Tinderbox

She sat in the café waiting for him to arrive. This was the exciting yet nerve wracking moment that it all hinged on. She was usually nervous until they were lying together. Then she was in her comfort zone. She had a dominant personality that strong men found challenging, and quieter men found fascinating. Either way, she found that men enjoyed her company even if things weren’t great sexually. They usually were good enough however.

For her, the biggest rush was that first moment of contact online. The “Hi. How’s your weekend going?” She knew well within a few minutes they would likely be talking about favorite positions, availability, swapping pictures, deciding if they were right for each other. Even for just a few sweaty hours in bed. She had only had two coffee ‘dates’ since bursting onto the dating app scene. Why waste precious time on coffee when both parties knew what they wanted?

It was amusing to her the possessiveness of some men. Upset that she couldn’t see them because she was meeting someone else. She mused that they had thought they were the special one who had chosen him. Should it not be obvious that if she’s agreeing to meet them 15 minutes after ‘meeting’ you, that there were many, many, many others out there? Some of them were special. Different. She never knew that from the start. The common sense of humor. The firing of texts back and forth. The sexual tension even by text. The sexual compatibility.

Sometimes they would they would take on the phone, other times on video calls. That was interesting. If there was minimal connection it became obvious instantly. On the other end of the spectrum, there were men she could speak to for an hour while time sped by. There was an instant click personality wise. And the flirting often got to the point that they knew they should meet. The combination of both was overwhelming for her. There were special ones who stood out. Men she would love to love. It would never happen. These men were all way younger than her. Had career paths. Something shit had fucked up long ago. Dreams of wives and children – even if they didn’t know it yet. And they moved often.

For some reason she found herself attracted to Indian men almost exclusively. Because of a lot of their visa situations, they were at the mercy of employers who could do what they liked. Relocation wasn’t an option, it was a forced thing. It was very difficult for visa holders to move jobs. Where citizens and green card holders could look for another job rather than relocate, her Indians were mostly stuck. She had lost two. One who she had been with and adored, and one who had only gone to a movie with her, but had conversed with over and over on video calls. There was definite chemistry. They lived a little too far from each other, and had opposite schedules.

Her date, Raj, arrived. Reasonably attractive. A bit distracted. She was unsure of this one. He drove them to a motel. Luckily he turned out not to be an axe murderer. First things first. Sometimes meeting with guys and going to a motel was the start of things. A hand on an arm. Smiles. Glances. Kisses in the elevator. She felt unsure about the physical this time, and so she did not initiate on the way up. They warmed up to each other slowly, and by the time they started pleasuring one another, they were very comfortable. After he had climaxed for the first time they lay and cuddled and chatted and laughed. She realized although he was slow to warm up, he was a great guy and they were well matched. They even argued well.

There were so many different types of hookup. Each one individual, yet following trends she’d seen before. She had yet to be murdered which was highly unlikely. She had yet to be raped or beaten. They were more likely than murder, but were still unlikely. She reasoned that if it did happen, she probably had it coming. She was a slut. She knew that. Or did she? What was a slut? If she was not hurting anyone but herself, then it should be no one else’s problem. Her psychiatrist and therapist felt it was damaging her emotionally. She knew inside it was. She always felt empty when stood up, mistreated, and alone. She panicked when she didn’t have matches to talk to, or arranged to meet. She wanted her calendar full so she wouldn’t be lonely. She craved that physical and emotional connection. The best hookups were the ones when she enjoyed her lover’s company.

Sometimes she didn’t even speak to the guy before meeting. They texted a lot, but that was different. When she could video or voice chat with someone for half or a full hour. When she could laugh with them. When they could flirt with each other… They were the ones she looked forward to, and knew even if the sex wasn’t amazing, she would feel wonderful afterwards. These were most likely the ones she would see again. As with any couple they improved sexually as things went on. She was extremely open, and completely nonjudgmental. Penis size, shape, weight (body not penis), openness, experienced, desires, etc. She encouraged them to be open. To tell her what they wanted. To make them understand that they were emotionally safe with her. Guys are supposed to be tough. Her lovers could drop that pretense if they wished. She had two goals for them as a couple: please each other as best possible, selflessly; and to have completely open communication. If the lover was a decent person, things almost always fell into place. Obviously there were plenty of times it didn’t work. Guys who lacked confidence in the extreme. Guys who felt the knew better than she did in terms of her needs and desires. Guys who judged why something didn’t turn her on.

She often wondered what made a relationship a ‘real relationship’. She didn’t want a relationship, but sometimes she met men who fit all the characteristics of the perfect man. Great sense of humor. Caring and gentle. Strong and masculine when needed. Easy conversations – sexual and not. Why did these not become relationships? Because they had both specified there were no strings attached from the get go. So neither broched the subject. She often met men like this over and over again. Does look a gift-horse in the mouth. What the fuck is a gift-horse? Then one of two things happened.
(1) She realized the chemistry they had was platonic. They still got on great and had great sex, but the excitement waned, and they stopped seeing each other.
(2) She became more and more attracted to the guy, and started have strong romantic feelings. Before she got hurt, she would stop seeing them.

This meant she had to have a constant stream of men to keep the sex coming, and more importantly, the intimacy. An through and through they went. There tended to be a large age difference between her and her men. Most men were 10-15 years younger than she. She had never been with a guy older than her. She had in younger days, but not since using the apps. Who was she kidding? There is no way these relationships could work. They were in such different stages of their lives. Wives, kids, and budding careers. It would be selfish of her to build a relationship there. Take away possibilities for the future. There was no question that many of them were well suited to her. The age not mattering in bed, or indeed when hanging out. And their families. Would they accept the relationship. That might mean her lover being cut off. To someone in love that may not seem as important as being with the one you loved. In ten, twenty years. What then? If they broke up – what then?

Who was she kidding? In her daydreams of possibilities, when she let herself imagine a different path. No. It could never be. She knew she could never be a burden to someone she cared about. Her life was a mess. In every aspect. It was not acceptable to let anyone in, to bring herself in to them. Someone could only care about her fully knowing the facts. No matter how much they professed they could handle with anything her life dealt them. How much they loved her. She knew it wasn’t fair. Maybe it would get to the stage her man would love her so deeply, neither would walk away. She had to end that before it began. Besides she had played her dice already. She had her children who she loved dearly. Had a failed marriage. Had a career she disliked and was trying to make a new one. She was alone in this stage in her life.

She laughed to herself. All these musings her mind had darted through. All while waiting for another one to walk through the door. Although her mind had basically come back to the present, she had a few thoughts on the present. Did she even want to do this anymore? Did she care? Yes she liked fun company, but the thrill of the chase was gone. She didn’t really care for the sex anymore. It was all a big production she ran through every few days. She had for years. The habit was impossible to break. She had tried. Every time she was hurt by an asshole, she swore to herself – no more. There were always more. She was shocked out of her reverie by the bell on top of the door chiming. Announcing her latest fuck. A tall, bearded, handsome man came in and looked around. She didn’t smile until their eyes locked. Why bother. She kept the smile plastered on her face until they started talking. He seemed nice enough. Whatever. Here we go again…