The last time I was single, Tinder didn’t exist. Which is hard to believe perhaps. It was 2011 and I would met new potential matches at parties through mutual friends or at the bars when the Journey song came on.
I met my last boyfriend outside my new place of employment when I moved north. We shared a newsroom for 9 months. The one before that was unfinished business from prom. Others I found accidentally on a Cuban trip, a late night at the wrong club, friends of friends at blurry birthday parties . . . It was all face-to-face. There wasn’t always honesty, but the run-ins were real.
Now, I can pick up my phone, reply to a message from a complete stranger and within the next few hours discover he suffers from whiskey dick, has a dislike of cigarettes and beer, is looking for “chill” and “fuckable” and wants to be entertained.
I don’t need you to quote Jane Austen. But there is absolutely no authenticity (or mystery or attraction or curiosity) in a blue bubble on a touchscreen that simply states: so what do you like in bed?
Again: we’re getting sex all wrong. I’m not a believer in marriage. And I certainly don’t hold true to abstinence. But yet again we’re cashing in on this consumerist, commercialization of an empty lifestyle. Order up a brunette with a six pack for free (might cost you a pizza and a pint), get what you want and get out. Scroll for more options. No effort required.
And I get Tinder is a meat market, according to the street. Match.com and OKCupid are where you go to “date.” Fine. But I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I am however looking for a connection.
How can you be doing anything but wasting time if there is no connection. And why are we all so centered on sex as a conversation topic … as an ice breaker even?
Trust me… I’m the one who goes into a detailed explanation on my journey to reclaim the word cunt when I’m at a dinner part… I have no beef talking about all sorts of lips and juices and orgasms and the like.
However, if you’ve never met me bro, don’t you dare think you are entitled to ask me what my favourite position is?
As if your favourite position with one partner transfers over easy-breezy to the next. As if sex is programmed and selfish and static. As if you know it all already.
Hey how about this? How about you curb your inquisitions based on preconceived notions of 21st century charm and “how best to puff my chest electronically” and why don’t we see if you’re brave enough to even allude to such subjects in person, over green tea, on Main Street, in the town we remember to walk around in now and then?
Bravery is sexy to me. Bravery and kindness and social and self awareness. I don’t really give a fuck if you can last a good 1.5 hours. Does anyone?
There is so much for to squeeze and taste out of meeting new people than just the physical.
And as for sex. Here, this is the cookie:
Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test.”
– Anonymous, from Tumblr
As for me. I got lucky on Tinder and did meet a great guy. We just didn’t really mesh when it was all said and done the way I know I can mesh. My last was magic. If I’m going to put myself out there again, it’s got to be above that.
So I’ve deleted my account. I need a little faith in people again. People away from their phones. And maybe that’s the thing; we’re all looking so hard for love or for good sex or a good friend, we’ve forgotten to look up and breathe.
My ex, who I met organically in -50 degrees C by mere chance, used to say “just love” when I would get distracted by small things.
He didn’t know much when it was all said and done. But that “just love” has always stuck with me.
We can’t even begin to do that on keyboards.
And while sure, Mr. Selfie King with the hipster beard and tats, you may just be after a good fuck… That’s surface level shit. The energy that gives you peace and fulfillment—no escaping that, that’s love. Not just heterosexual, heteronormative, romantic love. All different kinds of love. Love nonetheless. Say what you want to say but even those on Tinder are looking for something they’ve lost the capacity to articulate: that same feeling we get the in the shower when we’re done washing and just standing under the waterfall, eyes closer: closeness. Connection.