I’ve got a secret I’d like to share with you. Come in really close. I’ll need to whisper it. God forbid anyone hears.
OK. So… sometimes I have a sex drive. And… oh god. I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but sometimes…*takes a deep breath* this means I’ll want sex.
What’s a girl to do when she has no boyfriend and feels the urge to have sex?
I mean, hello, that’s what Tinder is for.
So the other week I was pondering the amount of time I waste in small talk and pointless conversations with Tinder matches.
The quality of chat is just so low, I’m bored within like, a day. What is even the point.
After one particularly nauseating IM exchange, where I sighed and tapped ‘unmatch’ yet again, I sat gazing at the blank screen for a minute. Then a lightbulb clicked on above my head.
Why don’t I just cut the BS and ask for sex? It’s perfect. That way I don’t have to pretend I’m interested in some guy’s travel photos or his mate’s pet cat or the totally amazing gap yah he took where he chilled with some monks.
I opened Tinder again and decided to spam all the matches I’d not started chat with. But what would I say? It had to be short, simple, and to the point.
‘Down to fuck?’
3 minutes later, 16 matches had been messaged.
15 seconds after that, I had 3 responses.
‘Yep. Come over?’
‘If you take it in the ass why not.’
OK, so this method was hardly going to attract gentlemen. What did I expect? I immediately ruled this guy out, but messaged him back anyway.
‘Is that the condition?’
Back to the less creepy responses.
‘How about Monday or Tuesday?’
Um, hello. I need the D now, not next week. This is a boning session, not a doctor’s appointment.
I decided to humour him. ‘Tuesday works for me.’
‘I can get us a place as I run an airbnb company.’
Oooh. Ding ding ding. I scrolled through his photos. Bearded. Tick. Lush hair. Tick. Cheeky tattoo. Tick. I sent a friend one of his photos.
‘He looks like he thinks he’s Byron,’ she said.
‘He can read me poetry any day.’
‘True, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’
Another photo. This time, he stood in shadow on a beach.
‘Check it out. Moody. Contemplative. Serious. Tall.’
‘He is ready to go.’
Meanwhile, another guy was getting graphic.
Look mate, I said sex, not a full experience for your dick. I hit reply.
‘Why am I doing all the work here?’
He shrugged in emoji form. ‘Patriarchy.’
Oh son you did not just say that to me.
I had a scroll through his profile.
‘You can learn a lot from a bookcase – so I’ve included mine,’ he wrote. ‘Don’t be worried by the Hitler books.’
DON’T BE WORRIED BY THE HITLER BOOKS?!
Alright. Moving on.
A new guy popped up. Rob sounded promising. His response to what my friend christened The DTF Method was a simple ‘sure’ followed by an exchange of numbers and a Whatsapp chat.
‘Do you usually do this?’ he asked.
‘Tbh, no,’ I admitted. ‘I just figured I may as well cut the bullshit.’
‘That’s fair. Makes things easier. So where are you at?’
I told him, and he said he was staying at a hotel with family 10 minutes’ drive away.
‘Shall I get us a room or do you want to drink in the hotel lobby first?’ he asked.
Jesus. He was willing to pay for a room? I kept a level head. I didn’t know this guy. I wasn’t going to rush off to meet a stranger and lock myself in a room with him. What if he tied me to the bed, Christian Grey style, then ran away and left me there?
‘The lobby is cool to start with.’ That way I could leg it if he seemed like he was hiding a hammer in his jacket.
‘Okay awesome. I can get you a cab if you want.’
‘Sure,’ I said, pulling on some decent clothes. I messaged my friend. ‘Omg. This is actually happening. OK so I’ll message you when I’m there and when I get home.’
I mean, I wasn’t about to let myself get abducted.
He screenshotted his Uber app. ‘It’s 3 minutes away.’
Jesus Christ. I threw some things into a bag and ran out the door.
‘Mate, the Uber isn’t here,’ I texted.
‘It should be. Hang on, he’s calling you.’
He was round the back of the high school I’d asked to meet outside. I legged it down the street with Google Maps as my aide, while the cab driver spammed me with calls to ask if I was there.
Ten minutes later, I slid into the cab and we were off.
‘Your uh, friend has been texting me,’ the driver said, smirking.
I cringed. For God’s sake man, did I have ‘I’m down to fuck’ written on my forehead or something?
Fortunately, the journey was short, and Rob said he was waiting outside the hotel having a smoke.
I jumped out, and there he was. I chattered away, sizing him up as I went. He seemed normal enough.
We headed inside and got a few drinks. Before too long, I decided we were probably safe to move up to a room. Besides, the lobby was super dark with random lamps scattered around. They might have called it ‘ambience’ but I felt like I was in a Dickens novel.
I messaged my friend again. ‘He is totally fine and normal. Probably jinxed it, not gonna lie.’
Famous. Last. Words.
Once we were inside the room, I gasped. ‘How much was this?’
‘200 and something,’ he said, walking to the minibar.
‘Are you shitting me?’ I’m not one to mince my words.
The shower was bigger than my bathroom. Luxury shower gels and conditioners lined the wall alongside plush towels. The bed was covered in fancy cushions.
And all this took was asking a few strangers if they were down to fuck.
We sat and talked for a while. Got to know each other, had a few drinks. Much easier than waiting for someone to send a dodgy GIF on Tinder then unmatch you for no reason.
Before too long, things escalated. Without turning this into erotica, we moved from kissing to pretty much everything else. It was going well, until….he jumped up. ‘Sec, I’ve gotta get this.’
I stared after him as he wandered into the bathroom and started shouting down the phone. What just happened?
After a few minutes, he came back out. ‘The cab driver is here already, but my flight isn’t until 9.30,’ he said, looking annoyed.
Um, a flight?
‘Plus my cousin has turned up with him, I’d better go and sit him in front of Netflix or something,’ he said, pulling his trousers on.
‘I can leave if you’ve got stuff to deal with,’ I said, trying not to laugh. Seriously. What the shit was this?
‘It’s fine, I’ll be back in five minutes, and I’ll bring you another drink to say sorry,’ he said, running out of the room.
I sat motionless for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. I mean, how else was I meant to respond? This was some weird shit!
I scrolled through my Twitter and Facebook feeds – although there wasn’t much going on at 4am.
Then I got a Whatsapp notification. It was him.
‘Apparently my flight is in an hour – what the hell?’
‘I can leave,’ I said again, increasingly feeling that it might be best to just do that regardless. This dude had issues. I mean, who forgets about a flight? Or, if this was an excuse, it was the worst one ever.
I waited another few minutes.
‘Apparently I can’t get the next plane so I might even be missing this one! I’m being lumped into a cab by my cousins. This is bullshit.’
‘Wait what so you’re leaving?’
‘Sadly I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. You can stay put though, room’s paid for. I’m so sorry. It was nice meeting you, I’ll be back in a few weeks, will drop you a line x’
I jumped out of bed and started throwing my clothes on. I was not hanging around. The room was nice, but what if I fell asleep then got woken up by some housekeeper asking me to foot the ‘£200 and something’ bill?
Clearly this guy was not coming back. I wasn’t about to get charged for the room. He only had my first name and mobile number so it was unlikely he’d be able to track much more personal information down.
He’d clearly made the reservation in his name – there was no way he could lump it onto me.
I looked at the posh bathroom and briefly considered trashing the joint in an act of rebellious defiance, then thought better of it. Sure, this guy might have come up with the worst excuse to leg it – literally MID SEX – but maybe he genuinely did have some random crazy life he couldn’t get a handle on and was being shipped off to another country. Which, you know, weird. But it might have been legit.
Regardless, I wasn’t about to hang around on Whatsapp – or Tinder – and wait for him to message me whenever he was back. I told him he’d disrespected me and I wasn’t down with that, then blocked him.
I’d gotten what I wanted. More than that, I hadn’t even paid for shit. I was about to pay for my ride home, but that was it.
He was the one £200 plus out of pocket. He hadn’t even, you know. Finished up. I had. If you know what I mean.
So I got the hell out of there, ordered an Uber and headed home.
As we drove through the city streets, my driver told me how he wasn’t looking forward to all the inconsiderate drunk people he’d be picking up after their wild nights out.‘Mate, speaking of wild nights out, have I got a story for you….’