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#TinderTales

Call it what you want: a booty call, a one-night stand, something else entirely


[Ed's note: #TinderTales is a weekly column that attempts to look at online dating. This week, our Tinderella tells us how she stumbled upon something else entirely. Have a story to share? Email us at submissions@gmanews.tv]

 

After actively using several dating apps this past year, Tinder and Bumble were really the only ones that gave me results. I definitely got more matches on Tinder, but 8/10 of those were creeps (“If I buy you dinner, will you __ me after?” “I want me some of that Filipina ___”). I went on a grand total of two dates, and left within thirty minutes, both times.

With Bumble, there were less people, but they were the kind you might actually run into around the city, the kind who weren’t just passing through; more earnest, and real (of course, there will always be exceptions…). So I’ve been matching and chatting with decent enough guys, met up with them a few times, but they didn't really lead anywhere — there was just no spark.

Then one night, I came across the profile of an acquaintance I had common friends with. I swiped right for fun, and to my surprise, we matched.

I was surprised because he was way younger than I was, but also because, if I were honest, I didn’t expect I would be his type.

It was meant to be a joke. A ha-ha-you’re-on-Bumble kind of thing. But turned out he didn’t know who I was, had forgotten we’d met before, which wasn’t surprising. We had only been introduced once in passing, and never got the chance to talk at all.

So the joke turned into a fumbling chat of trying to figure out how we met, which turned into a funny exchange, and we ended up really hitting it off online.

I didn’t think much of it after we exchanged numbers. But the next day, he was messaging me again, this time off-app. People doing online dating know off-app messaging was a big deal. Off-app meant business.

We wanted to meet up, but we were both traveling over the weekend, so it turned into another week of chats, and soon, an exchange of photos.

He was refreshingly direct, and forward in a way that suited me. It wasn’t long before we were more playful online, and more daring with the photos we sent each other.

So here’s the thing. I’m the classic thirtysomething-year-old “virgin”. Never sexted, had sex with only one guy my entire life (my first and only ex-boyfriend).

But that didn’t mean I didn’t have a freaky side. I didn’t have religious hang-ups, I have a healthy sexual appetite, and knew how to satisfy myself. I was just one of those people that nothing like this had ever happened to before.

Except it was happening. And I was into it.

I wouldn’t say it was full-on sexting, but I got pretty good at the teasing game with him. He’d send foggy shower photos, I’d send a sneak peek of me unclasping my bra, a profile of my butt in a lacy thong. One night, I sent a video of myself discreetly opening my legs. That did it.

We quickly made plans to meet. It was late, and he had just come from the gym, but there was no way we weren't going to finally see it through.

It was trickier than I’d imagined. I thought when people wanted to have casual sex, it was a matter of meeting up, and banging. Apparently not. Logistics had to be discussed. I couldn’t take him to my place (I was uncomfortable with it), and he still lived with his parents (yeah, I know…). Eventually, the motel suggestion came up.

I doubled up with laughter. This was everything I heard about, but never believed really happened. This was 1970s-Maynila-sa-Mga-Kuko-ng-Liwanag motel scene levels of cliche (damn good film, btw). I couldn’t believe I was seriously considering having sex in a seedy motel. This was also the first time I’ve ever had to write the words “seedy motel” anywhere.

My mind was saying, “this is ridiculous,” but there was this other persistent thought, too: this was a guy I know will never be relationship material, but he was perfect for what I wanted at that moment. And what I wanted at that moment was to get laid. To f*ck someone without needing to analyze anything afterwards.

I had never been so turned on in my life.

After two hours of messaging, he finally picked me up, and we headed to the biglang-liko area. Driving there, we talked as if we’d known each other for years. We covered everything from work, our college shenanigans, the latest on our common friends, our travels.

Turned out we’d been in New York at the same time, and even went to the same party, but somehow managed not to bump into each other. He talked about his family background, how he was saving up to move out.

Maybe it was an attempt to normalize an otherwise surreal situation. Maybe it was easier to spill your guts out to an almost-complete stranger. It was one of the most comfortable and engaging conversations I’ve had with a “date.”

“Let’s not call it that,” he said.

At some point, he put his hand on my knee, and started traveling it up and down my thigh. I let him.

At the motel, he was used to the routine: He knew just what room to pick out, how long. I asked how many women he’d taken there, and he said he’d rather not talk about it. I realized it didn't really matter to me. I was curious, and highly amused by the whole thing. I'd already become part of his roster. At least I knew he would prefer not talk about it with the next one, either.

Once we were in the room, I started undressing. I wanted to get right to it. Then I saw him watching me, and I froze. “I don’t know what to do next,” I said.

He laughed softly, and teased me. I sat down beside him on the bed, wearing only my panties and started laughing with, too. He went for the kiss, and that got the ball rolling. We both knew exactly what to do after that. I didn't have to ask for protection, he came prepared.

The mirror on the ceiling was tacky, but I admit there was something about watching yourself reflected, as if you were someone else in a porn film, as if being watched through a secret window. It was hot. It was just the experience I was looking for.

Afterwards, we lay side by side, my head on his arm. We found ourselves talking some more.

“So, what’s up with you, you’re not dating anyone else?” Code for asking if I’m having sex with other guys.

“Not right now, no. I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Me neither. But I mean…no one?”

I sensed something else behind the question. Or maybe there wasn’t, but in any case, I lied. I told him I fool around with other guys, but not to the point of sleeping with them. I said we’d just go as far as third base, but that’s it. I’m not sure he bought it, but then again, it was clear he didn’t really care too much. Like me, he was just curious.

The truth was, he’d been the first sex I'd in three years. The truth was, the fact that he wasn’t a complete stranger helped a lot. The truth was, I enjoyed myself, and felt comfortable letting him know that. I also knew that if we kept on talking, if we kept on laughing, this could possibly become something else.

I didn’t want it to be something else. I wasn’t ready to make space in my life, to make compromises, to think of someone everyday again, when I had just gotten my life — myself — back, after getting out of a very long-term, very serious relationship.

I felt like I was just getting started, and there wasn't time for anyone else, for now. And in spite of our big age gap, in spite of all the reasons I knew why it wouldn't work out, I could see myself stumbling into something deep, if I let it. I could also see he wouldn’t be in there with me, if I did.

It was easy to turn the mood around. I turned my “bro mode” on. Growing up with brothers, I knew what to say, and how to act to take it down a level. I kept bringing up our common friends. I talked about something depressing. In record time, he told me we had to go, that he was still going to a thing with friends.

He drove me back to my condo, said goodbye, we kissed, and that was that.

We messaged on and off after, half-heartedly made plans to meet, but never saw it through again. It was pretty much done.

After a couple of months, very late one stormy night, he caught me online.

“Why are you still up?” He asked.

“Can’t sleep.” I said.

He sent me a mirror selfie of his almost-naked self, and I sent him mine. It was strange how he could see a part of myself no one else does. I don’t want to think of it more than I should. I don’t want to think of him as anything than a fun story, an “adventure.”

One day, I know we’ll totally stop communicating. He’ll find his “chick” (what he calls women he might possibly fall in love with), I’ll eventually settle with someone intelligent and kind and likes animals. And we’ll dissolve into each other’s distant, hazy memory, bobbing up when we least expect.

For now, I’ll tease him with raunchy photos every now and then, to keep clear, to make it clear, that what we have is not something else. — LA, GMA News

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