On Tuesday, three whole days after a seaman shipwrecked his schooner into my port, I met him in the city for dinner. He cleaned up well, but it was a struggle to be a real person on a proper date with the man who used his iPhone light to give me a vaginal exam.
Have we not moved past the reputation established around Tinder’s inception that the app’s sole purpose was to bump uglies with geographically convenient strangers as the threat of last call florescent lights lingered dangerously close? Why do we still attach a stigma to meeting our significant others online, as if it’s somehow inferior
For me, in Los Angeles, it was Bumble that stuck for whatever reason. The crop of men were of decent quality and though shirtless gym selfies were becoming ubiquitous on Bumble there were still plenty of guys that left their man nipples up to my imagination. So blessed.
I tried to text him again two days later still floating on my sex cloud, but his tone completely shifted. The keys had moved on to someone else’s truck and the cloud surrounding me was now one of confusion, frustration, and self-doubt.