In case you missed part one.
“How’s everything going?”
“It’s going great.”
“He’s great too. Never could’ve been better.”
“Oh wow. It’s just that…”
“Just that what?”
“Never mind I’m happy for you.”
Typical conversation over the past few months that I had with people.
As it turns out everyone on God’s green earth knew about Tinder, and how it was normally a hook up app. It was pretty simple really, you log in, it notifies you of someone near you; you read their bio; swipe right if you like them and wait. If they liked you too it was basically a match and you could chat. Ultimately, it would end up in a steamy bout of sex, all decorum thrown through the window. Some summer hot some-some on a winter cold night, or day. This was the rule.
Don’t look at me like that, just like the next female, I do have my fantasies of having on a see through blouse ripped off my back revealing a pair of crisp laced bras and the scent of unadulterated passion softly wafting from the throbs of my almost naked body. But, in my fantasies, there has to be love involved; and not just one kind of love, no. There has to be love for me. Love for food. Love for humor. And love for the weirdly weird stuff like dinner dates with pajamas. It’s not too much for a girl to ask for now is it? I had my boxes, I needed them checked. Plus, the good thing with a check list is; if they don’t meet it or want to meet it they are always free to walk away. No hard feelings; unless they came aroused.
Then came along Gary, a guy that looked as good as his names sound. But looks weren’t everything; they made largely 80% of it but that’s not the point. See for him dates were sacred, and planned not the usual crap we have to deal with that fall under casual hook-ups. We love dates, we being girls. We love being called up a week before and have our calendars checked; are you free Thursday night? Something of the sort. And we’ll play around with the idea of saying no and ask what you have in mind. Mostly we’d hope for a detailed plan for the night, something we can look forward to and sometimes we can do with a surprise. A good one. Not a guy in nothing but a trench coat showing up at 11.30 PM with a bottle of wine and a pack of condoms. Not that kind of surprise. Save that for when the relationship is three years old and flames need rekindling.
Gary, well he called. He called to ask how I was doing, what I was doing and after sometime how I would be doing him. But that last part, that’s for later.
He’d call to ask me to clear my schedule for the weekend or an off Wednesday. And we’d go for dinner, drinks, movies; you name it. Soon enough, being the girl I am and he being the Gary he is I fell in love. A swooning experience with whirlwinds of irrational behavior and soothing calms of safety and contentment. All my boxes had been checked and some I even did not know even existed. So in other peoples’ eyes my life had balance; upwardly mobile career and love wise. I felt like the girl in “They don’t make them like you” a song by Ne-Yo.
Guys don’t work as hard to keep you as they did when they wanted you. And that’s even if they worked hard at all to get you, today guys get away with anything from fast food to drinks on a night out. Which is fine really, totally fine, as long as you all both know what you’re getting into. But me? That’s not my cup of tea, and I hate tea, I’m more coffee with a little bit of Gary. Actually come to think of it I’d do tea with a little bit of Gary. Or scratch the tea part. With Gary it was different, the same look he had in his profile picture when I first swiped right on his profile, was the same look he wore when he took me out for coffee. The enthusiasm, passion, interest: they all stayed the same if not getting a notch higher.
And guys, this is how you know you’re swoon is spiraling out of control, you want babies. Not the cute pair of black, red heeled shoes you own. Not that laptop that’s been there ever since Mike from campus installed VLC. Actual live, breathing, nine month gestated, babies. Because what else would be better than having mini his and hers running around your apartment? Oh, did I mention he has one? An apartment? Yes, he does and I have a key to it. A key I did not even have to ask for, it was just one of those “I feel we are at that point in a relationship where blah blah…”
At some point I was hesitant; overly hesitant. Why me? Why now? Why a key? It all felt like it was moving too fast; and the problem with moving too fast is that crashes are harder to survive. But being who he is, Gary the intuitive, he saw into this and I was comforted, assured and even given space to think about it. Unlimited space. I don’t know if this is something by all women or it’s just me; the option to say no is a turn on. It’s no secret that the world out there is chauvinist, with the exception of a few people here and there, cough Gary cough. Hehe. But when a guy gives you open options you don’t feel caged, you actually feel liberated. That there’s more to the relationship than what he wants; there’s you and what you want and how to make the both work.
I know what this feels like; that I am setting you all up for a bombshell. But isn’t there always a bombshell? Well, I took the key.