The Tindering – what’s in it for me?

So I’ve been on Tinder, who could resist the delicious draw of the brutality of it? It’s a game of hot or not and it’s more addictive than crack or Percy Pigs. Whatever your preference is.
But is it yielding any results?
Not for me it’s not. I’m following the rules on how to get as many matches as possible: head shots and full length body shots. A friend mentioned that he skips past any girl, no matter how hot, unless there’s a full length body shot because (and I swear this was said, or very similar words with the same charming sentiment) ‘they could be a surprise fatty’. Sigh.

Also key to getting many matches is to have none of the following:
Me with a duckface
Me in front of the Eiffel tower/Sydney opera house/some temple in South East Asia
Me feeding starving kids/ rescued monkeys
Me with a tiger
Me snorkelling/scuba diving
Or indeed, me in a wedding dress.

Mainly because, shockingly, I have none of the above in my colossal library of photos. So I get a lot of matches despite my criteria being quite specific, I want someone who lives in actual Dublin (sorry people but Kildare is not Dublin, neither is Dundalk). Not that I have an issue with anyone from these areas or who choose to live there. The issue, and it is an issue, is solely mine. Having recently been in a long distance relationship I’m not so willing to do that again so soon. I’ve done my time and I’m not prepared to get back into a situation where I spend my time living for when I can see someone and you know, have all the sex. Because let’s be straight here, I’m in it for the sex, regular and guaranteed but copious amounts of sex is what I want. If that comes in the shape of a relationship, ok. If it comes in the shape of someone who’s just willing to give it to me all the time, also fine. Either way my ultimate aim is to have it available and ready and as accessible as humanly possible. I want it not just once every two weeks or just on Friday nights or Saturday evenings. I want it all the time, I want it mid-week and I want it in the morning before work, after work and oh Holy Grail DURING work. I suppose I want the possibility of it at any point that either of us could be free on any day during any given week.
I’m not asking for someone to live with me, I’m not asking for someone to be at my back and call – I just want it to be possible at the drop of a hat. For it to maybe be an option all the time. And that only comes with relative proximity.

I’m also a relatively busy girl. I work full time (true story) and I have friends, family and questionable pursuits that I call hobbies. My available sex-time is not infinite but whose is? I might not always be available all weekend every weekend or simply at the time slot offered. Working 9-5 Monday to Friday means that hooking up with someone not in my vicinity means primarily meeting at weekends. Does it sound like I’ve overthought this? Well it’s because I have. I’m a logical, rational girl. If I want something, I have to make it happen. And I always want sex so to make this happen and to make it happen the way I want (regularly) I have to think about it and eliminate anything that is going to put barriers in my way. So anyone living more than 5km away from me is off the list.

There’s also the added fact that if the sex is in any way satisfying I am susceptible to over enthusiasm and mild obsession. Not with the person per se, more with the planning and plotting how to get more naked time with them. I’m a planner. I love planning and organising; festivals, weekends away, parties, travelling – I love organising that stuff and it works out well for anyone connected with me. I do all the work and all the research. I’m a control freak but as everyone knows (or should) control freaks throw the best parties because we think of everything. Maybe that’s why I’m submissive in bed? I digress.
So there’s nothing I love planning more than my own sexfests. So instead of working, I’ll be checking calendars and looking up hotels. Seeing when I can get wax appointments and do I have enough cash in my account to get new underwear and a new toy? This shit consumes me. And it’s not like I have nothing else to do or work to be getting on with – I do. I just can’t stop myself. It’s my favourite thing but like a lot of things it makes it very hard to get on with other more productive things. Not to mention it being reminiscent of all the time I blocked off and gave up and was appropriated and demanded by the last big, long distance relationship. So again, anyone who is not near me is off my list, I’ve no interest.
That wrote off so many hot and very interesting tourists. I really am not interested in a one night thing from Tinder, I can get that anyway.

The next thing that narrows my field is age. I don’t want someone way younger than me. I’m ok with older, as long as they’re not decrepit, in fact I would love someone older. Young is fine, but again I’ve done my time there, I’ve been the teacher, I’ve sent a fair few back into the fold with more skills than they came to me with, thoroughly having enjoyed every minute of it. There’s nothing wrong with this but it’s just not what I’m looking for right now. I don’t want to feel like I know everything and I don’t want to feel like a creepy older woman. Predatory I suppose. That’s not sexy for me. Oh since you asked it’s set at 30 to 45 but I keep reducing that because the 45 year olds are not adhering to the not-decrepit prerequisite. (it’s reached 40)

So even with a radius of 5km and an age bracket of 10 years I was still getting a lot of matches. Which you would think would be a good thing. Nope. Even when we did match there was no dialogue happening. Of course then I would make a quip, only to have them not respond at all or worse, respond with something unfathomably lame. I’m very polite, I’ll try to get a conversation going out of nothing, I’ll coax it. But even my interest will wane as it inevitably did and I will move on.
And still there was enough traffic and messages going back and forth for some dates to happen.

I went on dates with 5 Tinderers. One of them I actually met again so 6 dates was the sum total of what I got out of it.
I kissed 3 of them, slept with one and had a good feel of the guy who I had two dates with. I probably should have slept with him.

The first guy was very cool and very polite, if a little shy. We met on a Sunday evening and had drinks and some nibbles which he insisted on paying for. My bike was parked weirdly, just outside his house so when I went to get it he asked me in for tea. I love tea so I went.
We had tea and some kissing but it was late on a Sunday night and I had to go home, that’s as far as it went. I wasn’t sure how I felt.
A week later I got a bit of a rambling message telling me I was cool and he just was too busy for a relationship right now. A little presumptuous and totally jumping the gun but ok? I just assumed he didn’t fancy me that much. But then I started to think? Hey, was I supposed to sleep with him, was that a tacit implication?
I didn’t dwell on it too much I had date 2 to prepare for.
This guy was big and way better looking than his pictures and the minute he sat down I wanted my face on his face or maybe my hole on his face. I just wanted him. He was funny and we got drunk and laughed. And at one point when I said I thought I was a bit drunk he decided that he needed to get some chips into me (if that’s a euphemism then it was unintended).
Chips happened and then sex in my hall happened. We didn’t even make it upstairs for the first round. I was on my knees unwrapping what I had earlier groped and was hoping to find I’d correctly assessed. I was not disappointed, well I was, but not by his cock. It was indeed as big as my ever gropey hands had ascertained.
And while we had some fun as I sobered up I realised it was me doing all the work. Again that wasn’t the disappointing bit; I know how to make us both have a good time even if it’s me making all the effort.
The let-down came as I discovered he’s one of those guys that is happy to sleep with girls on the first night but not happy to sleep with them again. I won’t bore you with how that was discovered.

Date 3 had to talk me into it. Begged he said, I’d counter otherwise. He didn’t really fit my criteria as he lived so far on the outskirts of Dublin that I think it’s actually libellous to describe it as Dublin. But I entertained the chats for a while (he was a GAA player and you can’t ignore that kinda fitness) and was getting funnier. But then it transpired that he had only just broken up with his girlfriend, that he had been living with. All my alarm bells went off everywhere. But I’m an idiot and I ignored them.
We had a lovely date and some kissing and groping (entirely instigated by me) up against some shop windows. What did he expect? If he’s going to push me against a window and wear the face off me then I’m most definitely dropping the hand.
We had a second date, again went well. Drinks and dinner – very civilised. But it ended abruptly, I thought, and there was only a cursory kiss from him. Which was in direct contrast to the last time. Did he have another date that night? That thought was soon wiped as I got home to some very provocative texts. No better girleen for taking a saucy text and escalating it to filth. And to his credit he kept up. Hmmm, this now had potential.
So the texts kept coming, what was I up to, any plans for the weekend – I’d respond with info offering a window of possible availability only to get a response that he was busy with work/college/training. This happened 3 more times before I decided to stop responding.

This example here is the classic case of what was wrong with Tinder for me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was waiting for a better offer or holding out for something else? Of course I was talking to other people but if I met someone I was giving them my full attention, I was responding only if I was genuinely interested.
I am many things, direct, a bit straight to the point, a bit forward but one thing I’m not and that’s a time waster.

I had two more dates one with Smoky Joe, a lovely guy who I couldn’t make out if I wanted to sleep with or not. But the fact that he smoked, at a conservative estimate I’d say at least 200 fags in the few hours we were out, kinda killed it for me. That and the fact that he said he’d never had his heart broken, either by a lover or being fucked over by a friend. I couldn’t take anyone seriously that hasn’t had life experience. My dark insides were never going to be suited to his overly sunny disposition. Even just for riding. He did have some great sex stories though and I got the impression that he might have been great in bed. But in the end he didn’t make a move and neither did I.
And the very last one? There was just no spark in reality and he didn’t look like his photos.

Ladies and gentlemen I give you Tinder.

*I am off Tinder, and I’ll know I am bored to within an inch of my sanity if I ever find myself reinstalling it. Read: it will most likely happen, I predict hungover boredom and diminished brain capacity for real entertainment might drive me to it. I hope not though. I’ll keep you posted.

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