sex diaries; social distance edition
I matched with an Irish guy on Hinge pre-christmas, Boris unfortunately plunged London into tier 4 and our trip to the pub was cancelled.
Fast forward to January and we were organising a weekend walk in a park. Quickly the plan was altered by Mr O'Hinge, to drinks at his place after work on a Thursday (suddenly he was unavailable at the weekend in a lockdown?). I was skeptical but my flatmates just told me to go and I always had the option to leave if it was awkward. I explained my reluctance over WhatsApp ahead of agreeing but he understood, which put it me ease. (N.B. he lives alone). I arrive at this gorgeous Victorian house a shortish Uber away, equipped with 3 for £7 deli items from M&S, crisps and a bottle of pinot noir.
Mr O'Hinge opens the door, barely recognisable from his profile, he hadn't shaved or had a hair cut in a while, but I look past this (but seriously, you didn't learn to cut your own hair or shave this past year?). He's very welcoming, pours me a drink and we sit down in his living room to break the ice. Mr O'Hinge is very relaxed, juxtaposed to me who's back is poker straight trying to sit as far away as possible from him on the sofa. I guess conversation is flowing, although, it mainly surrounds himself and how wealthy his family is (he later drops that whoever he marries needs to sign a prenup... *Eye roll*)
At this stage I am starving and slightly drunk, (where are the deli artichokes at boyo?) We agree to go into the kitchen and crack open the food, upon when following me through, he compliments my figure, namely my "gorgeous arse" (*blush*). I quickly caught on to his Casanova ways and enquired into his use of Hinge this past year. He fessed up to shagging 90% of women on the first date as he has particular sexual preference, so no point "wasting time" on a girl who won't be into it. I was not put off, intrigued in fact. From here it was a game of cat and mouse to get me upstairs... I resist at first but the making out in the kitchen is hot, helped by a smooth request to Alexa to play D'Angelo on Spotify... fuck it.
Four months with zero physical contact from a male (besides a hug from my dad at Christmas) was enough. It was GREAT sex. He gave as much as he got and I came like there was no tomorrow (unheard of on a drunken first date, am I right ladies?!) Fast forward to 2am after some 50 shades antics, we both have work tomorrow so I need to swiftly order an Uber home. He said I could stay but I didn't have any overnight things (namely my glasses) not wanting to get risk gammy eyes with recycled contact lenses in salt water, I left. We sext all weekend, send pictures and arrange to meet a week later (again on a school night but what else is happening right now in my life?). I would go back but this time we'd have dinner and I'd sleep over.
Ahead of the next rendezvous, I start to feel a little rundown (lack of sleep perhaps, still hungover?) But the glands in my neck are the size of footballs. I contact my GP; they suspect tonsillitis, prescribe some antibiotics but make me take a covid test (don't worry it was negative!) Undeterred by my mini health scare, I return to the Pintreest esque house, ready to be wined, dined and thrown around like a rag doll. Mr O'Hinge is weirdly awkward and doesn't seem interested that I am there whatsoever. Conversation over dinner is dull at best, until we move to the sofa to drink where he perks up (due to the commencement of proceedings). Again, the sex is amazing, but this time I get to stay in this comfy king sized bed and will be spooned and cuddled by a tall man (which is what I actually wanted all along... To lie on a warm hairy chest after a painful year of being so lonely). Mr O'Hinge is also very tactile so the spooning doesn't seem like a laborious task. I take a shower and return to him on his laptop reading the daily mail (lol). Not wanting me to snuggle back in, I turn away into the fetal position drift off. All seems well after a DELIGHTFUL wake up call, I go home we text a bit during the day and then... silence.
I have been ghosted. The absolute fuck? There were MANY red flags about him as a person, but I would have seen past them for continued orgasms in his well heated house, to escape my freezing single glazed flat share. He was 100% NOT boyfriend matieral, so I'm not gutted by this encounter, but I'm honestly astounded that men still think that ghosting is acceptable in 2021?? I thought about messaging him to call out his Casper behaviour, but that would have only fed his ugly ego. *BLOCK* For someone who grew up surrounded by many female family members, ZERO respect for women. They are there for his need only. To tally up my post-coital ailments besides tonsillitis, I have a: UTI, a cut on my vagina and am eagerly awaiting the results of my STI check. I don't regret what happened, only my carelessness with contraception. I have a coil but knowing he's a shagger, should have insisted on condoms. Stay safe y'all.