Same.
Thrilling. I miss just going out to bars and picking up a woman. It was a lot easier.
I glance around my flat. Quiet. Tidy. Pee-Pee’s voice floats back to me, irritatingly calm.
Focus on connection. Conversation. No pressure.
Great. Love that for me. Except dating, as it turns out, is built almost entirely on the unspoken assumption that if you don’t cock it up, there will eventually be a bedroom involved. Remove that and everyone seems to stall out around message four.
My phone buzzes.
Anna
So what are you looking for on here?
Ah. The question.
I stare at it longer than necessary.
What am I looking for. A coffee. A walk. Someone to talk to without the looming expectation of my dick needing to make a guest appearance.
I type, delete, type again.
Me
Something low-pressure. Getting to know someone properly.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Anna
Oh. Like friends?
No. Not that. Not exactly.
Me
More like… dating without rushing.
There’s a pause long enough that I start wondering if I’ve been unmatched.
Anna
That’s different :-)
The smiley face feels like judgement.
I lock the phone and drop it onto the cushion beside me.
This is ridiculous. I’ve flown across continents for work. Negotiated contracts. Talked my way out of parking tickets. And yet here I am, stumped by the idea of inviting a woman for a drink without an implied itinerary.
I pick the phone back up and check the other app.
Another match. Sophia. Good smile. Likes hiking. Has opinions about sourdough.
Sophia
So what’s your ideal first date?
