The Tinder Experience

The response from Tinder has been overwhelming. I had to make some quick culls, "dematching" two men already (just a note: I'm also searching for other bisexual or gay women, but haven't found anyone--as expected that there are more straight men than bi-women or lesbians).

None of them are stand out's except for the two gentlemen that I essentially blocked. One said I looked like the "Unabomber" because of a picture of myself in a hood and wearing sunglasses. I replied that I didn't think that was funny. He then told me to wear something else next time I take my picture (dually noted).

The other man proved to have "separation anxiety." He asked if he could have my last name so he could friend me on Facebook (I said no to that). I did offer him, instead, my email address, and told him to write me sometime. Minutes later, he sends a message explaining how he just wants to get to know me (which is why he also asked if we could hang out that night, like a five minute conversation via the world wide web counts as "getting to know someone"). The next morning, he sends a message via Tinder, "Did you get my email?" Wow, people expect a fast response. Delete. Delete.

Nevertheless, since I re-activated my profile, I have received near non-stop messages from men via Tinder. One man said that he had a foot fetish, and a quick "sorry."

I tell him, "A foot fetish is pretty mild on the scale of kinks."

"Sucking toes is extreme!" He assures me.

Hmmm--not really. "Do you want to piss on me?" I ask (not that I'm into that sort of thing!).

I've been trying to figure out a way to make money off of Tinder without being turned in or arrested. Like asking for a "donation" for my time, maybe the standard $200 an hour that a private dance agency would charge. I'm sure that would thin the herd also.

I told myself yesterday that I really needed to get back into the habit of taking my clothes off (no matter what my weight because, of course, these recent strangers have no idea I used to be actually skinny and wear a size four) and sucking dick--after all, besides a quickie with Morpheus in the beginning of September this year, I've probably been celibate for around three years.

I don't necessarily miss sex, which is why I put off one of my "dates" with a nice, thirty-seven-year-old, who is an alcohol distributor, until Saturday. I loathe the idea of having to dress up (which, unfortunately, I don't have much for options because of the weight gain).

All of this is an attempt to move on (and keep myself occupied until spring semester starts).