Over the past few months I’ve found myself shrinking away from dating, and expanding into myself. Tinder seems repetitive, boring, and like a lot of work, and instead of validation from men, my fitness goals are becoming paramount. Spending an evening drinking, or watching Netflix with someone trying to navigate the logistics of a couch boner seems trite, especially when the reality is that it means I won’t get enough sleep. Not enough rest means I won’t be able to put as much into my workout the day after, and it hardly seems worth it for the 4 hours of build up equating to 6 minutes of couch sex, with someone who is 30, and still drives a skateboard.
In February I start a new training routine, and between that, work, and light socializing I am exhausted. My self love is higher than it’s ever been, and I inundate myself with motivational quotes, blog posts, success stories, and ted talks. I get my hair done, I take care of my nails. I turn down nights of drinking to drink a pot of tea and stretch in my living room. I use the calorie counting app on my phone, and I make sure I’m in a gentle deficit every day. I am treating my body and mind the way I wish I had my whole adult life. I realize that it has been this energy that I have instead been investing into whatever person I was seeing. For the first time I sincerely feel content in being single, and marginally afraid of committing my time to another person. My time now is more valuable than it has ever felt before. Unfortunately, even if one self loves oneself deeply, “self love,” can only sustain oneself for so long. Dedicated to staying single, and seeking non-comital sex, I turn back to my old dysfunctional love remedy, Dr. Tinder.
I know what I’m looking for here; I need the super hot guy who is just in town for a vacation, or business, or some kind of family function. Enter Anthony. He works as a personal trainer (perfect), he looks like an instagram model, (intimidating, but maybe not accurate in person), and he’s in town for his sister’s wedding. (Jackpot.) We chat briefly, he says it’s actually his half sister who he does not know very well. This is his first time meeting his future brother-in-law, and he doesn’t know anyone else at the wedding as he is not close with his family. He says he’s going out for a drink with his soon to be brother-in-law, and after we should grab one. I’m with a few of my friends, and we have had a few casual drinks at home, and are on our way downtown to dance at the gay bar. I bail on them, and agree to meet him outside of a cute local hipster-y bar. When I arrive he’s standing outside.
He’s so unbelievably good looking. He looks better than his instagram-ish pictures. I don’t know what to say, so I hold out my hand and make a noise that sounds like, “bbbvvvvffffffmmmhmm,” and he says, “Oh, wow, hi!” and gives me a hug. His body is dense, like a 200lb bag of flour. We step inside and it’s packed, but the server tells us there are two empty seats at the bar if we want. When we get ID’d I make a point to read his name on his license, but make a show like I’m looking at his ID picture. If he turns out to murder me I want to be able to tell the police his whole name. He walks behind me, and touches the small of my back, which is my secret swoon button. At the bar stools we are instantly close. His leg is touching mine. I am floored and uncomfortable with how good looking he is. He says, “I just have to say you’re gorgeous, and I’m glad to be here.” I don’t really believe what he’s saying, but I do think this confirms the fact that we’ll be having sex at some point, so I awkwardly say, “Merci,” which confuses him, and makes my stomach hurt. We decide to have a flight of beer each, so he can try some of the local beers, and I tell him I’m not much of a drinker lately, so I will need to drink slowly as my alcohol tolerance does not exist. He says something to the effect of that’s fine, and then talks non-stop about himself for an hour. Maybe he’s nervous, maybe he’s making a sales pitch, maybe he genuinely loves telling strangers about intimate parts of his life, but I can’t really get a word in. When I do get a word in it’s because he’s asked me a question directly, but the question also some how relates to him. I make a joke about being an axe-murderer that he neither acknowledges, or laughs at. He tells me I should do the ketogenic diet. It turns out he is a trainer for professional athletes. He was a professional hockey player himself, and then an injury prevented him from being able to continue his career. I think he’s enhancing some of his life details, so I excuse myself to google him in the bathroom. He isn’t lying, not even a little. He also owns his own fitness centre and trains trainers among training the professional athletes. Even if he is not a conversationalist I find this to be immensely attractive.
When the bill comes I offer to split it with him, and he says, “Well, I was hoping the night wasn’t over. Can we go one more place? For one more drink?” I say sure. He pays for the 25$ bill, and says I can get the next one instead of splitting this one. I agree, and we’re off. I take him to a cute martini bar where I had my first date with my ex. As we walk down the stairs to the front door he tells me to stop, and then takes a few steps down the stairs below me until we are at eye-level, and he kisses me. I’m a teensy bit drunk, and that coupled with kissing him makes me feel a bit dopey. We order a few drinks, and he picks a table where we can sit side by side. We steal a few quick kisses in-between drinks. He never stops talking about himself. He says he likes my personality, which I know can’t be true because I’ve talked less than a fish, but it lubricates the situation into sex seeming alright. When I go to the bathroom he orders 4 shots and more drinks. I’m kind of annoyed because I explicitly said I only wanted to have one drink, but I know there is no point in confronting this in conversation. When the 80$ bill comes he kindly lets me pay, as he paid the first one. Gentleman. When we leave he holds up my coat for me and helps me put it on, including doing up the buttons for me. I think he thinks that this is sexy, but it makes me feel like my mom pinning my mittens to my winter coat. He says, “You’re coming back to my hotel with me.” I say, “Okidokee.”
When we get to his hotel room door he pushes me up against the wall in the hallway and we kiss like a romantic movie, except it’s not romantic at all, and I feel absolutely nothing. His mouth tastes like gin. He un-locks the door and I’m looking in on a hotel room with two queen beds; one empty, and one occupied with a sleeping man. He says, “fuck,” and shuts the door. He explains that the man in there is the groom of the wedding tomorrow, and that he thought he wasn’t coming to the hotel after all. I’m disappointed because I gave myself a one-night only shame pass to sleep with this stranger, and now it won’t be coming to fruition. I say, “Well, I should go…” He says, “No fucking way.” He walks up and down the hall for a minute before stopping at a housekeeping door. He pulls out his room key and starts to pick the lock. After a few minutes he has the door open to a small closet-like room with a few vacuums, and some linen. He moves the vacuums to the side and there’s just enough room for us to stand. He pulls me in and shuts the door, and we’re in pitch black, aside from a crack of bright light where the hinges meet the door. He pulls down my tights. His hands are all over my body. I ask if he has a condom, and he says, “Oh, right.” I say condoms are non-negotiable as I’m not on any other form of birth control. I hold up my phone so he can use the light to put it on, and then we hear some people walking by. I hide my phone light, and he turns me so I’m facing away from him, and pushes himself inside of me while they walk by. He covers my mouth. We stay like that for a few minutes until we try to change positions, but there just isn’t enough room. He says, “I have an idea.” We dress quickly, and head back to the hotel room. Silently we walk passed the sleeping groom and into the hotel bathroom. He shuts the door and lifts me so I’m sitting on the bathroom sink. While we kiss he undresses me again, and then he moves his head to go down on me. Trying to stay silent I push him away and shake my head. I mouth, “That’s a boyfriend’s job,” and he rolls his eyes. Sex again. It’s okay, but I’m thinking about him rolling his eyes, and about the sleeping groom outside. I can’t get into it. He lifts my naked body and carries me out of the bathroom onto the couch. If I wasn’t still a little drunk I would have fought it, but in the moment I am curious as to where this will go. He lays me down and we have missionary sex for a few minutes before the scratchy hotel couch and snoring groom put me off too much. I mouth, “I should go.” He knods. I dress in the bathroom, and he walks me out. In the hallway we kiss again, and he says, “Come back tomorrow? I will have the room to myself then because he’ll be with my sister.” I say, “Sure,” and then I take a cab home.
The next day we text a little, and I’m in a lifted mood. I text to say it’s fine if he can’t meet up again and needs to spend time with family, but he’s “dedicated,” to the idea. I tell him I’m waking up early for a workout so it would have to be at a reasonable hour and he says, “No problem.” At 10pm that night I’m getting ready for bed when he texts to say to meet him at the hotel in half an hour. I say alright, but explain that it will have to be a brief visit. At 1030pm I have parked. I’m walking the five minute walk to the hotel, when he calls. I answer and I can hear a female’s voice in the background. He says, “Hey girl, where you at?” and they both laugh. I say, “Uhhhh, should I be turning around? I can go home if you have other plans.” He says, “What? That’s just my cousin. She’ll be gone. Don’t worry.” I keep walking, and I’m hoping that his cousin leaves quickly. Even though he is unbelievably good looking, I am not proud of the situation I’m welcoming. What if I knew her in some obscure way? When I get to the hotel he’s standing outside holding a spray painted pineapple. He says, “Hey Gorgeous.” I say, “Ello, ello.”
Back in his room he hands me his laptop, and says pick out some music. He goes into the washroom and comes back out with his suit jacket off. He is wearing dress pants, a dress shirt, and a tie. His clothes fit him really well, and he looks handsome. I put on “I Will Follow You Into the Dark,” by Death Cab for Cutie, and we both laugh at how it reminds us of high school. He sings a long a bit, and I joke that maybe he’s too drunk for this, and I’m taking advantage of him. He laughs and says, “Naw, actually I didn’t end up drinking very much.”
His is bossy in bed. I don’t have a choice or an opinion about the position we are in, and he speaks to me the way I imagine he speaks to his clients. I feel like I’m being guided through a sex workout, and it’s not as hot as I would have anticipated. He forcefully goes down on me, and I say, “please don’t, I think it’s too intimate,” and he says, “Bullshit. You already stopped me once,” and keeps going. Even though he is a Ken doll my body stops being turned on because he is not listening to me, and not dominating me in a loving or sexy way. He’s being a dick. He throws my body around a lot, and I think that it’s so I can see how strong he is. He picks me up and carries me to the couch for a while, and then we walk back to the bed. Back on the bed I’m completely turned off and wanting to go home. My body doesn’t want to have sex anymore, and it’s starting to hurt more than feel pleasurable. I tell him I think I’m done, and he says, “Just wait.” After a few minutes his violent and fast movement powers down, and he puts his body weight onto me. This is usually my favourite part of sex, and the part where I want to be held and kissed. I have a one second epiphany that this is why casual sex feels so terrible, because this moment doesn’t exist in the potential that it could. I want him off of me, and I want to shower. He slowly removes himself from me and I see that he is not wearing the condom that he was when we started. I’m yelling and I can feel tears building up in the back of my eyes. I say, “Did you come in me? Are you fucking crazy? Is this what you do to women? What the fuck just happened?” He says, “I didn’t think you’d care.” Apparently he took the condom off walking between the couch and the bed. I say, “I TOLD YOU I AM NOT ON BIRTH CONTROL, NOT TO MENTION I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT YOU,” and he says, “Wow, I’m really drunk, and obviously I don’t have STD’s.” I say, “Bullshit.” I grab my clothes and go into the bathroom to pee and get dressed where he can’t see me. I put my head in my hands and cry while I’m peeing. Then I get dressed and get progressively more furious. When I exit I am storming for the door, and he tries to hug me. He says, “I guess we’re not cuddling then?” and I shove him away from me. He takes a step back and falls dramatically as if he was 400 times drunker, and I pushed him 6000 times harder. He says, “Look I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Then it’s blurry. We yell back and forth and then I leave. I’m so upset. I wonder if I have been assaulted. I was part of every choice that got me into that hotel room. I welcomed and wanted all of it until the last second. I feel violated, and tricked, and like I have no recourse. I don’t know anything about his health record, but I know there is the likely possibility he’s had unprotected sex with former partners. I am scared of what could potentially happen, and I feel helpless and stupid.
In the morning I take a Plan B pill and miss my day of training. I am irritated that a lame sexual experience cost me a night dancing with my friends at the gay bar, 80$, sleep, my health, and my training. I delete Tinder. Again.