An alternate way of using dating apps

An alternate use of dating apps such as tinder and bumble, I have realized is making friends. Where else can you swipe right on a photo, the other person does the same and voila you have a friend. Conceivably. Not always. But often. I like that. It’s hard to meet people as an adult and when you meet someone randomly and become friends – well that’s a boon. 

This happened to me recently. I even wrote about him in a previous post. 
After deciding that we could remain friends even though we weren’t a romantic match, lit really happened. We have since been out half a dozen times, text everyday and talk nearly every day too. 

This is so much better than having a half assed one night stand which are inevitably unsatisfactory to me. A friendship can potentially last for a long time if not forever. 

This paradigm shift in my head is exciting and empowering. Using dating apps to make new friends. 

What do you think? Like the idea? Had a similar experience?
Until I date again!

Because I don’t care any more 

Me kissing yo ass goodbye 

I wrote a post about how I went on a date and came back with a best friend. He was my friend for four years. A dear dear friend. 

Well, it didn’t end well. After I wrote the piece and before I published it, I sent it to his girl friend and told her of my intent. She read it and said it was fine. There was nothing in there that she didn’t already know. I published it and my friend freaked out. 

‘It was not your story to tell,” he said. 

“Really? It happened to me and so it’s my story.”

“No. Take it off. And you showed it to my girl friend. You never think, do you?”

“Maybe sometimes I don’t think but in this case I did and so I shared it with her. If anyone should be upset in this scenario, it should be her and she wasn’t. And so…”

There was some more exchanges along this line, via text and i stopped answering. We were repeating ourselves and going in circles. I thought we shall go into our corners, cool down and things will be back to normal soon enough. 

I had no intention of removing the post but I also did not do this to get a rise out of him. This was a unique thing that had happened to me- that I would end up making such a beautiful friendship with someone on a dating site and so I wrote about it. I was always amused and thankful for the serendipity of the events that made us BFFs. 

I am often wrong. In this case I couldn’t have been more wrong. 

A couple of weeks went by with no communication from either one of us. One day I got a text from him about something random. I thought it was his way of telling me we could now move on from the incident. 

I responded in kind and told him I missed him, then asked him how he had been. 

Little did I know that I had received a mass text and didn’t hear back from him. 

A couple more weeks went by and I wrote him an email. I repeated to him that I didn’t write the post about us to get him upset. Moreover, there was nothing in there that was untrue or derogatory towards him. I also never identified him. The only people who would know it’s him already knew the story. I continued that he was very dear to me. He had been there for me and that I missed him immensely. 

Not even a second after I hit send I got a response. 

Wanna know what it was?

It took my breath away. 

It shocked me. 

It hurt me. 

I realized I was so wrong. Not about what I did but what I thought I meant to this person. 

The answer my friends, was instant, succinct and shut me up forever. 

“Fuck off,” he wrote. 

That was that. I was dumbfounded. It broke my heart. I said nothing. 

I retreated. I did exactly what he said. 

I fucked off. 

Until I date again!

I Am a Grown Ass Man but am Afraid to Talk to you on the Phone

Either I am the most patient person, a person who has too much time on her hands or someone who goes the distance for a story.

Depending on the day and who you ask – all three may be true.

Remember the Paris guy? A reminder: https://datinginnewyorkblog.wordpress.com/2017/06/26/come-to-paris-with-me/

We have been talking – which really means texting for the past 3 weeks or so. He comes back to New York in a week. I now feel that I have invested so much time with him, that I have to see it through till I see him in person.

Even though my patience is wearing extremely thin and on more than one occasion I have wanted to say Fuck it – he is so not worth it. I know at best this will be a friendship and nothing more than that.

On the average day he will text me in the morning and it is clear that he just wants to text because he has nothing better to do at that moment. If I have time, I will text back. The communication hasn’t been fulfilling at all. He mostly wants to talk about what he wants to talk about and can go off on tirades with the smallest or almost no encouragement from me.

I feel like he thinks he is a professor and is talking down to me.

This morning wasn’t good at all (but hey, I got a post out of it – so it wasn’t all bad).

He is taking baking classes in Paris and told me he made croissants in class. I asked if they made puff pastry from scratch. He took this to be the opportunity to tell me that puff pastry isn’t even a thing. And it’s a manufactured thing.  What one makes croissants with is dough with butter.

Really?

Fascinating.

I only went to a French cooking school myself and now actually train others to becomes chefs. But what would I know.

“I don’t care I said. And I am cranky today,” I texted back.

At first he took the right approach and told me that we should talk when I feel better.

But no, we can’t stop there – can we.  That would just be too simple.

He is in white and I am green.

There are some texts I am not even bothering to include in here.

You may think I am crazy and you wouldn’t be wrong for even dealing with this man at all!

I am gong to hold on for the next week. When he comes to New York, I shall meet him and report back.

Unless of course he reads my blog and is conducting an experiment of his own 🙂 then we are surely out of luck.

Until I date again!

Unreciprocated Lust

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“Now let me tell you a story,” I said after I was no longer angry from his story.

This is that story: https://datinginnewyorkblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/13/let-me-tell-you-a-story-about-a-girl/

I didn’t see the point of remaining angry. Everyone you like cannot possibly like you back in the same way as you do. At least we were still friends and I cherish his friendship.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Once you told me, before you withdrew that you wanted to kiss me on every inch of my body. That was an amazing thought and I fantasized about it often.”

“What kind of story is this?” he asked rolling his eyes.

“It is my story. I listened to yours with very few interruptions – now I want you to do the same for me.”

“Okay – go on. I’m listening,” he said.

“But you must not look at me when I tell it.”

“What kind of rule is that?”

It’s a rule I just made.”

“Fine, he said and put his head on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling.”

I took his arm and put it on my chest.

“One day I was coming home from work on the subway. I found a corner seat and sat down, feeling my body relax from a long day. I closed my eyes and started to think of nothing at first and then my mind went to you. It was the middle of the night where you were and I imagined you sleeping peacefully under the covers. I then thought of myself slipping under the same covers and holding you from behind. You stirred a little. You were so warm and cuddly – my body was still cold. I slid my leg between your legs. You stirred a little more. I couldn’t tell if you liked this disturbance or were annoyed. You groaned and took my arm and put it on your chest – just like I have your arm on my chest right now.

Your chest was warm, as was your back upon which I rested my face. I love snuggling with you. I could feel the hair on your chest and my arm getting warmer with your warmth.”

“What kind of story is this? And how long is it?”

“Why? Do you have something to do?”

“No. Go on.”

“Now you broke my momentum and spoiled my mood.”

“Go on please. I can’t wait to hear it. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t believe him entirely. I could hear the sarcasm in his voice but I didn’t care. I liked all his moods. Moreover, I heard his story. He could listen to mine.

“Let me recap,” he says. “I am sleeping peacefully and you come back from gallivanting from God knows where, and disturb my sleep and put your cold body on my furnace like bod. Riveting.”

“Well, I wasn’t gallivanting. I was feeding orphans and petting kittens. Also, this is my story, when I slid in with you under your covers – you were kinda happy about it.”

“This is a rather interactive story, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be if you just listen.”

“You are crazy, you know,” he said looking at me and then looking away as I had instructed.

“I know that and your point is?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “Go on please.”

“I’m in the subway, imagining myself pushing into your body which is now as warm as yours. We lay there for a few minutes and you turn around to face me. ‘How was your day?’ you ask in your sleepy, sexy voice. ‘My day was great but,‘ I put my finger on your lips. You kiss my finger.

“May I make a request?”

“Sure.”

“Can you say him instead of you because it is distracting and I keep thinking about myself.”

“Hmmmmmmm – I suppose.”

“… he kissed my finger. I ran my finger on his cheek and I felt the stubble. I looked at the silhouette of his face in the light that was creeping in from the gap in the curtains. His eyes were closed and he was smiling from one side of his face.

Better?”

“A little. But when did all this happen?”

“It didn’t. I’m telling a story! I am in the subway thinking of you.”

“Yes, yes I know. Just checking,” he laughed. “Okay, you are feeling the stubble on my – I mean his face. His eyes are closed and he is smiling from one side of his face.”

“Yes! You are so difficult. HE is so nice and you…”

“Sorry, please don’t stop,” he laughed again. “There are other ways of telling a story you know,” he continued.

“I know.

I am a woman.

I am complicated.”

“Don’t I know it,” he groaned in jest.

“I moved my finger from your cheek, his cheek, to his neck, down to his shoulder. He pulled me close and hugged me. I think he just wanted to sleep. I didn’t.”

“Why do women not let men sleep?”

“Why don’t you sleep with men? This way you both can sleep in peace all day.”

“Now that’s just a silly thing to say. Okay, lets hear this story.”

“He wanted to sleep but I had something else in mind. I remained in his hug for a few moments, and then moved my leg up his leg and my hands down his back. I sensed a stirring. A welcome stirring 🙂 Maybe I could convince him to play after all.”

“So manipulative!” he said.

“I know you are jealous – because there are stirrings in him and not you.

“Oh you don’t know of my stirrings right now.”

I smiled. He took his hand away from my chest and I turned to him – continued my story looking at his profile.

“The subway stopped in between stops. I opened my eyes to see some of my fellow passengers hemming and hawing at the announcement that there was congestion ahead and that ‘MTA was sorry for the delay.‘ I closed my eyes again and went back to my fantasy. ‘You don’t want to tell me how your night went,’ he said opening his eyes. ‘Not particularly.’ ‘Sleep then, he said.’ ‘No I don’t want to.

I moved closer to him, kissed him and put my head between his face and shoulder. He held me without moving and then began kissing my face. He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my closed eyes and my chin. I waited to feel his lips on mine. I didn’t feel the kisses on my mouth but everything felt so good.

I clung tighter to the bag on my lap and heard another undecipherable announcement in the subway.

He was now hovering over me and I felt kisses on my neck, my shoulders, gradually down to my knees.

No words. Just touch. Just his kisses exploring the inches of my body.

There was no sound except the intermittent sounds of pure pleasure coming from within me.

When he got down to my knees, he suddenly flipped me around. I was now on my stomach and now felt kisses on my ears. Kisses on the nape of my neck.

I have dimples on the back of both my shoulders. He kissed me in the hollow of my dimples. First the left dimple, then the right and back to the left again.

The varying speed and intensity of his kisses kept me guessing, increasing my excitement to its peak.

At times I just felt the kisses. At other times I felt his body brushing up gently on my body.

Slow kisses. Fast kisses. Quick pecks and deep kisses made every part of my body tingle.

I lifted my arms over my head and he lay his arms over mine. Now I could feel all of him on me.

I couldn’t think straight. One moment my body was on fire. The next it was at ease. It was full of energy and so relaxed at the same time.

I felt a wet kiss on my neck and he lifted himself up again.

There was now a succession of kisses down my spine. I calculated about four kisses per square inch. No I didn’t. I didn’t calculate anything. I couldn’t think straight. The pleasure in every cell of my being took over all my other senses.

He reached the middle of my spine and I couldn’t be still anymore.

I felt like I was about to explode with joy and ecstasy.

He was right above my hips and I lifted myself up on my elbows.

He was relentless. He wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want him to stop. But I had reached the precipice and was about to fall any moment. One more kiss and I would be done with.

I was afraid that the electricity in my body might just electrocute him.

With one hand he attempted to push me back down.

My back was arched. I couldn’t lay back down. I could feel the blood flowing faster in every vein of my body.

I let out a loud moan from somewhere at the bottom of my throat that started from my stomach.

I felt a sudden jolt. Instinctively, I grasped on to the bar next to my seat on the subway. The train was moving again.”

“Damn woman,” I heard him say.

“Good damn or bad damn?”

“Lets just say …. D A M N …”

“I came home that evening oddly aroused and unfulfilled at the same time. I fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning I woke up with a text from you – I mean him, ‘Is your coffee ready?’ ‘No, but you should get me some,‘ I texted back, my eyes still unable to focus from the night’s sleep. ‘I would if I could… you know that but it’s dinner time here.’

I know.’

Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes. I had an interesting subway ride yesterday.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah – you managed to get me off on a crowded subway.’

‘I did – did I?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell.’

I told him the whole story.

‘Mmmmmmm, he said.’

So tell me. Have I ever been the object of your lascivious thoughts? Have I ever helped you out?

‘No,‘ he said.

My eyes shot open.

I’ll talk to you later. Have to go. Gotta start my day.’

‘Toodles,’ he said.

The End.”

“What? That’s it. That’s your story?”

“Yup.”

“What the fuck?”

“Yup.”

“That’s not very nice!”

“Yup.”

Until I date again!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let Me Tell You A Story … About a girl

Sometimes I make up scenarios in my mind of things that may have happened. Or not. In this case, parts of the following didn’t happen. But a lot of it did.

I had a headache in reality last night.

I imagined I was with him in bed with this headache. We had no painkillers and so we had to improvise.

“Give me 20 minutes. I’ll will the headache away,” I said to him as he looked at me somewhat concerned.

He moved closer to me as he rested his body on his elbows. “What if I whisper sweet nothings to you. Maybe that will distract you.”

“Ooooooo sweet nothings. My favorite,” I looked at him, smiled and then closed my eyes waiting to hear his smooth voice attempting to soothe me.

“Let me tell you a story of a girl.”

“Okay,” I said getting comfortable. “Is she cute?”

“Can I tell the story please? You cannot speak or ask questions till the end.”

“Bossy sweet nothings. I love it.”

“I went out for a smoke and pulled out my phone. My finger just touched the Tinder icon. I saw the image of a woman, smiling at me, hair blowing in the wind. Without looking at the rest of the photos I swiped right. What do you know – we matched.

I took a long drag of my cigarette and wrote, “Hey wanna work on those dreams tonight?”

“Tonight,” she said.

“Yes tonight. Dreams are fleeting.”

And so began a banter that was fun and comfortable right from the start. We never got to meet but talked and texted a lot,” he said in a voice that was surely helping with the headache.

“So this is a true story,” I couldn’t control myself from saying.

“It is a story and you will listen.”

“Yes sir. I am listening. Describe her. I wanna picture her.”

“No. Just listen.”

“Okay. Listening.” I pouted internally because he hated when I pouted.

“I was at the airport and we were talking on the phone. As my luck would have it my plane broke down and I could see them fixing the plane as we spoke on the phone. We talked about all the things one does when one is first getting to know each other. Our past, our relationships, our families. We talked about things that make us happy. Things that piss us off. It was a good conversation. After a couple of hours of this, I told her that I should go investigate what was happening with the plane and when we will take off.  We said good night and I went off to find a person who seemed to know what was going on.”

He looked at me to see if I was listening and if my headache was easing.

I looked at him, said nothing. I was still listening.

“When I finally got on the flight, it was her morning and there was wifi on the plane. I texted her and told her I was watching a movie and enjoying a drink. She knew I must be exhausted and cranky. ‘Enjoy your drink and try to relax,‘ she said. I did just that. When I got back home, we started a couple of weeks of lots of conversations via texting and face time, etc. It seemed natural. I knew when she woke up, when she was going to work and when she got back. In turn, she knew when I woke up, when I was calling for my coffee, what I had for lunch, etc. You get the picture.”

“Am I allowed to say yes. I still want to know what she looks like,” I giggled.

“It’s unimportant. Can I go on?”

“Yes please.”

“One morning I woke up early. With my eyes still shut, I ran my hand across the empty space on my bed. There was a dull ache in  my heart. I ached for her. I wished she was laying beside me.”

“The way I am laying here beside you?”

“Sigh. Listen.”

“Listening,” I smiled. He was so cute.

“I decided I didn’t want to feel that ache anymore and so I withdrew.”

“From her?” I sat up. “That’s fucked up! Did you tell her?”

“No. She would figure it out eventually and she did.”

“That’s such bastardly behavior. Why couldn’t you tell her how you were feeling?”

“There was no point. Besides, I don’t do that.”

“You know all men are assholes even if they are nice guys like you.”

“How’s the headache?”

“It’s gone but now I am sad and angry.”

“Why are you sad or angry? It’s my story.”

“Because that girl was me.”

Until I date again!

 

Because I’m the Luckiest Girl Alive

Looks like I’m being punished by the imaginary Gods for writing this blog because without even trying, I am supplied with fodder that I couldn’t make up.

Following is a series of text exchanges from this morning. Lucky me.

The following is the opening text:

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And then we proceed:

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And then:

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Don’t give up on me, there’s more:

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A hour later:

Don’t be jealous dear readers because clearly I have all the luck and get all the gems.

I know I’m taking the lazy person’s approach to this post but I need to recover and rest from this exchange after a long weekend.

Would love to hear what you think. Would you have just sent him a picture and moved on to the next step of this ridiculous thing we call dating?

Until I encounter a dick again,

I mean

Until I date again!

An Update and I really need your input/advice dear readers

The above face says, “What’s going on here?” Or more in my language, “What the fuck is going on here?”

Dear Readers, I am stumped. I need your input. A few days ago I wrote about a guy I have been texting with https://datinginnewyorkblog.wordpress.com/2017/06/26/come-to-paris-with-me/

Well, he is in Paris and I text with him more than all my friends combined. And just so you know, I text a lot.

The texts started when he was at the airport waiting for his flight. Informed me when he was in the air and when he landed. You get the picture.  That’s a lot more than some of my boyfriends have done.

There is a good morning text and then since he knows of my obsession with food, he tells me which restaurant he is going to, then what he ate. He even ordered the duck as I suggested and then told me how great it was.

The texts flow all day. The other day I came home from work and said, “I am in the kitchen making dinner.”

He kept texting and I sent him a couple of pictures of dinner – one to shut him up and two, because I thought they were pretty.

“This looks like diet food and doesn’t sound too exciting.”

Motherfucker!

Poached salmon with Bok choy over brown rice

These are the pictures I sent him and while they are healthful dishes, I really don’t think that they are boring.

“Thanks,” I said.

“What!”

“I said thanks for being an ass!”

“Well, it seems like you are looking for compliments, otherwise I don’t know why you would send me pictures of your dinner,” he says.

“Let’s see. Where do I start. Because that’s what I do. I sometimes send pictures of my dinner to people. More importantly, you weren’t shutting up with the texts while I was cooking, and so I thought – a picture of dinner might jolt you back into reality that she is cooking and so is busy!”

He unleashed the bitch. Yes he did.

“Plus,” I added, “You are rude in assuming that I sent you the pictures for compliments.”

“That’s strange,” he replies. “No one has sent me a picture of their dinner and I was trying to figure out how to respond.”

“Well, this is your lucky day my friend. Someone just sent you a picture of their dinner. And so you are no longer a dinner picture virgin. And you did respond to the picture – you told me it looked dietetic and not very interesting,” I was banging on the letters of my phone like it was an old type writer.

Wait, I wasn’t finished. “Most normal people might say, oh that’s nice or that looks healthy and we would just move on. Lastly, if you don’t get how I feel about food – then you and I can never be!”

This continued for some time with him coming back with shit that he hadn’t experienced this before and so doesn’t know how to react and blah and blah.

He never apologized for being an ass and I was done with this exchange.

“You seem like a smart enough man – there is no need to overthink when someone sends you a picture of their dinner or for that matter, their baby.  You say the first thing that comes to your mind and then be done with it. Your tone however was condescending and I don’t appreciate it.”

Since I wanted him to know that I am done with this subject I said, “It is late for you and I don’t want to discuss this further, have a good night.”

Next day I wake up to, “Good morning. How are you?”

WTF! I have no idea what his deal or his game is. We text everyday and when I am overwhelmed (which I don’t easily get when I am getting attention, but this is not normal), I make an excuse that I am busy with friends or work or some thing and so won’t be texting him.

So, my friends, any ideas?

Enlighten me.

Just to add to the picture, after the first day there has been no flirtation, no suggestion that he is interested in anything other than racking up those texts.

To put this theory to a test – he was telling him about the couch in his Paris apartment and how his friend decided to stay in a hotel because they didn’t want to sleep on the couch.

“But is the couch comfy? I want to know for when I come to Paris,” I begin the test.

“O yes it is!” he replies and then a 10 minute discourse on where he bought it, when and who made it.

Well, buddy you failed the text. I offered him bait about where I shall be sleeping when I come to Paris. I shall be sleeping on the couch!

Okay – I am ready.

What are you thinking about what is happening here my dear readers?  Because I certainly can’t figure this one out.

I will wait to hear from you.

Until I date again!