch and I actually really hate when someone texts/messages/whatever but doesn’t have anything to say or anything to ask. Like what do you want?! Stop bothering me. lol. This may (MAY!) actually be my own issue because I feel compelled to always respond to someone, otherwise I could just leave his boring hey’s unanswered. But I can’t. I can’t. (I should probably talk to my therapist about why I can’t). After enough of these tepid messages, I finally told Ben what was up. He actually took it really well, apologized for bothering me in that way, and took full responsibility for misunderstanding what I was looking for out of our conversations. In some ways, I can’t blame him—a woman who writes so directly on her bio that she’s just looking for guys who like to lick pussy without expecting anything in return probably doesn’t want a whole lot of useless chatter. But the thing is, very few men are attractive enough to me to warrant meeting them without them also being interesting. If you’re not interesting, it’s unlikely I’ll be interested. Men think I mean interested as in a relationship which is an insane thing to think but that’s on our cultural and something to discuss in another newsletter. Today, I’ll just say that it’s wild to me the way men overestimate their attractiveness and how little they believe it factors into sexual attraction. Actually. Oof. I guess it’s just wild how little men think. About women. About how women feel attraction towards them. About anything. All that said, I told Ben that I’d keep his number and contact when I finally am ready to get out there again.
And that’s what happened this week, I texted Ben to say what’s up. He was quick to ask if I was finally ready to meet and I told him I was. Things were going flawlessly. I sent him some more pics and he sent me some as well. He looked smaller in the pics than I had remembered and I started to wonder if maybe he’d lied about his height (probably). But nonetheless, Ben was who I remembered he was when chatting—eloquent, inquisitive, intelligent, and sweet. When I told him I was too nervous to meet at his apartment, we planned to have drinks in a park nearby first. Or even, I suggested later, to just meet outside his apartment, maybe sit on a bench and chat briefly—just until we’re both comfortable. Everything seemed perfect.
And then…this happened.
So there you have it—Fucking, Ben, ugh. Now, am I disappointed this is how things turned out—absolutely. Was this the first time a conversation had gone this route, where they were once totally onboard and then at whatever point shifting to trying to push my boundaries, trying to cajole me into something I didn’t want, trying to pressure me by asking for more when I couldn’t have been clearer from the start? No, of course not. When it does, there’s always a certain relief because it means I’ve dodged a bullet (and luckily done it before meeting in person). But I’ll be honest that I’m much more enraged every time I find out how little men actually understand about consent. How many men there are that think there’s rape and then there’s everything else astounds me. How little have we taught men? How neglected have we left the education of boys? How invaluable do we see the boundaries of women? How have so many men ended up like this? Men who push and cajole and pressure. Anyway, I obviously won’t be meeting up with Ben. Ben can get fucked. But I am actually sad it turned out this way because I had this brief feeling that Ben and I could’ve been friends as well, could’ve had some real actual fun. I guess we’ll never know now will we. Until next update, I’ll leave you with this song (which is a current fave and also the opening lyrics are *chef’s kiss*:
Ben sure says a lot for someone who blocked you 4 paragraphs beforehand 🤣 I love when men throw their little temper tantrums when someone calls them on their bullshit. Bye bye baby Ben.
“I’m not the type to pressure or anything”. — yeah you are, Ben. Face it.