Fuckboys Over 40 – A Story

You said you weren’t a playboy.
But I guess that’s what they say.
I don’t deal with them too often, so I missed flags straight away.

We crossed paths overseas, in the “loveliest” of ways.
In a sea of Spanish speakers, your English cleared the haze.
No interpreter necessary; I felt comfortable to play.
Touch escalated quickly, as you sought to mark your prey.
Your hands up my shirt; the way your fingers strayed.
And “water on a rock” put your commitment on display.

Hours passed of tennis banter, hand in hand down empty streets.
Awkward silence never showed while the world whizzed by our feet.

“Lover of women.” “Translucent redheads are my type.”
Phrases that seemed innocuous, when I had you for the night.

There was no doubt I would kiss you; Chemistry a violent fire.
Our melded lips became a match.
My will burned with desire.
Your fingertips traced smolders down my flesh and took me higher.
You gazed into my eyes as if my being was a pyre.

“It feels nice to be wanted too.”
So I tried to make sure you knew.

And though we didn’t consummate, I saw you once more.
You spent time just to chat,
as if I was good company, as if sex wasn’t foremost,
though I was shiny out the wrap.

Before our time was up, I asked was this goodbye.
You promised that it wasn’t; that we’d reunite in time.
That you’d come visit my city, resume pleasurable sighs.

Perhaps I should have realized then, that it was just a line,
since as soon as we were separated, I was out of sight and mind.
I wondered why you didn’t even text unless I tried.
But when I called you out on it, you assured me it was fine.
“There’s no Internet here, so it takes me a long time, but I’m thinking of you darling.”
SOUNDED genuine and kind.
Till you took days to answer, disrespectful of my time.

“I’m not good with online communication.”
“I just don’t check my phone often.”

(WhatsApp and IG status updated though,
so that one’s purely grime).

This what you meant by let’s keep talking? I thought you wanted to know me.
So maybe if I went to YOU, impatiently re-ignited that chemistry brew,
maybe THEN you’d show me?

But thrice the universe said “Nope” and then sent forth a plague.
Solidifying her message to me: “Thou shalt not get laid.” (By him).

I thought this meant we should keep building,
until our inevitable reunion.

I genuinely showed interest in your day to day life.
But my name escaped you 4 months in (you claimed you found names trite).

You never asked anything about myself, though I longed to bond over dancing,
video games and nerdy things, and shared fitness passion.
But you just seemed more attuned to would-be bedroom action.
Though you reached out for favors to eyeball your work
and my mind felt appreciated; my heart went berserk.

So much in common you didn’t bother to notice.
“I’m emotionally distant and work is my focus.”
But every time I asked if you wanted to keep talking,
you always said yes, so I pumped the breaks on walking.

How could I not open my heart more and soften?
Okay, he did a gay short once; #actors do those often. (Yeah?)
He has a belly button piercing… well, his stomach’s taut and…

Why do I cry tears for being just an afterthought then?

You said your heart was once broken, that you were sensitive too.
Yet you’re unable to empathize with another in your shoes?

You said your heartbreak wasn’t crazy, though you wouldn’t indulge me.
But you’d indulge a public podcast, for the whole world to see
you’d like to hate-fuck your ex, and other wicked fantasies?

Tiptoed around my feelings, so as not to overwhelm you
but why hold on when you equated me to just a shell who
could easily be replaced by your revolving harem options
when all I wanted was to feel I was special in your clock and
instead you just saw fit to pull a vanish and just drop in
when you felt like I was worth your time, “Oh have a crumb, my OPTION.”

Because dance is the gift of seduction.
Acting, the gift of pretense.
Public speaking, when you can’t actually communicate personally?
A mask of fraudulence.
An inauthentic mirror of immoral decadence.

You log your sexual conquests on a spreadsheet.
I write poems of catharsis for emotional relief.

I showed my vulnerability and stripped bare,
only to realize I’m standing alone out there
and the hardest pill to swallow is…
After 5 months, you don’t care.

To say…
I could have contracted Covid and passed away
without your notice is fair.

But the honesty of your true intentions could have spared me. (It’s called stringing).

Mixed signals are the devil, and your follower cannot read
where to step next in the dance when the leader doesn’t lead. (It’s called breadcrumbing).

But maybe it’s better to be the loser…

Because why choose cold and distant over caring and kind? And close-hearted aloofness over glowing warmth in brine.
And clinging to angry ex memories that keep you stagnant in time.

And anyway, I think you’ll be hard-pressed to find
another slender, gaming badass, awesome locks ran down her spine,
with a chain around her belly,
and a heart as big as mine.

~Tael

Why I Deleted My Dating Apps During The Quarantine

Yes, during the very time that more people are flocking to them than ever.

I was over “dating” a long time ago. Like, before there was online dating. It was a fresh new “sport” to try out back in college but then I quickly realized people suck, and I don’t like perusing through them romantically the same way I once did library books.

Something about dressing up and presenting yourself in the best artificial manner possible comes across as very job-interviewish, and I’m not the biggest fan of those either but they’re necessary to survive.

Dating is not.

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I’ll admit i’m not very good at it because I hate it. Looking back at my track record, i’ve mostly slipped into relationships the “normal” (non-dating-app-initiated) way, with very serial monogamist tendencies. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy being alone; I live alone, enjoy the hell out of it, and am one of the least romantic women you’ll encounter. I never had girly dreams of a fancy expensive wedding (the cost of which could be a down payment on real estate) with a glamorous white dress, kids and a house outta Martha Stewart Living. I’ve only dabbled into the online-dating world in the past 3 years or so, and I wouldn’t call the experience pleasant. I’ve met gamers I didn’t click with, psychos who I’ve fled their apartment, friends-with-benefit failures who couldn’t even be counted on to show up, ONE actual relationship I don’t think I should have been in, and an incredibly disappointing sexual encounter that I had to try twice just to confirm the first was not a mistake. And this was after weeding through incredibly dull conversations, dudes who unmatched me after I said I wasn’t into orgies, dudes who fall off the face of the earth because they were the ones you might have actually been interested in, and a guy who just wanted to be friends but not meet up to hang out with me as friends and continue to solicit me for sexy pictures (???).

When the lockdown began, I saw the uptick in notifications from my dating apps. Strange, seeing as how I hadn’t matched/liked someone on my end since like 2 months ago. That should give you an indication as to how often I actually use them. In 4 months, I’d gone on a grand total of one whole date. Where were these “matches” coming from? Then I realized…OHHHH EVERYBODY IS BORED AND HORNY NOW!!

I let them build and build and build, because I got tired just thinking about reading through the assortment of incredibly non-witty intros and messages that would clearly show up front we weren’t a good fit. You know, like “Good Morning, how’s your day going?” NEXT. I’m sorry, this is perfectly polite, but I’m savage.

When I finally got around to reading through the…SHIT, my eyes glazed over. And I wondered, why subject myself to this if it’s not even fun? Why follow this trend if I see it as a chore?

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I find it incredibly exhausting…to get to know a person. I don’t like just talking to anybody, I DESPISE small talk and “pleasantries,” and can find socializing exhausting if i’m not especially clicking with the socializers. So if I’m going to make ANY effort, it needs to damn sure be worth it. There’s gotta be SOMETHING that makes me WANT to get to know you. Usually something interesting (I know I know, EVERYBODY thinks they are DIFFERENT). When we talk, I need to laugh (actually giggle, chuckle out loud), engage in a bit of teasing, learn something. Then YOU have to feel the same shit, agree to meet up with me, STILL get along with me in person and not turn out to be an ogre (hey, same with me), try to stay relaxed and not overthink and over-expect anything, feel something REAL, and then agree to keep the shit going, OR let them down gently if you ain’t into it without feeling like a complete asshole.

That is WORK.

Work for the right person? AMAZING and completely worth it! But work for countless “let’s sees” who you’ll barely remember months down the line? Draining…as…fuck.
“You should keep your dating apps,” my mom told me several days ago when I proposed the idea. “Just because you never know where you’re gonna find the guy. Just in case.”

Not when simply checking a notification from Random Joe #27 is so depleting. I can’t do it anymore. How do my peers juggle multiple potential daters at the same time when just investing in the PROSPECT of one makes me want to air-gun my cabeza?

So I deleted them. Leaving only Tinder as my “In Case of Emergency,” app (because it’s low-hassle) just in case I get really horny and need some bad-decision sex to take the edge off again. Once the quarantine is over of course.

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I’m seeing articles that the coronavirus is actually changing online dating for the better. People are having VIDEO CHAT DATES. Making plans months in advance to meet new people. Really forming actual bonds because there’s nothing else to do. If it’s helping people get through this, then I’m genuinely happy for them.

But it’s not my thing. It’s not for me. Unless i’ve met you already in person, you’re incredibly charming or witty with words (like a writer!), or you’ve shared some emotional aspect of yourself that allows me to feel connected with you, I have a hard time vibing with you over messages. I hate video chatting. And even though i’m stuck at home with nothing else to do, I don’t want to expend my energy swipe over-driving and video speed-dating hunting for a connection with someone.

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Because no matter how many similarities you have with the person, or boxes they check off from your relationship-person box-checking list in their profile, or even how good the date goes, it still…may…not…matter.

Depressing, huh?

Do I sound like a woman who’s given up? No, my babies; I promise you I haven’t. It’s just not my priority. I’m over the bullshit games that “dating” requires. Because let’s be honest: you CANNOT fully be…REAL. So I’d rather wander alone and stumble across the right soul when the universe dictates it’s my time. But until then…why weed through a revolving door of kindling what-ifs trying to force a spark?

If a spark’s to be had, it will find me.

Ninja…fucking…out.

~Tael