The Half-English Millionaire

So this guy looks okay. He's 50. We're matched. So I flip through his pictures. He's got a photo of a sunset, a phone keyboard, a Porsche & a Lamborghini. He's not in the picture with the cars, though.

Hal: hi there
me: are those cars really yours, or do you just want to impress the ladies with your knowledge of expensive cars?
h: there [sic] mine, did it impress you
me: nope. not impressed by cars.
h: where are you what city
me: i'm in X. you?
h: Y. [he names a city about 120 miles away.] but i'll be in Z today. [Z is about 10 miles from where i live.]
me: so what's a guy who owns a lamborghini doing on tinder? don't you have swarms of women mobbing you wherever you drive that car?
h: everyones not impressed just like you

[So this guy can't spell. He can't write a single grammatically correct sentence. And he claims to own expensive cars. Either he's lying or he's dealing in drugs.]

me: what work do you do? and, yeah, many women are smart.
h: i own a garage door company and i invented a garage door remote control and sold the patent 2 years ago
me: nice. what kind of patent is that?
h: utility and design

[So he won't reveal much. Nice touch.]

h: so what are you doing today wanna meet for lunch you can write it off
me: i can write it off? am i paying for it?
h: i will give you the receipt.
me: you're the one rolling in dough. i'm a lowly accountant.
h: or do you need bank statements
h: i don't mind paying

[Wow, magnanimous of him!]

me: then you write it off. i don't cheat.
h: you're such a nice girl
me: not always. :)
h: when aren't you
me: you'll have to find that out for yourself. :)
h: i'm trying that's why i want to meet for lunch
me: sure, but let's chat a bit more here
h: that's okay with me
me: what ethnicity are you? can't tell from the pics.
h: what nationality do you think i am?
me: you could pass off as a middle-easterner or hispanic
h: really which one more
me: i don't know. just tell me.

[So his coyness irritated me.]

h: im half english,mom still has an english accent,and half armenian but not like the typical Armenians you meet
h: what are you
me: brasilian.
h: I once had a Brazilian girl fall in love with me

[Wow, she fell in love with him. We don't know what he felt for her.]

me: and?
h: her name was Carmen
h: is that you
me: uh?
h: do you have a Brazilian accent
me: yes
h: is your name Carmen
h: nevermind
h: L.
h: dah
me: you mean you never even looked up my name?
h: yes it's written right above on top
h: i just sent it without looking

[How ridiculous is that? Tinder makes it really easy for you to know who you're communicating with.]

me: you lose a few points for that
h: come to Z today and meet me
h: why you never introduced yourself
h: so you lose a few points for that
me: you never did either, but i know your name
me: i can't come to Z. i don't have a car. i take public transportation
h: okay what's my name
h: well take a bus
me: to Z? you've got to be kidding me.
h: take it over the bridge and i'll pick you up
h: it's only 2 miles
me: if it's only 2 miles, why can't you drive your fancy car to the city? it's a lot faster by car than by public transport.
h: because i will be working
h: i don't really like going into the city either
h: too much traffic
h: nowhere to park sorry

[What a load of crap! I'm furious at this point, but I play cool.]

me: so what will you do if we were to click?
h: the question is what will you do
h: you will probably move over here with me

[Seriously!]

me: hehe
me: you're cocky.
h: don't you like that
h: i'm a gentleman as well

[Yeah, I believe that.]

me: ok. where do you want to meet for lunch?
h: how about cheesecake factory

[Wow, fancy restaurant!]

me: i hear ABC [it's an expensive restaurant according to yelp] in Z is good. great brunch. been meaning to go there
h: never heard of it
h: what kind of food
me: american
h: do you want to meet me in Z
h: why don't you have a car
me: i don't need a car in the city.
h: so are you taking a bus to Z
me: aren't you going to pick me up from the other side of the bridge?
h: yes, i'll pick you up in Z

[He didn't answer my question. Obviously he isn't going to pick me up from the other side of the bridge as he offered initially.]

me: where?
h: wherever you get off the bus
me: i think the bus comes near the restaurant. why don't i just meet you at the restaurant?
h: okay even better
me: you should make a reservation, though. it's a popular restaurant.
h: no i know DEF its not popular [DEF is the name of a cheap Mexican joint.]
me: why not ABC?
h: yes we can go there
me: okay, please make a reservation.
h: ok

[He went to take a shower. I proceeded to block him. It was the most benign thing I could do.

Seriously, what's wrong with some guys. Do they really think this kind of behavior will get them dates?]

Another Married Man on Tinder Busted

He was 39. He looked good, well groomed, well dressed. Perhaps a bit too slick, but still pleasing to the eye. (God, I'm channeling my inner woman far too much, aren't I?) His name was Usman. (Like all the people mentioned in blogs, this is not his real name on Tinder; I've changed it to give him a modicum of privacy.) Based on his photograph, age, and my intuition, I suspected that he was married.

Usman: Hi! Nice to meet you.
me: nice to meet you too.
U: you're lovely.
me: thanks! where are you from?
U: from here.
me: i mean where were you raised?
U: all over the place.

So this guy won't reveal information too easily, I think.

me: i'm from brasil. what's your ethnicity?
U: well, my parents are from pakistan, if that's what you mean. i lived all over the place.
me: like where?
U: saudi arabia, bahrain, switzerland.
me: ok. how long have you lived in this country?
U: about 17 years. you?
me: about 14. what kind of work do you do?
U: marketing for high tech
me: nice. i'm an accountant.
U: you live in the city?
me: yes, i do. you too?
U: yes.
me: what neighborhood? i live in X.
U: Y. so you know any good places to drink near where you live?
me: there are a few.

Is this guy trying to ask me out or just having conversation?

U: any plans for the evening?
me: no. just relaxing.

Okay, are you going to ask me out or not?

U: good.
me: do you work in the city?
U: no, I work in Z.
me: wow, you've got quite a commute!
U: it is, but i take the train most of the time.
me: when was your last relationship?
U: a few months ago
me: i dated a married guy for a couple of years. we broke it off a few months ago.
U: wow, did you not know he was married?
me: i did. he was a real nice guy and i understood his reasons for straying. i don't judge.
U: that's very understanding.
me: are you single?
U: it's kinda complicated. but i'm separated.

The trick to tell him about having dated a married man seemed to have put him at ease. Separated, indeed. I didn't believe it for a minute, though. But I'd have to be patient.

me: kids?
U: one daughter.
me: nice. do you still live with your wife?
U: yeah, we're in the process of figuring out living arrangements.

I was surprised at how easily he gave away that information.

me: what are you looking for on tinder?
U: to meet people. you?
me: to make new friends and hopefully more. so what does meeting people mean to you?
U: i'm not ready for a relationship. i have to figure out my life and it won't be fair to the other person to drag her into this while i'm figuring things out.

That sounded very reasonable, but I didn't trust it for a minute.

me: so you want something NSA? (That's No Strings Attached, not National Security Agency.)
U: exactly!

Aha! So the truth was beginning to come out. Why couldn't he just say that at the outset instead of trying to sound so gentlemanly? Slick, as I said. Too slick for his own good. He didn't know who he was dealing with.

me: ok. sounds reasonable in the circumstances.
U: how have things been on tinder for you?
me: can't complain. a few dates a week.
U: wow! you must be popular.
me: i have no idea. what about you?
U: a few dates here and there.
me: ok. i have to run now, but i'll chat later, ok?
U: sure. bye

I wasn't even sure if the name he gave me was his real name. But I searched for it with the specific job function he performed. After scrolling through lots of people, I stumbled upon a professional profile with the picture of a man who looked like him. Upon closer examination, I was convinced it was the same guy. So now I knew which company he worked for and what his title was. But I wasn't going to use it yet.

That afternoon he contacted me again.

U: hey beautiful!
me: hi there!
U: are you at work?
me: yes. you?
U: me too. what are you doing this evening?
me: nothing planned. you?
U: i have to decide whether to work, go out for a drink or go home.
me: ok
U: what do you think i should do?

Again, was he trying to ask me out? This was getting to be annoying. He seemed to have this tendency to not fully say what he has on his mind. Too slick, perhaps ensuring he doesn't have his fingerprints on anything that happens, or did he simply lack the courage? I doubted the latter. The job he did would have required him to be outgoing, bold. His photo seemed to corroborate that. He looked very much in control and self-confident. So I concluded that he was simply a slick bastard. Imply and let the other person figure out what he really wants.

me: i have no idea. you're a grown boy. so you can decide for yourself.
U: haha! yes, i can. i think i'll work.
me: good for you.

The next morning he contacts me again.

U: hey beautiful! good morning.
me: good morning.
U: what plans for the weekend?
me: not much. just cooking, cleaning, groceries. and a date.
U: wow! nice! who is this guy?
me: how do you want me to answer that question?
U: what are you guys going to be doing?
me: he asked me out last night. either dinner tonight or lunch tomorrow. we haven't decided yet.

I left it vague to give him an opportunity once again to demonstrate that (a) I was willing to meet, and (b) I might still have time this weekend.

U: nice.
me: it would be nice to go out.

A few moments later I decided to go for the kill. This guy was too slippery. He wasn't going to reveal anything more to me.

me: oh, i almost forgot to tell you. i was talking to my girlfriend last night. she's also from pakistan.
me: i was telling her about the guys i've met on tinder.
me: i mentioned your name. and OMG, she screamed that she knows you.
me: i told her that there must be lots of Usmans around here. and she said that's true.
me: i think it's some other usman she's thinking of. she asked me what the guy i was talking to did.
me: i told her. she asked me if he worked for a company called XYZ. [This was the name of the company I had figured out he worked at from doing a web search on him.] i told her that i had no idea.
me: i think she's talking about someone else. this is a huge area with lots of people from around the world.

I ended that spiel on a hopeful note. If he was innocent or completely shameless, he'd have grabbed on to that. But I didn't hear back from him for a few minutes. I wondered what was going on in his mind. What was he going to do? Deny vociferously? Laugh it off? Change the topic?

Not unexpectedly -- although I was surprised by the decisiveness of what he did -- he disappeared from my tinder contact list a few minutes later without a word. So he'd either deleted his profile or blocked me. To me that was enough proof of his guilt. Another married guy got busted! If he was indeed in the process of divorcing his wife, why would he freak out upon learning that someone he knows knows that he's on Tinder?

These guys are strangely foolish. If they were indeed sneaking behind their wives, why would they reveal information about themselves that would make it easy to search them on the web? At the very least, wouldn't they want to use a different name? For intelligent, devious people, they aren't particularly smart. If you're going to do something you feel guilty about, for God's sake, at least cover your tracks!

The Unfunny, Cheap Braggart

Gagan, a 34-year old Indian guy, who looked cocky in his photos, got in touch with me. He turned out to be a cheap bastard, although that's not an entirely fair assessment, as you'll see below.

g: how was the weekend
me: it was good. and yours?
g: fun...
g: where do you live?
me: in the city. you?
g: me too
me: what kind of work do you do?
g: out of work stripper
g: :)
g: U

That was the first thing I was annoyed by. What's the big deal in saying what they do? Clearly he has something to hide. And he was as frugal with punctuation as he would turn out to be with money.

me: you must be really bad if you're out of work as a male stripper in a great economy.
g: LOL...yes
g: u r funny
g: what about u?
me: i'm a trans whore
g: that's what i thought
g: r u good?
g: :)
me: i must be. i have more business than i can handle.
g: how bout u show me some of those moves ...lunch plans?
me: yes, dear, with a customer. he's taking me to X [the name of the most famous, expensive restaurant in this area].
g: oh
me: been there? but i can do dinner tonight.
g: ok. Y [the name of a real cheap restaurant in the city]
me: no, been there. don't like it. have you been to Z1? [i referred to another expensive restaurant]

While we're chatting I've been looking up yelp at all the $$$$ restaurants in the area and making references to them.

g: i'm a vegetarian so no
me: how about Z2? it's italian. they should have enough vegetarian options
g: K
me: great. will you make reservations? and what time?
g: at 8 or 2?
me: works for me. thanks.
g: text me ur no
me: sorry, i don't give out my number until i meet someone in person. safety issue. i hope you understand.
g: damn now how m i supposed to stalk u without having gps info
me: lol. if you're nice to me over dinner you'll be able to do that. :)
g: like ur sense of humor
me: then you'll like me even more. :)
g: ok c u at 8

In the meantime, I went to Z2's website to see if there were reservations available to that evening. Unfortunately, the earliest they had available was a few days later.

me: hey, if Z2 is booked, then how about Z3?
g: we can do El Cheapo #2 on XYZ street
g: u been there?

Again, another cheap suggestion. I was determined to fend it off.

me: yes, i have. not a great place for a first meeting. if you don't like Z3, how about Z4?
me: or you might prefer Sexy Adult Club? hehe
g: i like that :)
g: well Z4 sounds good.
me: ok. please make reservations there or we might not get a table. see you at 8! :)
g: c u in the evening
me: looking forward to it.

Later that day...

g: Z4 is closed today
g: how about Another Cheap Italian Restaurant?

I didn't believe this guy. So I went to Z4's website. No mention of it being closed. I looked for a table for that night. They had reservations available.

me: Z4 is open today. reservations even available online.
g: K... i saw the site and it had closed on thursday so anyways then we are on for 8

Liar. No such information on the website. Cheap bastard! Had all the bravado to ask me out right away, but doesn't like the consequences of his actions. Having said that, I do admit that it is unfair to be asked by a woman to be taken to an expensive restaurant on the first date. I don't like it when it's done to me, especially when you have no idea of you're going to like each other or not, and there was a part of me that didn't like doing it to this guy. I was about to write to him before the date that I couldn't make it and put him out of his misery. But I disliked him sufficiently, so I quickly suppressed the thought.

Around 8 he writes to me...

g: i'm here. where are you?
me: so sorry, on my way there. running late. will be there in 10-15 mins.
g: ok
me: please take our table. will be there as soon as i can.
g: ok
me: and won't you be a dear and order me a glass of their taurasi vinosia to start with?
g: sure
me: and you should order a drink too. remember, the drink in a man's hand always makes the first impression.
g: is that right?
me: yes. can't wait to see you

Later...

g: hey, where are u
g: u there
g: y aren't u responding
g: i'm sitting here by myself
g: not cool
.....

Didn't I say I was evil? Yes, I know I'll be paid back in kind one day by some woman who takes a dislike for me. But until then, I'm going to savor this twerp's predicament.

Adventures on Tinder: Are They All This Bad?

So a friend asked me if all my experiences on Tinder have been as lousy/funny as my posts make them out to be. The answer is no. I just choose to write about them. I encountered a couple of truly decent guys and a few who were as boring as mud. And a few with flashes of memorable conversations interspersed with long, boring interludes. Here are some examples:

1. I've already mentioned this academic guy in an open marriage. He was caucasian, in his late 30s. He wasn't great looking. But he was very decent, thoughtful and open. He had brains. No innuendos, no double entendres. He wasn't a braggart, didn't try too hard to impress me. And yet I was impressed. Had I been a woman I'd have truly wanted to meet him, even if I wasn't the open/poly relationship type of woman. Why? Because such decent guys are so rare, why the heck not give them a chance? Besides, what do you have to lose by meeting a guy for coffee?

2. An Indian guy in his early 50s, divorced, with a couple of older kids. Again, a very decent, honorable guy. Didn't come on strong. Not bad looking either. I didn't talk to him much because I feel guilty wasting good people's time. But I chatted with him enough to know that had I been a woman I'd have loved to meet him.

3. An airline pilot, 1/2 Middle-Eastern, 1/2 European. I didn't talk to him much either. But handsome fellow. While I don't think he was as honorable as the previous two, he behaved decently. I would have gone out with him too.

4. David, a 52 year old white guy. Big built, but was only interested in slim women. Had a decent main photo, but the rest of his photos revealed him to be quite trashy. One of those that slipped through the cracks. The conversation was short and went like this:

D: hi L. you didn't say much about yourself. shall we get together and see what we have in common?

me: jumping a few steps, aren't we? :)

d: well, it got a response! starting with something less bold seems to be a turn-off or something. i'm more than happy to chat first.

And I wanted to tell him that what he considered to be bold was a major turn-off, among other things. They guy spoke just as unappetizingly as he looked. So I had not time for him. I simply ignored him.

5. Manuel, a 33-year old Spaniard who worked as a graphic designer. After a reasonable start to the conversation, he only wanted to talk about sex, and that too stuff off center. About how he dated a woman who was into kinky stuff and asked him to do crazy things and how he used rings on his penis. The conversation was uninteresting. I simply stopped responding to him.

6. Fahad, a 50 year old Arab who also claimed to be part South American. He worked in sports broadcasting. While he didn't say anything outlandish, he was never far from conversation that was borderline. Lots of innuendos. Never came out and said what was actually on his mind. Kept fishing to see if I'd respond favorably to his innuendos. I didn't. Wanted to meet me right away. Didn't have anything interesting to say. So I stopped responding to him at some point.

7. Lee, a 42-year old Korean guy. Like Fahad, he often went close to the border, but never said anything perverted or sexual. But when I did, like make a reference to boobs, he'd latch on to it. I'd much rather that someone said what was really on their minds instead of fishing around the periphery. Shows lack of courage. Wimps!

The Married Man or Carlos the Pakistani (Part 2)

I'm truly evil!

I thought I'd blocked Carlos the Pakistani, but it turned out that I hadn't actually typed in the word 'blocked' that would block a profile. So he popped up again the next day.

C: hey there sexy! good morning. :)))
me: hey handsome. what's cookin'?
C: my daydreams about you and your sexy bod.
me: were you nice to me in your daydreams.
C: hardly! hahahaha
me: naughty boy!
C: guilty as charged
me: so your wife has no idea what you do?
C: nope
me: you're devious
C: guilty as charged again! but then what's life without a little adventure.
me: don't try to justify. if you have to do something, just do it. don't rationalize it.
C: hahaha
me: i have to run now, but i'll be back later.
C: ok. MWAAAH! i'm waiting for you.

(Later...)

me: hey! i think your wife suspects something.
C: what do you mean?
me: i've been chatting with this really weird dude who's been asking me all kinds of questions about the guys i've been chatting with.
C: what kind of questions?
me: first he asked if i was chatting with any persians. i said no. then he asked if there were any indians. i said one. then how about a pakistani. i said yes.
C: and then?
me: then he asked all kinds of questions about these guys. i was evasive in my response.
C: but that doesn't mean it's my wife.
me: you're right. it's probably nothing. just some random weirdo. never mind.

(Having planted the seed, my initial job was done. If I knew men, that wasn't going to be the end of this topic for Carlos. So, not surprisingly, still later...)

C: any more chats with that guy?
me: yes. it's getting weirder and weirder.
C: what do you mean?
me: i think that person is a woman, not a man. she's definitely snooping around for more information.
C: like what?
me: either it's information on me or some guy
C: like what????
me: i have a strong feeling it's a woman trying to figure out what her husband/bf has been up to
C: what DID she ask????

(I could sense the desperation in his voice. He had already given me enough clues about the specific kind of work he did. I did a google search on his real first name and the work he did. And sure enough, I found information on a guy who looked a lot like Carlos' profile picture on Tinder. I now knew which company he worked for.)

me: weird questions. like how old these guys were. and strangely, she asked if any of them worked at company X. i said i had no idea.
C: i see

(Not bad. Cool customer. But that had to be an act. Seriously, the guy's cover was blown. Yes, I'm devious. But I was having too much fun at his expense.)

me: anyway, how has your day been?
C: good.
me: i have to rush. chat later, ok?

(Later that evening...)

C: so any more news from the wacko?
me: yes, more weird stuff. wanted to know the names of the guys from india and pakistan.
C: really?
me: yes, i'm just going to give her a couple of names. maybe yours and another guy's.
C: no, no, don't do that!
me: why not? is your name not common?
C: no, it's not.
me: okay, i'll make up a name then.
C: good.
me: can you suggest a name?
C: rashid.
me: thanks.
C: thank U!

(A few moments later...)

C: are you chatting with her?
me: yes. she's asking all kinds of questions. i'm having a hard time lying to her.
C: why don't you block her.
me: yeah, i'm going to ignore her questions. but then i have nothing to hide, so i'm not worried.
C: but i have something to hide.
me: oh, yes, true. i had not thought about that.
C: block her.
me: i don't know. there's an interesting story there. i want to get to know what's going on.
C: please block her.
me: i'll think about it. at least i'll try to make up my answers. are we still meeting tomorrow?
C: yes
me: good.
C: please don't tell her anything about me.
me: ok, no problem.
C: thank you.
me: so tomorrow at cafe X at 5pm?
C: yes
me: and, don't worry, i won't tell her anything about you.
C: good

(So I was curious to know what he would do next. I'd been expecting him to change his mind on meeting me, so I was surprised that he hadn't. Still, I expected him to 'stand me up'. Surely a guy wasn't going to be stupid enough to show up for a date with a woman who'd blown his cover, even if in a fake innocent way. His wiggling out of the date would have simply been confirmation that he was indeed the guy who worked at that particular company.

Sure enough, the next morning, his profile was gone. Either he'd deleted it, which would have been the smart thing to do, or he'd just blocked me. Needless it is to say, I succeeded in giving this guy a bit of a scare. Now the question is: how long will its effects last? Any guesses? :))

The Prick: More Adventures on Tinder as a Woman

He was 36. In his main photo he looked a bit nerdy. So I thought what the heck, and swiped him right.

Soon we were matched. The conversation was short, and went like this...

The Prick: What's up pussycat? I'm John. I'm from the UK, passing through for a couple of days.
me: is that a double entendre?
TP: depends on whether you want it to be.
me: you tell me.
TP: i think you want it to be.
me: ok
TP: want to meet up?
me: are you looking for travel hook-up?
TP: are you okay with that kind of shit?
me: you tell me.
TP: i think you are.
me: you already know me so well.
TP: i can always tell.
me: must be scary having a gift like that.
TP: yes, sometimes it is. i'm staying at the X. here's the link... we can meet here.
me:  i'd prefer my place. more comfortable.
TP: ok. where do you live?
me: i live in Y. about 15 minutes by car from where you are.
TP: send me your address. i can come there now.
me: first we'll meet outside.
TP: here's my number. call me.

(The number he sent me was a UK number.)

me: sorry, i don't make international calls.
TP: since i'm from the UK, that's the only number i have. or give me yours and i'll call you.
me: sorry, i don't give out my number until i meet someone.
TP: ok, then where do you want to meet?

(I got busy with something else for a few minutes. When I turned my attention back to Tinder, I see another message from him.)

TP: answer me missy. i asked a question.

(Really? Is this guy for real? Until then I really wasn't going to make him run around, but that rude message ticked me off. Rather than fume at him, I played nice.)

me: sorry, sweetie. can you meet me at cafe Z?
TP: i'm looking it up. how soon can you be there?
me: in 20 mins.
TP: okay, getting into a taxi now.
me: looking forward to seeing you. :)

(Twenty minutes later, I get another message...)

TP: i'm here. where are you?
me: i'm there. inside.
TP: where inside?
me: right by the door.
TP: i'm right by the door. i don't see you.
me: look harder.
TP: i'm looking everywhere.
me: i'm right behind you. booo!

(At first I toyed with the idea of just dropping off. But I didn't want him to get furious at my having stood him up and complaining to Tinder. I didn't want to be booted off this app yet. I was having way too much fun. So I simply blocked him. It deletes all our messages and if I'm not mistaken, it takes me off his list and there would be no way for him to contact me or report me. So, with one decisive gesture, I deleted the prick and for the first time I felt someone truly deserved to be stood up.)

Adventures on Tinder as a Woman: The Eager Beaver

Okay, I am evil. I don't like it when women do this to me, but it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.

So this guy with photos of himself in all sorts of heroic activities, like swimming in a shallow pool, cycling around a park, carrying groceries and driving an expensive car, gets matched with me. Not a bad looking bloke, but cocky-looking.

Bloke: hiya there! you did the right thing by swiping right! :) here i am at your service.
me: hi! good to know.
b: do you live in the city?
me: yes, i do.
b: isn't this the greatest city in the world? :)
me: hmmm, perhaps. where are you from?
b: the whole world belongs to me.
me: i'm sure. but whereabouts did you spring forth into the world from?
b: haha! you're funny. i like that in a woman. i'm from the beautiful land of india.
me: i would have guessed that.
b: but you didn't.
me: true.
b: how about we carry on this conversation over drinks? care to join me at X?
me: i'd like to get to know you better first if that's okay with you?
b: sure, sure. take your time. so where are you from?
me: from brazil.
b: aha! so you're a sexy brazilian.
me: so i've been told.
b: you know what makes sexy brazilians even sexier?
me: what?
b: a sexy brazilian with a sexy drink in her hand.
me: ok.
b: so what say we get you a drink?
me: as i told you, i'd like to know you better before meeting you.
b: sure, sure. take your time.
me: thanks.
b: how long have you been in this country?
me: about 10 years. you?
b: about 20 years.
me: nice.
b: so you still have a sexy brazilian accent?
me: i suppose i do.
b: i love the brazilian accent. it's so sensual. brazilians themselves are so sensual.
me: even when we burp and fart?
b: hahaha! yes even then.
me: good, because i'm farting now.
b: hahaha! so what say we get together.
me: despite my farting?
b: especially because of your farting.

(Okay, I get why men have to try to impress women, but this guy has no sense of decorum. By now I have no respect for him.)

me: later, ok?
b: sure, sure. take your time.
me: what work do you do?
b: i'm in high tech.
me: i'm an accountant. what do you do for fun?
b: oh, boy, you name it. salsa, bungee jumping, marathons, deep sea diving, hiking to macchu pichhu, drinking cocktails with friends and beautiful women. haha! and what about you?
me: lounging on my sofa and watching people do all those things on tv.
b: haha! now get your ass off the sofa and have a real drink with me. your choice.

(Very magnanimous of you. This guy was now thoroughly irritating me. I had to get him to shut up. I also had this desire to teach this gas-bag a lesson. Seriously, women fall for this kind of nonsense?)

me: ok, i guess.
b: cool! how about at 10pm?
me: can you make it 9?
b: even better!
me: see you later, sexy!
b: ooh, you're flirty! looking forward to it, ravishing lady!

(10 minutes to 9, he contacts me.)

b: L, sorry, i'm running 10 minutes late. i hope you don't mind. please make yourself comfortable and order yourself a drink. any drink. it's on me.
me: don't worry, sweetie, i'm enjoying myself. take your time.
b: ooh, nice. can't wait to set my eyes on you.
me: me too.

(later...)

b: hey, i'm here. are you the sexy woman in the corner?
me: yes. where are you?
b: i'm waving at you. can't you see me?
me: yes, i can. come over.

(I imagined this twerp approaching the woman in the corner and trying out his oily lines on her, and her throwing her drink on his face. Chuckling in an evil manner, I block this guy, and close the app.)

Adventures on Tinder as a Woman: The Contractor

Firstly, I know I'm bad. I wanted to get that out of the way in advance of what is to follow.

So I get matched with this 50 year old white guy. I don't remember swiping him right (i.e., approving him in Tinderlingo), but obviously I must have.

white dude: Hi there! We matched! How are you doing?
me: i'm well, thanks. how are you?
wd: great! are you working today?
me: no, i don't work on weekends. you?
wd: kinda. working around the house.
me: what do you do?
wd: i'm a contractor. i supply and repair manufacturing machinery. what about you?
me: i'm an accountant. are you single?
wd: yes. separated. you?
me: me too. do you still live with your wife?
wd: no. been a year.
me: any kids?
wd: no. you?
me: me neither.
wd: have you had lunch yet?
me: no, why?
wd: wanna meet?

(Wow, that was quick. I can see his lascivious grin in his photo. So I decide to play with him.)

me: sure. your place or mine?
wd: your choice.

(So the dude did not blink. Smooth operator.)

me: i'd prefer my place. more comfortable here. but first, let's meet at the cafe around the corner.
wd: sure.
me: do you know X?
wd: no, but i can find it. how about in 1.5 hours?
me: works for me.
wd: i have all afternoon for you.
me: nice. :)

(Now he lives about 45 miles from me. As I was about to close out that conversation I felt a twinge of guilt.)

me: you know, we could meet midway in Y.
wd: works for me. your place might be better for dinner tonight. :)
me: ok, let's meet at Cafe A on B Ave. do you know it?
wd: no, but i'm looking it up on my gps.
me: why do you need a gps. not impressed.
wd: huh? what does that mean?
me: i like guys who know their way around.
wd: i just want to be sure.
me: that's ok. i'm just teasing you.
wd: oh, ok. :) see you in 45 mins.
me: see you.

(I feel guilty. I hesitate for a moment.)

me: oh, wait, i completely forgot that i was supposed to meet someone else for coffee. soooooo sorrryyyy. can we do this another day?
wd: are you sure? i'm a pretty cool dude.
me: i'm sure you are. but i have a prior engagement.
wd: ok, call me at xxx-xxx-xxxx.
me: ok, later.
wd: what do you have to lose. you might actually like me a lot. :-)))
me: chat with you later.

(Later that afternoon...)

wd: you haven't called yet.
me: i'll call you later. i'm making out right now with a girlfriend. hahaha
wd: long kiss lol
me: yes, long kiss and more lol

(later still...)

wd: still with your friend?
me: no, done.
wd: how was it?
me: really nice. :)
wd: sweet! i'd have loved to watch.
me: i'm sure.

(pause)

wd: how long have you been separated?
me: a year
wd: who left whom?
me: it was mutual. how about you? who left whom?
wd: that's kinda personal
me: really? you asked me the same question. if you don't want to answer, don't ask.
wd: gotcha. that was for the gps ding.
me: really?

(Boy, this guy is petty and not very intelligent in his come back either.)

wd: just kidding. i wasn't perfect for her.
me: you weren't?
wd: i thought i was.
me: i'm sure you were.
wd: but she was high maintenance. good riddance, i say. anyway, what are you looking for?
me: friendship and passion
wd: nice. do you really like girls? or were you teasing me?
me: oh, i can get naughty with some girls
wd: 3somes?
me: why, you want one?
wd: i'm open. looking for passion and friendship like you. and i'm not the jealous type either.
me: well, then, find me another man and the 3 of us can have fun
wd: i know a couple of girls who'll like you. your [sic] cute in the bikini.
me: no. only 2 men.
wd: your [sic] sassy
me: so what do you want?
wd: fun. passion. someone to hangout with.
me: why don't you play with yourself?
wd: oh, come on. please. let me come over. i promise i'm really good.
me: i'm sure you are.
wd: i'll do everything to please you.
wd: i have references.
wd: ask the women i've been with
wd: you there?
wd: hello!
wd: i guess your [sic] gone.
wd: i'm really, really good

(His begging was pathetic. I did what a lot of women probably do. Blocked him and moved on to another man.)

The Married Man

The first man I matched with was Carlos, the Pakistani. Yes, that's right. So this dude who doesn't quite look hispanic writes to me and I write back. Here's the edited conversation...

C: Hi L. How are you doing this wonderful day?
Me: i'm doing well, thanks. and you?
C: just fabulous! bright sunny day. a holiday. what more do you need to be on top of the world?
me: indeed.
C: you have a lovely smile!
me: indeed.
C: and sexy!
me: indeed.
C: tinder is a fabulous app, isn't it?
me: indeed.
C: you like that word, don't you?
me: indeed. so where are you from?
C: from here. haha!
me: haha indeed. where are you from originally?
C: pakistan.
me: with a name like carlos?
C: hahahahaha! that's just a nickname.
me: what's your real name?
C: ahmed.

(So I'm beginning to suspect something.)

me: are you married? i'm cool with it. i don't judge. i've dated married men before.
C: yes, i am married.
me: cool. does your wife know you're here?
C: no. hahahaaa! are you married?
me: no, but i'm dating
C: i'm cool with that.

(Ah, that's magnanimous, I think.)

me: what do you do? i'm an interior designer.
C: i work for a wireless company as a marketing director.
me: cool. any luck on here?
C: not yet. been here only a week. but i've been chatting with a few women.
me: why haven't you met them?
C: no time. too busy at work and home.
me: ok.
C: but i've met women through other sites like OKC and craigslist.
me: and how was that?
C: fabulous!
me: you like that word, don't you?
C: hahahaaa. i was with a woman for 1 year and another for 8 months.
me: were they white?
C: one was hispanic and another was chinese.
me: cool.
C: how about we continue this conversation over coffee?
me: i'd like to get to know you better, if that's okay.
C: that's fine.
me: what happened between you and your wife?
C: no passion
me: arranged marriage?
C: no, i went to university with her. what kind of man are you looking for?
me: smart and cultured.
C: you'll find plenty of that here. hahahaaa
me: good. what kind of woman are you looking for?
C: slim, sexy, smart.
me: what do you do for fun?
C: read, smoke cigars, movies, happy hour. u?
me: i like to dance, eat and kiss.
C: u can straddle me and i can kiss you.
me: naughty boy. :)
C: MWAH!! you like naughty boys?
me: i like boys who know when to be naughty and when to be nice.
C: that i do. i'm a boob man
me: good to know.you won't be disappointed with mine.
C: i can see that in your pics. you have a nice set. better than my wife's.
me: what's wrong with her boobs?
C: i need to try yours :) do you like having them played with?
me: now, don't be too naughty! :)
C: hahahaaa!
me: do you go to a hotel when you meet your dates?
C: yes, hotel. unless i come to your place. :) that's a joke darling.
me: ok.
C: what makes a man sexy for u?
me: intelligence and vit.
C: vibe :)
me: what do you mean?
C: it means, i feel that your tits are better than my wife's
me: they are nice.
C: yummy. great reviews, huh?
me: no complaints so far.
C: you like breast play?
me: yes
C: i like to please my woman. u like licking? sucking? hard sucking? gentle bite? what's ur pleasure?
me: gentle sucking. do you get hard easily?
C: depends on the woman. what makes u wet?
me: breast play. sometimes women can arouse me too.
C: nice image. naked in my lap, playing with ur breasts.
me: naughty boy :)
C: let's meet.
me: when?
C: now?
me: aren't you at work?
C: but i can ditch it.
me: later this week.
C: when? i can come wherever you want me.
me: i'll let you know.
C: oh, baby, i want u
me: i'm sure.
C: don't make me wait.
me: i'll try my best. i have to go now. can we chat later?
C: sure. i'll be waiting. :)

(Later, I hear from him again.)

C: at home. so messages will be sporadic.
me: have you ever told your wife you want sex with other women?
C: no way!!! she'll divorce me.
me: and that's a problem?
C: of course!
me: when was the last time you had sex with her?
C: months ago
me: ok
C: i'm thinking about your boobs.
me: they're thinking about you
C: hahaaaa! i want to suck them
me: go suck your wife's boobs and tell me how they taste
C: they all taste different
me: how so?
C: every pair is different.
me: ok
C: let's meet tomorrow.
me: when?
C: 4pm?
me: sure, why not? you want to come over?
C: yeah! give me your address
me: first let's meet at a cafe
C: ok.

(So we decide to meet at a cafe near my fictitious house. The next day I figure this is as far as I can go with him. I don't want him to drive all the way over and be stood up. I'm evil, but not that evil.)

me: hey carlos, sorry, i can't meet you today.
C: why not darling?
me: that time of month.
C: it doesn't bother me
me: but it bothers me
C: :(((((
me: i know. some other time.
C: ok
me: think of my boobs in the meantime
C: sure will
me: and suck your wife's boobs for me, will you?
C: i can't promise.
me: please, pretty pleas?
C: ok, i'll do that tonight. :)
me: you're a doll. kiss! i have to go. have a great day!
C: you too darling

(I then blocked him. It was the most humane thing to do.)

I Get a Sex Change Operation

The conversations I've had with various women over the months got me thinking. Many of them said the same thing: a lot of men online are simply too crude and can't express themselves. I never understood that. All the men I know are pretty expressive, and while we can all be crude (and, yes, we're all dogs), the truly obnoxious ones were few and far between. So I wanted to see for myself what these women were talking about.

So I used pictures of a lovely woman I know and created a profile on Tinder. Browsing the profiles of men was interesting. I was in my role as a woman. If I were a woman, would I want to know this guy? And, unfortunately, the answer was no for the majority of them. Here are a few of my reasons:

1. I'm a snob. So, whether its for friendship or relationship, I need someone who is intellectually above average. I know it's superficial to make these judgments based on photographs, but I weeded out a lot of men who did not look terribly bright. They didn't have that spark in their eyes. Or a sense of curiosity.

2. Crude: I was surprised by how many men had posted pictures that were off-putting for various reasons. Pictures of bare torsos for no reasons other than to preen like a peacock. Now and occasional picture of a decent looking bloke in a pool is not a bad thing. But most of these men simply lacked class. Then there were men showing their middle-finger. Who were they trying to attract with those pics?

3. Lack of class: This reason underlies all the other reasons why I turned down some guy. But a man or woman who cannot carry themselves with dignity and respect gets passed over. I mean, do you really need to post pictures of you doing stupid things, being drunk or simply holding aloft a bottle of cheap beer as though it were a trophy? If so, what you really want is to be on that TV show called 'Jackass'.

4. Tattoos: A small tattoo here and there I'm okay with. I also get the religious and cultural significance of tattoos in some parts of the world. But sometimes cultural symbols get co-opted unthinkingly, resulting in a crass display that has none of the original meaning. If you've got tattoos all over your body, good for you. But I'll probably keep you at arms' length whether as friends, at work or in a relationship.

5. Trying too hard: A lot of men are trying to hard to come across as being cool. Whether it's to show their muscles, or pictures of them jumping out of a plane, or playing golf or pretending to be the life of the party, or looking cocky or having asinine grins. Why can't they just be themselves? Preening like peacocks probably does work with a lot of women, but I prefer to associate with people, both men and women, who are more modest, level-headed and grounded.

6. Facial hair: Unless you look at a lot of photos of men in quick succession, you really don't know what you think of facial hair. I was ambivalent about it before. But a few hours of flipping through profiles, I've come to the conclusion that very few men look good with facial hair.

So I weeded out a lot of men. As time went by, I became increasingly selective. And, yet, within 24 hours, I had 40 matches. A far cry from the measly number of contacts I had with my real profile. And what I found about them was very interesting. I'll post individual interactions in later blog posts, but in general, here are my observations:

1. More than 1/2 the men who matched with me never bothered contacting me. Other bloggers and reviewers have had similar experiences. Only once I contacted a guy, mostly out of curiosity. He never responded. So why do people who chose each other in the first place don't contact the other person or respond when the other person initiates contact?

2. While a couple of men were a bit crude in their interactions with me, nobody started off with the kinds of sentences women have reported to me. Most of the interactions were normal at least for the first couple of sessions. So why were women always complaining that most men online are crude, rude and crass? I wondered about that. And I think it may have something to do with the men I selected. I guess I am a pretty good judge of which men are likely to be normal, decent, articulate, respectable just by looking at their photos. After all, I'm a man myself, so I guess I have an advantage over women. And even the ones who were crass had slipped through the cracks, and upon closer examination of their pictures, I could see strains of lascivious expressions on their faces. One man, in particular, was very respectful, thoughtful, articulate and intelligent. If I were a woman, I'd absolutely have gone for him. (More about him later.)

3. There seem to be a heck of a lot more men than women on Tinder, at least in my area. The stream of male profiles seems never-ending. On both occasions as a man, I did run out of profiles and had to wait for Tinder to find more. But not as a woman. I envy women. It's so much easier for them to pick and choose than it is for men. We men have to be grateful for whatever scant attention women show us. They have a problem of plenty.

4. After winnowing it all down, I came to the inevitable, but arrogant, conclusion that I was not a bad catch at all compared to all these blokes out there. I could see why women constantly complain about there being quantity, but no quality. So, a word of advice to women: if you do find a decent fella, don't let him go.

All in all, it's been an interesting experience. I think it has helped me hone my own skills in the art of approaching and connecting with women, particularly in making me aware of how certain things we men do come across to women.

The dating game can be endlessly interesting, and role playing has opened up hitherto undiscovered vistas for me.

The New Handsome Me

A few weeks after my first failed attempt with Tinder, I decided to give it another shot. This time I wanted to confirm my suspicion that the failure the last time around was because of my photos. So, this time I used just one photo of a man that I thought looked well-educated, cultured, respectable and perhaps even attractive.

And, as should be obvious, the response was much better. I swiped right indiscriminately like the last time and within 24 hours I had 20 matches. Of these, I had substantive conversations with at least 4 women. We chatted, we flirted, with a naughty reference thrown here and there. I was confident that if I'd asked them out, they'd have said yes. The common feature in what all these women said was that I was respectful to them and in their experience it was rare. I knew there are a lot of jerks online, but I was still surprised to hear how rare men who want a normal conversation were, at least on Tinder.

Perhaps therein lies the key to online success: just being a normal human being, being as respectful to women online as you'd be in the real world. (Of course, you need an attractive photo to even be given a chance to prove that you're a nice guy, but that's a different story.) In that 24 hours, I got to know a Brazilian woman, a single mother who's trying to make it in America; a second-general Indian-American who had learned a lot from two failed relationships; a recently-divorced Caucasian woman who seemed to be genuinely befuddled by the dating dance; an older woman who was clearly lonely and just wanted someone to chat with.

I knew this charade could not continue much longer. Although I enjoyed chatting with them, I was also misleading them with my photo (even though everything else I said about myself was honest). At the end of the day, I gently told them that I was going to delete my account since I wasn't going to be able to meet anyone in the immediate future. I wished them well, and hope they find someone to share their lives with.

In the meantime I have to figure out my biggest stumbling block to online dating success: my photos. They're, unfortunately, not a great ice-breaker. They don't get me too many hand-shakes.

Plastic surgery, anyone? :-)

My Tinder experiment Starts

Recently I joined Tinder, the phone app that allows you to like or dislike someone based solely on their pictures. I know I don't look good in my pictures and have been told that I look much better in person, but still I have to work with what I have. So I put up my profile and started swiping right on pretty much every woman I came across, except for the very few outliers, in the hope that even if only a few women liked me back, I'd at least have someone to talk to and then decide if there's a good enough match or not. 

As it turns out, in over a week of liking literally hundreds of women, I was matched with only 5, of which 4 never bothered responding to my initial message. The one woman who did respond was a Filipina nurse (yeah, now there's a stereotype!). We chatted back and forth for a couple of days, exchanging information and flirting. And then we decided to meet. We had a good conversation over lunch even though I didn't find her to be terribly intellectually stimulating. She was a nice person and we talked about past, our present, our families, etc.

After lunch we went for a walk in the woods nearby. It was a lovely day and we had the hills to ourselves. A leisurely stroll up the wooded hill and then back down. She seemed to be really into me. She was sweet. On our way down I put my arm around her and she drew close. I turned to her and she looked at me in anticipation. We kissed. Tentatively at first. And then a lot more passionately. She was not shy. And my experience with Filipina women in general is that they're not shy of expressing themselves. We sat on a bench and cuddled for a while, but now our conversation was a little more personal, a little more naughty. She said I was naughty without being crude or vulgar. 

We would have sat there for a long time had it not been for the fact that we both had things to do in the afternoon. Reluctantly, we walked back to my car and I drove her to hers. As she left, she gave me a very tight hug and a kiss, promising to meet me soon.

Later that day I sent her a message telling her how much I enjoyed meeting her and asked her if she was free later that week. I received a response that I thought was non-committal and even a bit aloof. I sent her another message the next day, to which she did not respond for over 24 hours. This time the response was definitely vague. "Yes, we should get together sometime." "Sure," I responded. "Please let me know whenever you're free." 

I never heard back from her. What happened after she gave me a good-bye kiss, I have no idea. I didn't want to stalk her, so I sent her one final polite message to which I obviously didn't receive a response. What bothered me was not the fact that she didn't want to meet, but the sudden transformation from someone who seemed genuinely interested in me to having no interest in keeping in touch with me and the complete lack of explanation for what happened. 

Well, the reality is that she didn't owe me an explanation. We met only once. And we shared a few tender moments together. I should count my blessings.

A week later, with no more connections on Tinder, I deleted my account. Temporarily, as it turned out.

A Social Experiment

So I ran this experiment on OK Cupid. I created two profiles: one real, with my pic and information that most accurately represents me. It was thoughtful, articulate and balanced. I don't consider myself to be very handsome, but nor am I an eyesore. 

I created the other profile with someone else's photo and a lazy description of this guy with at least 2 not so subtle hints that he's not looking for anything serious or long-term. As for the questions, I gave similar responses on both profiles. Now this fake profile contained pics of some random guy in Israel who had Middle-Eastern looks, so he's likely a mizrahi. I thought he was good-looking, but not necessarily a hottie, in a blue-collared way (yes, I'm a snob, I suppose). He didn't look terribly educated, sophisticated or smart. And I decided to make him a lawyer. I also decided to make him a few years younger: around 38 years. And the results...

1. The fake profile got an average of 140 visitors a week without my having to visit any woman's profile first, the real one got 20 a week, and even that only after visiting tons of profiles and writing to many of them.

2. Over two dozen women initiated conversation with the fake profile in a span of 2 weeks. (And most of them were short emails like 'Hi!' or 'How are you?'. This brings me to one of my pet peeves that women expect men to write thoughtful emails to them, but when they initiate conversation, they're no better than the men they're supposedly annoyed with.) As for my real profile, in a span of 2-3 months maybe 1 woman initiated conversation with me.

3. I didn't respond to most women who contacted me on the fake profile. What was the point of engaging them in a conversation since I wasn't going to meet them? But when I did reply, these women flirted in a way no woman has ever flirted with me on my real profile. Some were very willing to talk about sex and share their fantasies, something that happens very rarely with my real profile.

4. Over 60 women rated the fake profile highly in a span of a couple of weeks, compared to less than 6 in a span of 2-3 months on the real profile. Given the number of women who rated the fake profile highly, I received an email from OKC stating that I was one of the hottest guys around, and hence the site would allow me to view more attractive profiles of women. So OKC acknowledges that only good-looking people get to see profiles of other good-looking people. I don't find this annoying; just interesting.

I'll leave it to you to come to your own conclusions. This is not meant to bash women. On the contrary, I like women. But this experiment simply confirms for me the many hypocrisies and myths women perpetuate when it comes to dating. Which is why, the women I usually get along with best are ones who keep it real, ones who expect to be treated as respectable people, not as princesses. 

This is also not to state that men don't have issues. They have many, and I've referred to some of them in my other blog entries, but that's another topic, one that women have written ad nauseum about.

Why Women Cheat

Okay, so I really have no insight into why women (or men) cheat. That's because the reasons are many and complex.

The proportion of cheating men has apparently remained the same for a while, whereas the number of women cheating has gone up in recent decades. In this article several people have shared their thoughts on why more women are cheating these days. One reason that's repeated a few times in the article and elsewhere is that women are now less dependent on their husband's paychecks, and hence more willing to take risks and cheat. I'm sure this is a legitimate factor that influences this behavior in a lot of women. But what I find disturbing is that, if true, it represents a certain hypocrisy. Women have traditionally taken on the mantle of being more virtuous. But this reason tells me that they've made a virtue out of a necessity, and their morality rings hollow. Deep down, I've always felt that women are just as fallible as men in all situations. If they've been less destructive so far it's only because they've had fewer opportunities. Give them the same opportunities as men and give them some time, and their behavior is not likely to be much different. The increasing incidence of cheating wives simply confirms that.

My female counterpart

I met her at a Starbucks. She was 47, in the process of getting divorced and had 3 children. She was cute. She'd never been to college. She'd never moved out of the town she was born in. The highlight of her life was a short trip she'd taken to New York City to meet one of her brothers. She'd worked at Home Depot for years. And worked an extra job on weekends at Sears. But she was cheerful. She felt she had it good.

She'd been married for 22 years and had asked her husband to leave about a year ago. Since then she's been 'finding' herself and experimenting. She'd had a very constrained life. At the time of her separation, she'd only been with 2 men in her life. After the separation, she had a feeling of liberation, and said she wanted live for herself, especially now that her children were grown up. She'd been with 5 men since her separation, and they'd introduced her to all kinds of physical pleasures she hadn't known before. She started smoking pot, and admitted to having done so before our date that morning. She was clearly reliving her teenage years too.

Even before we met it was clear that she liked me. I was exotic. The only non-white man she'd been with was a much younger Mexican colleague of hers. Theirs was a purely sexual relationship and neither had any other expectations of each other. She was excited to meet me, but also nervous, which was probably why she'd smoked weed. She sent me a photo of her bust (fully clothed, though) that morning. She was attractive.

Within a few minutes of meeting her, I knew that it was only a matter of time before we started messing around. And that happened within a few minutes. With our drinks we walked over to my car. I put my hand out to hold her hand. She leaned forward, wanting a kiss. I obliged. She said I was a good kisser. I kissed her neck and she loved it. 'No hickies, please,' she said, but did nothing to prevent me from giving her one.

We drove around a bit and then came back to the parking lot within a few minutes since you can't make out while you're driving. I parked in a dark spot in an underground structure and we made out unabashedly.

She was clearly insecure and loved it every time I even gave her a small compliment. She said she loved my accent. She loved my skin. She loved the way I kissed her. She said she wanted to please me.  We were far away from my place, and a couple of her children were at her place, otherwise we'd have gone to bed with each other. She was willing and eager. In the event we stayed in the car, and she touched me all over before bending over and sucking my penis. It was very pleasurable. I sucked her thick, pink nipples and she moaned in delight.

Even as we made out, I felt wretched. I had nothing in common with her. She wasn't particularly knowledgeable or smart. She had no idea of what happened in the world. She acknowledged that she found NPR to be beyond her comprehension. She listened to a music radio station that I would never have tuned into my lifetime. She had no idea what it meant to cross cultures and boundaries. She wasn't articulate. We had nothing to talk about other than sex. And for most of the time we spent with each other, that was precisely the topic of conversation.

And, yet, I continued to engage her in carnal pleasures. It was my dick thinking for me, not my brain. She was good at what she did. She wanted to please and said so. As I ejaculated in my underwear (since I don't like to do so in a woman's mouth), I felt miserable. I don't think she realized that I'd ejaculated. Just as well, as it provided me with a fig-leaf of respectability to end our date on. She asked when we'd meet next. She was willing to come over to my place. We made plans to meet in a week, but I knew it was a lie. I'd have to find a way of getting out of it, because I didn't want to encourage this any further. Sure, she was expecting nothing more than sex from me, but I couldn't do that. At least if I thought I could offer a hand in friendship I'd have no problem in exchanging that for sex. But I knew we didn't have any of the ingredients even for a tenuous friendship.

On my drive back I wondered why I had allowed myself to get physical with her even as my mind told me not to do so. It then occurred to me that both of us were seeking the same thing: validation for ourselves in the arms of strangers, validation that we could lead exciting lives by becoming thoughtless teenagers all over again in our middle age. And, yet, it's hard to desist. You're addicted to the pleasure and the high it provides. Even though the high is only temporary, as it was in this case.

When I reached home there were already three photos of hers waiting for me in my inbox. They were all various poses of her large breasts. But I turned my eyes away.

The rest of day I continued to feel miserable and lay in bed, aimlessly wandering from one random thought to another, accomplishing nothing all day. At numerous times I promised myself that I'd never get into these empty sexual encounters again. But I know that I will. It was only a matter of time before I feel the urge again, to seek out the thrill of seducing another woman. For it's like a narcotic, and as a friend says, I'm addicted to it.

The power of friendship with potential benefits

In conventional use, the term "Friends With Benefits" has a bad rap. It is often used to emphasize benefits more than friendship. I know a lot of people who are in so-called FWB relationships solely for the sex and know very little about their partners. I suspect this label also provides a veneer of respectability to those who're only looking for sex or, worse, one-night stands. It is no wonder that lots of women explicitly state that they're not looking for FWBs in their online ads.

I have a slightly contrarian view of this term. I think it can result in wonderful relationships and opens up possibilities that would otherwise not be available in more narrowly-defined conventional relationships -- aka LTR.

The reality is that there a lot of single people in America. I've read somewhere that 50% of adults are single, although I suspect it includes people in some sort of non-married relationships. In New York City, singles outnumber those in relationships. Washington DC is not far behind.

And as we grow older, it becomes harder and harder to meet someone we want to marry. Partly because of the baggage we've accumulated over the years, partly because of previous bad experiences being married, partly because we're set in our ways and a person whom we may have married when we were 25 wouldn't be acceptable now.

This results in a lot of people being lonely. I admit, there are times when I feel lonely too. Loneliness is not the state of being alone, but not having someone to share your thoughts with. The problem is that in the conventional sense we expect one person -- i.e., spouse or significant other -- to share most aspects of our lives with. The reality is that it isn't always possible, either because we don't have that person, or because the need to share everything with the other person and the expectation that the other person will always be available puts a lot of pressure on that relationship. Add to that, a majority of our friends our age are either married or are otherwise in an LTR. I've met a lot of people -- particularly women past a certain age -- who are frustrated that they are not in a long-term relationship, that they haven't found 'the one'. They end up putting a lot of pressure on themselves to find 'the one' and on the people they date. This rarely results in anything healthy.

Those of us who haven't found 'the one' needn't wallow in self-pity and frustration. But that requires us to view relationships in a more mature fashion. This is where friends (potentially with benefits) come into the picture. Why don't more people open their minds to the possibility of finding new friends who might potentially be no more than just friends, with whom, if the circumstances and chemistry are right, you can derive mutual 'benefits'? Is it as bad or immoral as people make it out to be?

I'd gladly take the opportunity to meet someone I know I will never have a conventional romantic relationship with, than be lonely and frustrated. Who knows? She might turn out to be a good friend. Or you a kind, sympathetic sounding board to her when she needs someone. Whether this friendship results in sex or not is secondary.

Consider it for a moment. Such a relationship has a number of potential trajectories. It can remain purely platonic, which in itself isn't such a bad thing. It can lead to a mutually beneficial physical connection. Or it could lead to romance and a LTR in the future. It's a relationship where you start with modest expectations, and hence you reduce the frustration you experience when things don't work out. You don't expect that person to be there by your side all the time. This gives both you and the other person the personal space you need to live your lives. There is no expectation of emotional monogamy, so you could have more than one such friend you can call upon during your moments of need, thus reducing the pressure on any one person to always be there by your side (this, I believe, is the number one reason why long-term relationships fail, since it's simply impossible for us to always be emotionally and physically available).

Of course, critics would say that this is a cop out, it absolves you of responsibility. True. But responsibility isn't something that should be forced on you; it's something you voluntarily accept when it's not expected. If you treat your friends responsibly and with courtesy, you'll accumulate friends over time. Do the converse, and you lose them.

I've gathered a few friends along the way in the process of dating. These are women with whom I have either shared some moments of romance or none at all. But there's a fundamental human connection between us and we've remained in touch. A lot of people have trouble remaining 'friends' with someone they know are not potential LTR partners. I find that very unfortunate. They're closing the door on possibilities.

But I've also been fortunate to have met a few women who, after meeting me and realizing that we're not 'the one' for each other, have either offered or accepted my offer of friendship. These are women I chat with online often, meet whenever possible, share my experiences and thoughts, ask for dating advice. Sex is always secondary, and often not even in the equation. But I also know that I can count on them for a hug, a cuddle, and occasionally more if we both feel like it. That's because our relationship is not defined by sex. It's defined by our mutual respect for each other. And, equally importantly, it's not governed by conventional morals around sex. So when the physical or the sensual does happen (whether penetrative sex or not), there's absolutely no guilt associated with it.

I also realize that healthy FWB relationships are hard. It's because a lot of men are pigs (and I can be one of them), and a lot of women have bought into this asinine conventional notion of romance that's perpetuated and marketed by the romance industry, thus precluding both sides from having a healthy, mutually-beneficial friendship. The Cindarella fairytale has done as much harm to adult relationships as has porn.

So why not be the grown-ups we're supposed to be and open our eyes and minds to possibilities?

Blonde and Beautiful

I met her over a year ago in San Francisco at Warming Hut, a quaint little bookshop and cafe right by the Golden Gate Bridge  She was my height, pale-skinned, blonde, blue-eyed, not too thin. What I noticed about her was how flat her stomach was. She said she was 47 years old, but she looked more like 37. I was taken in by her good looks even though her beauty was very conventional, the sort I'm usually not particularly attracted to. I'm more drawn to how a woman projects herself, her sense of quiet, understated, feminine confidence.

And, yet, there I was sipping tea with her as we sat on the seawall outside the cafe, watching people go by and getting to know each other. She was a beautician and owned her own business, a store at the street level and she lived in an apartment above. She had one or two people working for her, depending on the day and the number of appointments she had. Her family was from upstate New York and she'd moved to San Francisco a dozen years ago. She had never been married and didn't have any children. 

After we'd finished our tea, we got up and strolled around the area. I asked her if she'd like to go for a drive. 'Sure,' she said, readily. But first she wanted to get something from her car. I was surprised to find out that she drove a fairly new BMW sedan. What do beauticians make these days? How could she afford such a car and rent in a fairly expensive part of town? Of course, it was none of my business.

We went to my car, and after we got in I held her hand. She smiled. I leaned forward and we kissed. She put her hands around my neck, opened her mouth and our tongues lapped against each other. I sucked her lower lip gently. She liked it. I wanted to test how far she'd go. So I asked if I could touch her breasts. Whether she was easy going in general or attracted to me, I couldn't tell. I fondled her perky breasts. Then I slipped my hand inside her blouse and felt her hardening nipples. All the while I kept an eye out for people around us since we were in a parking lot in broad daylight. 

'Let's go some place private,' I said.

'I don't know any,' she replied.

'How about your apartment?' I expected her to turn down my request, but to my surprise she agreed after a moment's hesitation. 

I parked in the street below and went up a flight of stairs to her apartment. It was a cozy, 1-bedroom place, nicely furnished. Again, I found myself wondering how she could afford such a place. Did she do more than just run her salon? I quickly banished the thought and got busy making out with her on the sofa. I was hard by then. She was also aroused. As she took off her blouse, I ran my fingers on her smooth, pale skin, the arc of her breasts, the hard tips of her nipples. I lunged forward and sucked her breasts hard, even as a thought nagged me. How come she had so readily agreed to let me into her house and get physical with me? Although I'm not ugly, I have no illusions about myself. I'm certainly not the kind of guy women would salivate over. And, yet, here was a woman who could attract any man she wanted, in my arms, stroking my penis, arching her back in pleasure as I sucked her nipples. 

We moved to the bedroom. She took off all her clothes, except her panties. I took off all mine. We looked at each other. I felt a little self-conscious, but she wasn't. She took my penis in her hand and gently rubbed it. She sat straddling me. She was heavy. Must have been her large bones.

'I don't have protection,' I said to her, worried that we may have already gone a bit too far a bit too quickly, and hoped that she didn't either. Fortunately, she didn't. I sighed. She seemed neither disappointed nor relieved. 'We can do this another time,' I said.

We lay in bed, our limbs entwined, feeling each other's heart beat. It was pleasurable. I playfully flicked her nipples. 'Can I take a picture of these?' I asked. She shrugged. Easy going again. 

I took my camera out, and even though she had not told me not to include her face, I was meticulous enough not to do so. She felt comfortable as I took a few photographs of her breasts, hoping that they would be artistic. She liked them when I showed them to her on the camera. I looked at her body. I was overpowered by desire. I fell on top of her and kissed her all over. Then I pulled away, pointed my penis towards her mouth. She complied. She leaned forward and took my penis in her mouth and sucked it gently. It felt good. I pulled away when I was about to cum. I didn't want to do so in her mouth, regardless of whether she would have tolerated it or not. I lay on top of her, simulating having sex with her, going back and forth, prodding her vagina through her panties. And I climaxed, groaning with pleasure.

As we lay in each other's arms, she stroked my back gently. It was soothing, comforting. I felt close to her. She was very giving and there was not a hint of displeasure at my having finished off before she had. 

We met again a couple of weeks later, this time in her apartment. She seemed just as easygoing and hence inscrutable to me. Was she happy to see me again? Or had she agreed to see me simply because I'd asked her?

Again, she allowed me to do whatever I wanted with her, and had the same sense of mild detachment. Yet, she wasn't uninterested, for she participated at the appropriate times. Perhaps she just wasn't as passionate as I was. Perhaps she'd had more sex than me, and hence was less excited by the newness of the experience. As we lay in bed, I realized that I really didn't have much in common with her except for the attraction I felt for her. She wasn't bright or well-read. Her interests were very different from mine. I wasn't even sure if she was attracted to me. This could simply be a situation where we met each other once in a while for sex. I realize that this is a man's dream. And I've fantasized about this as well, this opportunity to have sex with a lovely woman, without any apparent obligation. But it didn't feel right. I paused and cuddled her for a few moments. 

'I forgot to bring protection today,' I told her. She didn't seem to mind it. We lay there for a few minutes. Then I got up and wore my clothes. She didn't seem to mind that I was leaving so soon. I kissed her good-bye. I emailed her a couple of times a few days later. She responded in a polite, even tone. She wasn't upset or hurt. She probably didn't care either way. That was a relief. 

We soon lost touch with each other. I'd even forgotten about the photos of her that I'd taken until I found them by chance on my computer. 

She was lovely, that woman. Far lovelier than I deserved.

Dating in a Foreign Language

There are lots of cliches about love being a language of its own. There are tales of how people who don't speak each other's language fall in love and live happily ever after. Let me tell you, it's all bullshit. You need to be able to have a conversation to be able to get to know someone. You can't do that with gestures, unless both of you know sign language. Or, worse, let your eyes speak. Whoever propagated that mawkish notion must have smoked a particularly potent batch of weed that day. Or he was one smart dude who knew how to get the ladies to swoon for him with unadulterated poppycock.

How do I know? Well, I've tried it. I speak a little Spanish. And I used Google translate to help me start an online conversation in Portuguese with a woman in Rio de Janeiro. As long as I had the translator handy, we were able to exchange some information. Now if you've used the program before you'll know that it's no human. It runs into trouble often, confuses itself and its user periodically. So, sometimes what she wrote got translated into nonsense in English and I had to try all kinds of disambiguation techniques to figure what she might have said. And if all failed, I'd resort to writing back, 'Nao entendi' -- 'I didn't understand' -- and she'd try the say it in a different way.

She was 42, and had a grown son who had a girlfriend. She lived in one of the neighborhoods in the northern part of Rio. Generally, the southern neighborhoods are the wealthy ones. The northern ones belong to the middle and working class.

We chatted back and forth in this manner for a few days. And I was brave enough to ask her out on a date when I visited Rio for a few days. I wouldn't have Google Translate with me, I know. But I'd bought into this silly notion that two people could talk with their eyes.

She asked me to meet her in downtown Rio in the evening after her work. She worked in an office that did something with legal documents, and I was never able to figure out exactly what (Google failed me there). I showed up at the location she'd mentioned, but there was no sign of her. Due to a strange issue with my mobile phone, every time I tried to text her a message, it kept auto-correcting it to such an extent that I was simply unable to compose even a simple sentence. So I finally called her. She answered. And I didn't understand a word of what she said. I tried Spanish, and so did she. Still nothing. I kept telling her the names of the streets whose intersection I was at. Now, you should know that spoken Portuguese is nothing like the written language. At least in Spanish, even if you didn't understand a word, you could read it and say it out loud and more often than not, you'd be right. But if you read Portuguese the way it's written, you'd be speaking gibberish. And that's exactly what I was apparently doing. I thought I was speaking a few words and sentences I recalled seeing on Google Translate. But if she understood anything, I didn't know, for what she said back to me was just as alien as Swahili.

After a couple of such attempts at talking to her, I hung up glumly, thinking I'd just been taken for a ride by a woman who had no intentions of meeting me. Just as I was about to turn and leave, she showed up, smiling. She looked lovely, a lot younger than the 42 years she claimed to be. She had olive skin, dark eyes, dark hair (she probably had Arab blood). She was voluble, pleasant, and chattered away as I listened, unable to comprehend a single word.

Finally, with gestures and monosyllables, we established that we should go to a cafe and attempt a conversation there. We walked a block or two and came across a restaurant. I gestured towards it and she agreed. So we sat at a table. After a few smiles back and forth, she attempted another conversation. A stream of words emerged from her lips, and I understood nothing. It later turned out that even words I would have recognized in writing, went right past me. It didn't help that she didn't slow down and enunciate the words the way you would to a demented child. Occasionally, when we did stumble upon a couple of words that we understood -- like pizza or cafe or 'voce e linda' ('you are pretty') -- we kept repeating them, hoping that the repetition would magically lead to a more meaningful conversation.

We ordered pizza. As we struggled to converse, I became increasingly anxious that she would lose interest and just walk away. She was sweet and lovely. I really wanted to get to know her. And I wanted to kiss her. Finally, after we'd eaten our lousy, excessively salty pizza, I told her, 'Quero beijar voce' -- 'I want to kiss you'. Her reply wasn't a simple yes or no, and I had no idea what she said. She repeated it a few times, and each time I kept saying 'Que?' ('What?') like a dimwit. Finally, sighing, she leaned forward, puckering her lips, and gestured me to lean forward as well.

'Not here,' I said in Portuguese. 'Later.'

She understood and said something as she nodded. She probably said, 'Then why did you ask for it, you moron?' But, fortunately, I had no clue, and I smiled like the moron she probably thought I was.

I paid and we left. I wondered what was next. With all this trouble with even a simple conversations, I could hardly expect her to walk with me around downtown and tell me about the many interesting and historical buildings. To fill the silence, I turned her towards me and kissed her. She responded with enthusiasm. She was a curvy woman, with ample breasts that pressed against my chest as we embraced and kissed. I mustered enough courage to ask her if she wanted to go back with me to the apartment I was staying in. Hastily, I added, 'Nao quero sexo.' I wasn't even sure if it was a proper sentence in Portuguese, but I wanted to assure her that I wasn't looking for sex. She appeared to understand me, but her response was incomprehensible. I kept repeating 'meu apartamento na Copacabana' ('my apartment in Copacabana'). But it was hard to understand each other. What I did gather was that she didn't want to go with me. Whether she was just being coy or pissed off at me for the suggestion I didn't know. The nuances of feelings could hardly be communicated when we were struggling with basic phrases.

We went to the subway station and she said she would go home. I hoped she wasn't mad at me. I hoped she didn't think I was a freaking joke. She said she'd chat with me online the next day. 'Amanha?' I asked. 'Sim, amanha.' ('yes, tomorrow').

So with hope I went back to my apartment that night. She didn't some online the next evening. My heart sunk. I texted her the next day. She replied that she may be able to meet me the coming weekend. My hopes rose. We decided we would meet that Sunday in the evening.

Sunday came along and I texted her to confirm the location. I didn't hear back from her for a couple of hours. I called her and she didn't pick up the phone. My hopes came crashing down again. And then she called back. And, of course, I didn't understand a word of what she said. How the hell were we going to engage in a complex negotiation over where and when to meet? The conversation came to a pause, and I interpreted it as the end of the conversation. I had no idea if she'd confirmed our meeting or had given me a reason why she couldn't meet me. I hung up, dejected. That, I thought, was the end of this little affair.

But we've kept in touch on Facebook and Skype. She'd disappear for a few days and then reappear online and attempt a conversation. I gave up trying to figure her out. I even actively ignored her chat requests a few times and at other times told her that I was busy with something else. But we've also had a few basic conversations. She always addresses me as querido, 'my dear'. We still talk about wanting to kiss each other. We still flirt. I sometimes tell her I want to make love to her. And she responds saying she wants it too. She even says she misses me. But, of course, all of this is playful, and I don't take any of this seriously.

And this evening she initiated a skype session. She blew me a kiss. Then she licked her lips in a flirtatious manner and laughed. I flirted back. 'You have large boobs,' I gestured to her, feeling naughty. She laughed. 'I want to see them,' I wrote on the chat window. She laughed and pretended to slap me, but I could tell that she was being coy. I persisted. I lifted up my shirt and touched my nipples. She had a mock shocked expression, eyes open wide, her mouth open into a perfect O.

'Just once,' I wrote to her. She looked uncertain for a few moments. Then she sat up on her bed and showed me her cleavage. Oh, she looked sexy! 'More,' I wrote. Finally she pulled out a boob. Her dark nipple was thick and erect. She played with it for a few seconds and covered herself. She giggled. She looked like a young woman, trusting, innocent, entirely comfortable with me despite all the communication issues. I wished I was with her, making love to her. It was painful to watch her on my screen. 'Next time you're here we'll make love,' she said.

But she knows, as I do, that there probably won't be a next time. And even if we were to meet again, we'd have very little success talking to each other. You can't build a friendship or a relationship on puerile gestures and kissing noises. It's a pleasant diversion at best, our chats, something we'll indulge in periodically to occupy our moments of boredom. But she has her life. I have mine. We inhabit different worlds. And we don't even have the vocabulary to share our worlds with each other.

Rude in Rio

The women I've met and dated -- even the ones with whom I had nothing in common -- have all been decent human beings for the most part. Only occasionally do I come across a woman whom I truly dislike. 

I came across one such woman in Rio de Janeiro. I met her online. She was a psychologist. (As an aside, there seem to be a lot of female psychologists in Rio since I chatted with at least 4 of them in a very short span of time.) She was half black, and the rest mostly European, but also had some native indigenous blood. She spoke a little English. Conversation was a little difficult, but still manageable. We decided to meet at a place close to the apartment I was staying in, in the tourist neighborhood of Copacabana, by the famous eponymous beach. 

She showed up about 25 minutes late, which I wasn't bothered by because she took public transportation from her home in the northern part of the city. Our plan was to have lunch and then go to Pao de Acucar (Sugarloaf Mountain), one of the major tourist attractions there. We ate at an Arab restaurant on the main beach thoroughfare. The food was good and we had a reasonably good -- albeit slow -- introductory conversation. She had shiny, curly hair, brown skin that matched mine. She had a nice smile and I liked her.

After lunch we started walking, primarily to go look for an ATM so that I could withdraw some cash. We held hands and we kissed, after I ascertained that she was willing to do so. Feeling very comfortable with her, I asked her if it would be okay if we popped into the apartment to take some clothes from the washer and hang them to dry. I even gave her the option of hanging around downstairs if she didn't feel comfortable going to the apartment. She became visibly upset. 'If you have things to do maybe we should meet some other time.'

It felt like an over-reaction, but in an attempt to mollify her, I told her that I would take care of my clothes later in the day. We went out in search of an ATM in an awkward silence. As luck would have it, the first ATM I tried didn't recognize my US bank card. So we went looking for an international bank. Neither of us knew where one was, and it was a Sunday. We stumbled upon 2 other banks, and neither one was able to read my card. I could sense her growing impatience. Sweating and anxious -- since I had practically no cash left -- I suggested that we try one more bank. Fortunately, after a couple of attempts, the ATM started cranking and gave me the money I needed. Sighing, I walked out to join her on the sidewalk. 

'Did you get your card back?' she asked. I was both touched and encouraged by her concern. The she said, 'Is it okay if we change our plans a little? Can we go to a gastronomic fair in Lapa?'

I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was game for anything the locals found interesting. So I agreed.

'Can we take a taxi?' she asked. I'd have preferred to take a bus or the metro, which is what I did everywhere I went. And, clearly, that was her normal mode of transportation too. But I agreed and after a 20 minute ride, we were at Arches of Lapa. Now, Lapa is an interesting neighborhood with lots of bars and music halls. It's a happening place in the evenings, particularly weekends. The food fair, it turned out, was in a square right under the arches. The line to get into it was long. Instead of going to the end of the line she walked towards the entrance. I wondered if she wanted to get some information before taking her place at the end, but it turned out a friend of hers was already in the line. They had apparently agreed to meet there since he appeared to have been expecting her. They hugged and chatted in Portuguese about something that I did not understand. 

Even though I was uncomfortable with the sudden turn of events I smiled and shook the friend's hand. He was a pleasant enough fellow and spoke a little English. We chatted for a bit about Brazil, Rio and America. And then the two went back to having a long conversation in Portuguese. I stood by, pretending to amuse myself with the activities around me. Every now and then she would hold my hand or hug me. I reciprocated, still hoping I could salvage the date.

The line moved slowly, and eventually we made it inside the fair. It was small and very, very crowded. I wasn't sure what the two had planned, but I learned then that a mutual friend of theirs was a chef and had a booth there. We weaved our way through the crowd presumably looking for him. I just followed them wherever they went. But there were so many people that it was impossible to find anyone there. After a few minutes of wandering around, it appeared that they'd decided that they didn't want to eat anything. The guy said he was going home and he left. I looked at my date and wondered what she wanted to do. She didn't say anything, and started walking in the opposite direction. I thought that perhaps she wanted to get away from the crowd before talking to me, so I followed her. She didn't look back and walked briskly towards another exit. I lost sight of her for a few moments, but then saw her again near the exit. I approached her and asked if there was anything in particular she wanted to do. 

'I'll go home now,' she said. Her tone was decisive. I didn't think that I had a chance of persuading her otherwise. She waved to me and walked away, just like that, leaving me in the middle of the street, surprised and disoriented by her utter rudeness. 

Once the initial surprise faded, I felt an anger I had never felt against any of the women I've dated. Time was precious since I was on a visit. I'd set aside the entire afternoon -- prime sightseeing time -- for her. Because of our planned date I didn't go anywhere in the morning either since that wouldn't have given me enough time to meet her. And with rains forecast for the next few days, I had a very small window of opportunity to see the sights that day, when it was gorgeous. But now it was too late for me to go to Pao de Acucar. Essentially the entire day was ruined. There was nothing to do but to find my way back to the nearest subway station to catch a train back to Copacabana.

'It could have been worse,' I kept telling myself. Rio is notorious for its crime. I still had my wallet and my camera. Only my ego was a bit bruised.

SF Pride Parade

The Pride Celebrations yesterday were a blast. Lots of pics, but here's a sampling of the sexiest...