A Bad Date, Good Hookup, and a Helpful Google, Part Three

There was something about Hookup Guy having such a narrow window of time that made him seem a little sus. Sure, he could have just been horny and urgent (like, you know, ME) but it felt like he was on more of a cheating husband schedule than a divorced dad schedule. I knew I had to look him up before I let him come over anymore.

These moments never don’t remind me of Psyche bringing the lamp into Cupid’s room and wrecking everything. Darn lamp!

I couldn’t find anything under the name he’d given me, aside from a lower-rung Marvel actor. A facebook search turned up various not-hims. He’d told me that in addition to his teaching work, he had started doing real estate on the side, so I tried “fake name realtor” in the search bar and still found nothing. I know not everyone is an internet open book, but sheesh.

So I typed in his phone number and up came the same him with a different last name. He did seem divorced on his (mostly professional) facebook page. And there he was, a ways back, holding up his “I’m vaccinated” sticker, so at least he wasn’t lying about that? I suppose anyone could get a sticker though. Should I be asking to see vaccine cards? I mean, you can fake those too! Will this fall’s adventures land me in Deltaville?

It’s very Nineties to wonder if fucking is going to kill me. And also very now, very always, I guess.

I texted him to ask why he’d given me a wrong last name, but I knew there wasn’t any answer he could give that would change things. After a few skeptical-but-hopeful hours, I blocked and unmatched. People are just gone so fast sometimes.

I felt more off-balance from Hookup Guy’s lying than from the morning’s bad date, but the combination of the two left me feeling discouraged, self-slut-shamed, and generally turned upside down. The sense of unreality that permeates all of 2021 life and especially online dating descended like a not-cute cloud.

I talked it over with Pagan Boy’s Crush (I’ve come to think of PBC and Sweetie-Now-BFF, along with my new therapist, as my emotional board of directors. I stole that idea from someone, but I forget who.) and realized that I’d been handing out so much trust and generosity lately, and I needed to turn some of that towards myself.

Now, a week later, I’ve basically stopped swiping for the time being. New therapist referred to The Lovely Guy as my “regular (his name)” and I think I’ve got us into a nicely casual place. (knock wood) There’s This Charming Man who has nothing to do with The Smiths and everything to do with ropes and good texting! I should probably write about him soon.

And there’s friends. And work. And sleep. And time’s almost up on my 2021 goals. I’m happier and less scattered than I was a week ago, so that’s good. And it’s only mostly because of the ropes. 😊

A Bad Date, A Good Hookup, and a Helpful Google, Part Two

 

I fucking LOVE THIS.

That night back in September when I texted The Coach right after Casual Guy left, The Coach was helpfully explaining hookups to me. “It’s only about what you want,” he said, meaning I guess that’s true for both parties. I can’t tell if that idea is heartless and lonely or if it’s just liberating. On this particular Sunday afternoon, it was the latter.

Hookup Guy and I had our first (couch, wine) date a week ago tonight, and it really did seem like a date-date. We talked for a good while about our lives and work. He (said he) is a special ed teacher in an alternative school, so of course that melted my teacher-heart. He (said he) was recently divorced, just back in March of this year.

As with the Sunday Morning guy, Hookup Guy’s recently divorcedness made me feel tenderness toward him, made me want to provide all the comfort and empathy and warmth. He was so gentle-voiced and deliberate that talking to him gave me kind of a contact high—I don’t smoke weed but he does, this guy’s vibe was like the best of it.

Because I am me, we fucked that first night—warmly and sweetly but also roughly, with some hints that he might be a little too much with the boundary-crossing, or at least that he’d gotten some minor-but-easily-breezed-past bad ideas from porn. He felt so vulnerable and fragile to me that I originally named him Mr. Kindheart in my head. I felt a little guilty for not being as loopy about him as I was/am for the seemingly-at-the-time-more-withholding Lovely Guy.

But it was clear pretty quick that this would be actual-casual if it was anything. His texts were short and infrequent, all logistics. He asked to come over a few nights after that, and I asked too, but there hadn’t been time. I was happy to see his “Hey” in my texts when I got home from my yucky date and nice hike.

Hookup Guy said he was getting ready to drop off his son at a birthday party, and he was thinking he might “come over and fill me up.” after that. (This script is so close to The Coach’s game that I’m again convinced there might be an at-least-semi-alarming how-to-seduce-middle-aged-ladies Reddit thread out there. I mean, there probably is.)

I was already in bed for a nap, so I said sure, why not? I was instantly soaking wet at the idea of Hookup Guy interrupting my nap. I snoozed a little and woke up when the text chimed that he was on his way.

Waiting for Hookup Guy in bed, naked, with the window closed in case I was (because I was definitely going to be) loud, with the door unlocked for him, was one of the sexiest feelings I’ve ever felt. I was wired and sleepy at the same time. At no point in his visit would I get out of bed even a little.

“Hope that’s you!” I said when I heard the door open. I was so, SO happy to see him come up the stairs.

Hookup Guy is BEAUTIFUL. He looks like a combination of John Boyega and Jordan Peele, and he’s even close to my age. He’s tough and kind of softly military-built, with a couple of fraternity brands that fucking make my head spin to think about.

I took his shirt off and he did the rest. I just lay there all cozy in my freshly-laundered sheets and girly comforter watching him strip down. His dick was hard as a monument under his black boxer briefs, and soon those were gone too.

It was good, good, GOOD sex, urgent and matter-of-fact and joyful in a way I’m only starting to get used to. He did, in fact, fill me up.

I wanted him to come back again at his/my convenience, so I asked for his last name so it didn’t have to be “Hinge” in my contacts.

And then, when he was gone, I googled him. Nothing drastic, I promise. But I’ll tell you what I figured out another day.