Old Tinder Tales

Today I gave head to a guy that I matched with on tinder 3 months ago (first meeting). He’s DUMB hot and identifies as a dominant (not simply dominant in bed - I have learned that there is a distinction).

I am in a wildly healthy dom/sub engagement with a man with a touch of autism. Adore him.

I’m having a heavy flirtation with a guy I matched with 6 months ago. We met once. Haven’t hooked up.

There are many men in my life. I’m enjoying them.

Joshua and I broke up.

I didn’t get into grad school.

The world is on fire.

And I fucked a stranger.

I know the fucking the stranger part is the most interesting of the above incidents, and I know I should write about it just to get it out. But I just… don’t have the energy to unpack all of the emotions that go along with that.

Falling in love again after you’ve had your heart ripped out of your chest is a unique experience, to say the least. But it’s happening.

           I didn’t think I would again be able to feel such a depth of feeling for another human being. Not that one could easily compare what I felt with Alex to what I’m currently feeling for Joshua. Being with Alex was like trying to breathe underwater – Joshua is air.

           I didn’t think I could get over Alex so easily. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t “easy,” but it happened. And that fact alone is surprising to me because in the throes of my darkest days, I was truly convinced the pain would never end. But therapy is good. And helpful.

           My therapist helped me untangle the web of fuckery in my head. When Alex and I broke up, I didn’t know up from down. My understanding of good and bad, love and have, exuberance and misery, were all fucked up. I equated love with pain. If I could hurt that much, I must have reallyloved him. And in part, that’s true. Because the people we love do have the capacity to hurt us deeply. But I took it to such an extreme – well, we did. Because if we both weren’t miserable, we didn’t love one another. And boy were we miserable. So boy, did we love one another.

           My therapist helped me navigate out of the waters of Alex and breathe my own air. For months I have been working on breathing in the air of my truth. All of the good, bad, and ugly parts of my truth. And in learning how to breathe me in, I also learned how to breathe the air of another – Joshua.

           I’ve known Joshua since I was 13 years old. I loved him then, I love him now. I hated him for a while – I think that part was mutual. But we found our way back together.

           On my grandmother’s last birthday, dinner was traumatic. In the end, she was in the hospital for four days. And it wore on me pretty heavily. And Alex was absent. He wasn’t “capable of giving [me] what [I needed]. And so I reached out to Joshua. Even though Joshua probably hated me for reasons I may write about at another time. But I took a leap. And he didn’t respond. And that was fine. I dug my hole, I needed to lie in it. But after a day, he got back to me. And we talked. We talked a ton. About my grandmother. About ourselves. About our new lives without one another. About our accomplishments, failures, and all of the mineal things in between.

           On Thanksgiving holiday, he came to me. He wasn’t supposed to spend the night. I was just a stop on his way to his moms. We didn’t know how to interact with one another anymore. It was so uncomfortable and silly and ridiculous. But he stayed. And that was the first time in 3 years that I had sex with Joshua. And it was awkward and foreign… but it was also seamless and comforting. You see, Joshua taught me how to have sex. Maybe we taught one another, who knows. But he still found all of my most sensitive places, and he played them in the same way he plays his guitar – with determination and ease.

           And then the sun came up. And neither of us really knew what to do. But I had to go make thanksgiving dinner, so I decided I would figure it out later lol.

           For months we texted and saw one another when we could (there is a bit of a distance issue here). And I went to therapy. And he taught my heart how to love without pain. There were hiccups along the way. Given our history, navigating our relationship was like walking through fields upon fields full of landmines. Old wounds that didn’t heal properly. New wounds that we weren’t ready to expose to one another. It was messy and easy and difficult and perfect. We took things slowly. We set our expectations low. But as time kept passing, as it surely will, I found myself finding comfort in his spirit. The simple essence of him could ease my worst days. His goofy smile. His kind heart. His thoughtfulness. I was getting my best friend back.

           In typical Jenna fashion, I had to throw a wrench in things. I fell too hard and too fast and I wasn’t exactly open about it. But once the dust settled, my best friend was standing there ready to rebuild with me. He’s not just a person I love. He’s not just a person I love having sex with. He’s a person I love building with. I love planning our future, both near and far. Planning the weekends we can see one another. Looking at grad schools with him in mind. Planning our careers so they complement one another.

As you know, I got a new laptop, which means I’ve had the distinct pleasure of transferring all of my data. But the one thing I can’t transfer (well not easily) is my messages, specifically messages that are no longer on my phone. Even more specifically, messages from my ex. And I’ve thought a lot about what to do about that. Do I just leave them on the old laptop, or do I take the time to transfer them over? Well.. I don’t know that I ever made the true decision to save them, but I started scrolling. Back. And back further.

           It would appear that I’m having a bit of an identity crisis. Because, you see, in my messages with him, he was absolutely, 100% verbally, emotionally, and psychologically abusive. But. So was I. And that’s tough. Because when I think back, I just see this evil beast that hurt me at every turn… But the reality it, I was just as awful to him. Okay, maybe that isn’t a fair assessment. He was definitely the worst of the two of us, but I was still pretty fucking awful. I almost feel like I blacked out for those two years of my life. It’s amazing what your brain will hide from you.

           The way Mia described it was that I had a normal response to an abnormal situation. He was awful to me, so I had to get to that level as well to protect myself and to make myself heard. But it’s still hard to swallow. Because I do like to think of myself as a nice and kind person. Maybe the fact that I’m even thinking about these things is an indicator that I am in fact a good person, because I can guarantee that if he ever goes through our conversations, he will only see that I was a psycho cunt. And that’s fine. He doesn’t need to think about how the things he said affected me. But I do. And I feel terrible. The crazier parts of myself think I owe him an apology. I know that I don’t, but a part of me feels the need to apologize.

           Another friend of mine, we call him “the doctor,” told me that my relationship with him (my ex) mirrored that of an addict and her drug of choice. And that resonated with me because I was absolutely addicted to him. I ruined relationships, both professionally and not, to get high. High on him (off of him?). So through therapy I almost feel like I’m in AA (Alex anonymous lol). And I feel like I need to make amends. But I guess the addict doesn’t apologize to the drug… That would be insane haha. So I don’t really know what to do with that, but I do have therapy tomorrow, so that’s good.

           I think my TinderTales were just me trying to experiment with different drugs. Trying to find that high again. It was futile, so I guess that’s why I stopped. I’m glad I stopped. But it does make for a much more boring blog. Sorry about that.

           I just don’t know what to do to get closure from this situation. I don’t know how to recover. I doubt myself so much because of him. I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. He had me convinced that everything he did to me I deserved. He outright told me that he wouldn’t give me the respect or love that I deserve. So he knew I deserved it, but he wouldn’t give it to me. And I stayed with him after he said that.

I had a very hard therapy session today. And I don’t know how to process it exactly, so I’m going to write about it.

           I was abused. I was abused for 2 years by a man that I loved and who swore loved me. And while yes, I casually mention his “abusive behavior,” I have never really sat with the fact that I. Was. Abused. I was a victim. I was a victim of abuse.

           And that part is really hard for me to deal with. Because I don’t want to be a victim. I don’t want that to be a part of my narrative. And it isn’t just the last two and a half years of my life. I was a victim in my childhood. And I was a victim in my young adulthood. And that is hard for me to swallow because I think so much of myself as a strong, independent, resilient person. And the victim narrative doesn’t exactly fit with that.

.

           But my therapist did make the important point that though “victim” may define parts of my past, it doesn’t need to define my future. And that’s super important. But it’s really frustrating that I have no control over my past. Not in the sense that I can’t change the past (none of us can), but that while I was victimized, I had no control over the situation to change it. And then my therapist reminded me of the serenity prayer haha. That attempting to control things that are out of my control will only drive me insane. So moot point.

           My therapist also told me my ex was sick. She told me that she feels he is beyond help and the only thing I can do in this situation is stay as far away from him as I can. And that made my heart ache, because despite all of the bullshit and abuse, I still care for him. And I want him to be a better person. I want him to grow and experience happiness and love and fulfillment. But she believes those things aren’t in his future. And I don’t know how to feel about that information.

           Once upon a time, before we were officially together, we were sleeping together for a couple months. I asked him repeatedly if he was my boyfriend and if we were official and he kept telling me no. So I slept with other people. And I lied about it. And whne it came out, we decided that we would be together and he would have all of my passwords and my location. We decided that if we were going to stay together, I wasn’t allowed to go out with my friends. We decided that if I did go out with my friends, I had to send him pictures of us. We decided that he would sleep with the same number of other people that I had. We decided that I wasn’t allowed to have sex with anyone, him included. And we decided that this would be our norm until he “felt” I had atoned. We decided I wouldn’t get to be happy until he decided I could. And I agreed.  

           My therapist tells me that’s not normal. And I hate myself for allowing our relationship to go there. I’m so disappointed that I let myself be so controlled by a man. But my therapist helped me remember that I thought he was my soulmate and that it makes sense that I would want to go through that if my “happily ever after” was on the other side. And so I agreed. And he fucking destroyed my life.

           He would sext other women and show me. When we would go out, he would ignore me and hit on other women in front of me, just to remind me that he could; to let me know that him choosing to be with me was a privilege. He would ignore me when I needed him most. He didn’t remember my graduation date nor did he come. He didn’t go with me to my spirit squad formal (but don’t worry, he still paid for his ticket). He just… treated me like he hated me. And maybe he did. Maybe I hated him. There is such a fine line between love and hate and I don’t know which side of that line we fell. But he hurt me. He hurt me so much. He controlled my entire life, and convinced me that I owed him a “thank you.”

           And now, 8 months after we broke up, 3 months after we stopped talking, he’s on my fucking Facebook, still trying to stake some kind of control over my life. And I’m still trying to defend him. It’s my fault for giving him my password. It’s my fault for not changing my password. Any SANE person would be curious about their ex, right? Any NORMAL person would check up on them if they had the means, right? He’s not crazy, he’s fucking normal.

           My therapist assigned some homework. I am to research the psychology and social psychology of abusive men. (Yes, there are female abusers, but in my instance, my abuser was male). She thinks that if I can understand the mechanisms of an abusive relationship outside of the one I had, that I might be able to see the abusive relationship I had clearer. So I’m doing that today. And tomorrow. And every day until I can make sense of what the fuck I’m feeling.

           Continuing with the “victim” thing. She also mentioned how she, as a former victim, had a really hard time dealing with other “victims.” She said that it would drive her crazy when people would play “fake victims” to things she had experienced 10x worse. And I kind of get that. I’m a little bit obsessed with this girl I knew from high school who claims to have had two miscarriages (I know their fake; her ultrasound pictures are from Google – I found them in under 2 minutes). And she posts all of this stuff on Facebook about “poor me” (don’t even get me started on her mother’s day post). And. I kind of want to punch her in the face? But I also can’t stop stalking her shit, because it makes me nauseous, but in kind of a good way? Maybe not good, but addictive. I’m addicted to her fake chaos. Maybe it’s a distraction from my very real chaos. But I also want to punch her. Repeatedly.

           I don’t know.

           I don’t know how to write a resolution to this post. I don’t even know why I’m writing this post. Maybe if I write it down, it won’t feel like I’m choking on it. But I’m struggling a little bit.

I got a new laptop and thus, a new reason to blog. But no good things come without a price (or whatever the fuck people say).

           I got a new laptop and had none of my account passwords on it, so I had to go through and change all of my passwords because I didn’t know them.

           Did you know that Facebook has this amazing feature where you can see all of the devices (and locations) that are logged into your account? I didn’t either, but now I fucking do! And as it turns out, my wonderful ex-boyfriend (the one who was the start of this blog) was logged into my account. And had been logged into it as recently as 17 hours (HOURS) ago.

           Mind you, we broke up 8 months ago. Haven’t spoken in 3. And he had been on my Facebook SEVENTEEN HOURS AGO. So, moral of the story is this: change your fucking passwords often!! And be aware of your accounts activity!

           But aside from the security lessons I learned from this experience, I was also given the privilege of rapid, spiraling thoughts about what if. I don’t know if your imagination is as creating as mine, but for the last 24 hours, my brain has gone through every possible outcome of this situation. And for your viewing pleasure, I will include them here!!!

1.     Nothing will happen. He’ll see that he can’t get into my Facebook anymore and that’ll be the end of that.

2.     He’ll be pissed he doesn’t have access to my accounts anymore and doesn’t have a way to keep tabs on me so he will:

a.    Start stalking me in a more serious fashion (showing up at my place, etc.)

b.    Hire a hacker to get back into my accounts

c.    Make contact with me (calling or texting)

d.    Threaten me with physical harm

e.    Threaten me with blackmail (he has all kinds of wild nudes of me as well as videos of us having sex; when we broke up, I asked him to delete them and he said “no,” because they were “his,” and that he wanted the “memories.” AKA, he still wants to beat his meat to me).

f.     He’ll post my nudes online in retaliation.

g.     He’ll send my nudes to my job.

See my predicament? So I’m just a cesspool of anxiety and stress for the forseeable future because I don’t know what the fuck to expect or how his crazy ass will respond to having his means of spying cutoff.

This situation has brought me some clarity, though. Because now that I’m not head over heels in love with him, I can see all of his crazy, erratic, redflag behavior clearly. And there were HELLA signs indicating he would exhibit this kind of behavior post-breakup.

1.    While we were together, he DEMANDED I give him all of my passwords. And I did. There are 2 important pieces here

a.    He’s fucking crazy, lacked trust, and was a master manipulator

b.    I’m an idiot (though I was blinded my love).

2.    Some of my friends and I took a group booty pic after a typical girl sleepover, in which we taught one another how to take proper booty pictures (lol). When he found this on my phone, he sent it to his own cell phone, deleted the message off of my phone, and said NOTHING. I onlh found out because my laptop has my messages and he didn’t have access to delete it there!! (when confronted about it, he explicitly said he was collecting material to use later if he should need it – what the fuck).

3.    My nude photos were posted on a revenge porn site (I think by him, but moving on). He’s the one who “found” them, and sent me the link and yadda yadda yadda. When I asked him why he was on that website to begin with (I had never heard of it), he said, and I quote, “it’s one of my creeping websites.”

I do have MANY more examples of his insanity, but three should suffice.

Another moral of the story, I’m a fucking idiot and my ex is actually psychotic,

This is a long one. 

I know, we all thought I was gone and was done with my bullshit, but alas, here I am, with another laughable story that is quite possibly golden. There are other posts on the blog with titles that I haven’t written yet, because truth be told, I am falling in love and that I just want to keep that for myself for a little while. But nothing in life is truly linear, so while falling in love with my ex ex boyfriend, I was offered a sexual opportunity that I had been thinking about/dreaming about/fantasizing about for quite some time, so here we are. Buckle up.

             His name is Axel. He works as head of security at my favorite bar. He’s beautiful. He’s tall, lanky with muscles (contradicting, I know), beautifully tanned skin, bright eyes, and a smirk that makes me wet. He always stands half way up the stairs to watch over the crowd to keep us safe (yeah, I’m being cheesy, making this sound all lovely, when in reality he looks like a douchebag).

             The first time I talked to Axel just so happened to also be the first time since I was 18 years old that I drank tequila. And, boy, did I drink tequila. It was sometime in the beginning of October and I went out with my favorite lady, Mia.

             This night also happened to be the night of a blackout (for me, not for, like, the city). So until very recently, I had forgotten the most important part of this night. Essentially, Mia and I were talking up one of the bartenders who we had convinced to give us free shots of tequila, so we were in the upstairs portion of the bar (that was significantly less populated). We were at the bar chatting with the bartender, taking shots, and dancing. Axel approaches and tells us that there’s no dancing upstairs…. I continued dancing with a curt “fuck you,” followed by laughter. I noticed Mia had stopped dancing altogether, and I let her know that he was messing with us, and the dancing continued. I don’t know how we got to the topic, maybe he said something about being security, but I told him he could take me home with him and strip search me and then I proceeded to put my hands on the wall, spread my legs, stick my butt out and say “I’m ready.” Help. And I completely forgot about this up until this past weekend. Anyways, he ran away from me, looking back with a smirk and a wink. And that was that. I went back to the bar every other weekend or so. Saw him, smiled, but nothing too intense or serious.

             Sometime later in October, during my initial Tinder fuckery, I matched with Axel (or thought I did?). I giggled about it, fell asleep, and told myself I would come back to it the next day. And when I opened Tinder the following morning, he wasn’t in my matches. I called Mia and laughed about it, and didn’t think about it again. Well not until my first time back at the bar following the tinder unmatch.

             Mia and I went to the bar on Halloweekend, and I approached him. I was hype to see him to ask about why he unmatched me. He told me he didn’t – that he doesn’t even have a Tinder… I brushed it off, told him he was full of it, and that if he didn’t want to match with me, he should have swiped left, and I walked away.          

 For the sake of honesty and clarity, I will tell another embarrassing part of that night that furthers the story… Axel, posted up in his typical spot on the stairs was clearly watching me and my friends for the rest of the night – not really a problem, just an observation (lol because he was observing me). But, so, there was this dude who was really obnoxiously drunk and kept getting into our faces and like falling into us. So Axel and his other hot bouncer friend came and dragged them out, which was very kind. And so, to be a total bitch, I kept making gross, sexy eye contact with the other hot bouncer because I’m a piece of shit. Anyways, by the end of the night, I was ready to act and then go home, so I approached the OTHER hot bouncer, tried to give him my number, and he declined as he was wearing a wedding ring…. LOOOOOOOLLLL. And as I was leaving, he pulled Axel to the side to, I’m sure, tell him all about it.

 So I didn’t go back to my favorite bar until December first… LMAO.

 And between then and now (2 months) there have been approximately 4 interactions between us, in which I roll my eyes at him, and shout loudly to my friends that he is “that asshole from tinder.” And that was that. Until this past weekend. (Sorry for all of the backstory…).

 But so, this weekend. My favorite friends from college made an appearance for my birthday, and we went out. Of course, we went to my favorite bar and of course Axel was there. I had way too much to drink. Whiskey is a bitch, my dudes. And I honestly just don’t know if I had a good time or not because I was just so drunk. Apparently I danced, but I don’t remember dancing. Apparently I spent a good 30 minutes chatting with this dude, but in my brain it was only 5 minutes (and I only told him that I was out of his league..?!). And the night is winding down. I did tell my friends about the “asshole from Tinder,” because it is a ritual, and we’re ordering an Uber.

 My drunk ass decided that it’s time to confront Axel about unmatching me on Tinder. AGAIN. So my drunk ass climbs the stairs, falls into him, and demands to know why he unmatched me. He says, and I quote, “for the second time, you’ve got the wrong guy.” So. What do I do, you ask? I looked him in the eye and said, “does that mean I can give you my number?”

 Guys, I think my soul left my body. Idk where that came from, but out it did. Woooo. So he hands me his phone to add my number, which is a super rude thing to do to someone as drunk as I was because I was actually seeing double. I hastily typed my number and name, ignoring the shouts from the onlookers and my friends, I squeezed his thigh, and I began my descent down the stairs.

 In the Uber on the way home I was convinved I had typed my number incorrectly. I didn’t. And I know this for sure because on my way home I got a simple text that said “all you had to do was ask.”

 We engaged in a wildly flirtatious conversation the following morning. He was so smooth and sexy and funny. He intimidated me; he excited me. At one point, he noted how I “bounce [my] ass on HIS dance floor,” and I am getting more and more excited with every text. He recalls all of our interactions, which he apparently remembered in great detail. He tells me about the glorious fights he’s been in and he’s broken up as head of security. He goes on to tell me how he loves fighting (red flag, but whatever). He tells me that he was watching me last night and every night.

 Later in the evening, after all of my friends have gone home and I have slept off my hangover, he tells me that he isn’t looking for a relationship or love. I press on, and he admits that he’s just looking for sex. Not really a big deal for me. Apparently he’s been cheated on a bunch and had his heart broken and yadda yadda yadda. I shut that down real quick, because, frankly, I just don’t give a shit about his mental and emotional state; he said he wants sex and so that’s what he’ll get.

 He asked me what I want. And I told him, very honestly, that I want to fuck him once; he’s not the type of person I would see myself with long-term or even short term, but he’s hot af, he’s a flavor of ice cream I haven’t yet tasted, and I wanted a taste. He, after being appalled at my bluntness, said that was hot. And he asked me when I wanted it. So I told him to come over, right now (Note, this is fewer than 24 hours after I’ve given him my number). He got all excited, asked for my addy, and on his way he was.

 Couple things for clarity sake. He’s in the army and lives in the barracks, so going to his place wasn’t an option. We did briefly discuss STDs and condoms. We briefly discussed his dick size (look, I might be an asshole, but I may also just be sick of being surprised with little dicks). We talked about my pets and whether he had any allergies (I really am a considerate human). I gathered his last name (so I could add him to my list of lovers). And then I sent him my address.

  And then he started getting weird on his Uber ride over (yes, he took an uber because, no, he doesn’t drive in this area). He asked me if we would talk first or just go straight to the bedroom. He got all weird when I talked about my birth control and lack of STDs. He got really offended when I jokingly called him a boy (“I like to think of myself as a man; I’ve always acted older than I am”). Did I mention that he’s exactly my age? Which makes him significantly less attractive to me. It also indicates a lower level of maturity than I’m used to (I promise all of these little bits of information will matter in the long run).

So he finally arrives. And we have to play hide and seek because my place is a little hard to find. He comes in, gets acquainted with my fur children, and we chat some. He informs me that he doesn’t make the first move when he’s not “in his own place,” which is his backwards way of saying he’s a pussy, because he’s never hooking up with people in his place as he LIVES IN THE BARRACKS. Moving on. I made some bullshit claim about being shy, and whatever. He finally drops a hint, saying “I don’t think we’ll hook up on the couch,” so into my bedroom we go.

 Once in there, I haul myself into my bed sprawl out a bit, and await his company. And he hesitates. He does a bit of pacing – he won’t get into the bed with me. He takes off his shirt and socks, empties out his pockets, and stands at the foot of my bed, watching me. I smile a bit, fend off the confusion. And then he gets in my bed, sits on his heels, and continues to watch me. He tells me that he is “very good” at giving oral, but he’s also very selective about who he gives it to… and I’m just like “bruh, that’s cool, you don’t want to go down on me. Can I go down on you?” and he of course assures me that’s cool. He tries to protest and say that he never said he didn’t want to go down on me, but I hushed him – I really don’t care.

 He asks me how long I’ve ever fucked for. I tell him 90 minutes, and it was truly exhausting and would prefer not to do that again. A solid 20 minutes is all a bitch needs. He goes on to brag that he’s fucked for 3 ½ and 5 hours before – fuckathons. GREAT. I don’t want that.  

 I, being as smooth as I am, made fun of his tattoos that I’ve never seen before. He comments on the one on my foot (which is a tribute to my father and something I don’t exactly want to share with him). So with some quick thinking, I suggest he tries to find where all of my other tattoos are (:

 He looks deep into my eyes, for a few moments, and then says “are you ready for this?” and he pounces at me. Guys, I tried my hardest, but I couldn’t help but bust out laughing. But he’s a trooper and he laughs too, noting how horrible of a line that was. And so we kiss. And kissing him isn’t too bad. He’s not as wide as I’m accustomed to (body, not dick, you pervs…), but he has a nice body and great biceps and I’m here for it. He gets me naked. Gets himself naked, and continues kissing me. This really isn’t so bad. Also, disclaimer, he’s LARGE. But I don’t think it’s more than I can handle.

 And he’s kissing me. And rubbing the tip of him on me. And I’m like “hahaha that feels like a condomless penis,” and he’s like “I’m prepping you.” ???????? Wtf? Am I dinner? “Well maybe other people don’t call it that, but haven’t you had a guy rub their dick on you before sex?” ……………… Yes…. So he sits back on his heels and goes to grab a condom. And I’m all protesty, saying “I haven’t blown you yet,” pouting and shit, so he’s all “come here.” Boy, no. That’s not how I do this. So I push him over, lay on top of him. Put my legs between his and spread them, and kiss him. I kiss my day down his body. And I blow him. And I’m really really going for it. This goes on for a couple minutes and I finally stop and he’s panting like a dog. He goes “that was… ugh,” and MY BITCH ASS HAIR FLIPS AND SAYS “I wouldn’t say I’m n expert but I'm pretty damn good.” ….. Who am I?!

 He asks if I want to start on top (since that’s my golden cum spot), and I tell him no, based on his size, it’ll be easier to start with him on top. So we swap, and he grabs a condom. My dudes. HOW DO YOU PUT ON A CONDOM?! I don’t want an answer, just think about it for a minute. Please. You pinch the top and roll it on. You pinch. The. Top. And. Roll. It. On!!!!

 Guys, he unrolled the condom completely, spread it wide like buttcheeks, and shoved his dick inside of it. Good thing I’m on birth control, because there’s a 98% chance that bitch was ripped. But alas, I persisted. He positions himself above me, pushes himself in, and that is that.

 But I think it’s really important to remember that he hasn’t touched me down there. No stimulation whatsoever. Nada. None. Zero. And don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty easy to get me going – I turn me on. And blowing people turns me on. So there is some moisture because I got to play and dom, but I’m not exactly ready for all 8-9 inches of him. And it doesn’t help, that his movement is less than ideal.

 Most men fuck with their hips. The motion is pretty isolated to the hips, right? Just lower body, at the very least. This man was bracing himself with his knees, and pushing his whole body forward and back. I think I was getting motion sickness, my god…

 We’re there for about 40 seconds, and then he flips me on my side, and spreads my legs? And it’s just some weird ass position, and I’m like “hey! Talk to me!” and he’s all “ugh, you like to talk during sex?” to which I reply, “no, I just think it’ll be easier if you tell me what you want from me so I can get there.” This angle is very obviously not working (I have a lot of thigh…), so he keeps rolling me and has me in doggy (another 40 seconds pass…). He throws his legs outside of mine and tells me to close my legs, so I oblige. And then he’s fucking me like a corpse. No biggie! He communicated! I can work with that. Except that he’s just pounding away and with each thrust the little bit of wetness I had is being removed…

 He asks me if I want to get on top, so I agree. I position myself and he pushes himself inside me. And I do the thing, right? But he’s playing dead or something, so I’m like “you have to fuck me while I fuck you – work with me,” and so he adds a little hip movement. And while this is better, the angle just isn’t right, but I’m still trying. And then he goes still?? And I’m like “hello? Do you want me to cum?” to which he whispers “yes.” (And looking back, this may have been a point of miscommunication). And I’m like “ehh, I can try but I don’t think I can..?” And then he freaks.

 “I can’t do this. This is too awkward.” And I’m like “uhhh, do you want me to keep going? Should we stop? Do you want to leave?,” to which he head nods. I get off of him and the condom comes with me (this would be a great place for an upside down smiley emoji..). He’s like “I lost the condom,” so I pull it out of me and hand it to him (another upside down smiley).

 “Where’s your bathroom?” “Across the hall.” And he exits the room. I start vociferously grabbing clothes and flinging them on. Trying to slow my breathing because clearly, I’ve done something fucking weird and that’s why he wants to leave, right? I’m a weirdo or I’m gross or SOMETHING!! I did something wrong.

 And he comes back. He’s also grabbing clothes and throwing them on. And I’m like “hey, hey, hey, slow down, let’s talk about this.” And he says, “there’s nothing to talk about, I just can’t do this, it’s too awkward. I need to go.” And I’m like “okay… well what happens when I go to the bar? It’s my favorite bar; it’ll be awkward when I see you.” “It’s a public place, I can’t stop you from going there.” ……………… SOS.

 So he’s leaving my room and heading for the door and I’m like “you have to wait for your Uber, you don’t have to wait outside,” and he goes “I will,” and he’s out the door and speed walking to the world outside, the world away from me. And I am dumbfounded.

 The following morning, I’m using a Q tip and when I go to throw it away, I notice the condom in my trashcan. Untied. Full of cum.

 He freaked out because he prematurely came.

I honestly don't know what the fuck I’m doing. I think maybe I’m desperate for a legitimate connection – to feel close to somone. I just don’t want to be alone, maybe.

             I hadn’t talked to Assad in 2 weeks. And in this time, shit has just gone wrong. Things at my job were/are falling apart, it was my ex’s birthday (which was apparently very difficult for me to handle), continuous familial bullshit, kicking Roy out of my bed, trying to find a way to tell someone I will not be their maid of honor… etc. And so one night, I was hitting rock bottom (my favorite place to be!) and I’m crying and chugging a bottle of wine. So of course, I text Assad (even though I haven’t communicated with him in 2 weeks).

             My text said something along the lines of “fuck date. Tomorrow. My place. 10 o’clock.” He eventually replied saying that sounds hot, yadda yadda yadda. But, so, the next day rolls around and it’s like 9:30, and he texts me and is like “hey… I’m really tired… can we reschedule.” And while I want to say I was pissed about it, I wasn’t, because I was definitely nursing a headache, so I was down for sleep without sex.

             We did eventually set up a day to meet. But I’m still just down in the dumps. Questioning the meaning of my whole “dating” life, thoroughly just hurting over my ex… And I honestly wasn’t sure if I could turn myself around enough to see him. Like you don’t want to see a guy you’re fucking when you’re weepy, you know? But I listened to Ari’s “thank u, next” about 7 times, and decided I could pull myself together enough to have sex with him with a smile on my face. So I head over to his place (my depression is clearly shown in the disarray of my apartment…).

             I get there and he’s in the bathroom, blow-drying his beard (I. SHIT. YOU. NOT). So I’m waiting in his living room, playing on my phone, until he’s done. And he apparently “saw it on my face,” but after getting us wine, he gets on the couch, holds up his arm and invites me in for cuddles. Weird flex, but okay…

             And he asks me what’s wrong, to which I respond “let’s not talk about it.” But that’s not a good enough answer, because he presses on and eventually I tell him about the difficulties I’m going through and how I'm struggling or just “stuck.” And guys… why the fuck was he so nice to me? He just talked to me and listened to what I had to say and offered his opinion, offered advice, and told me about the similar situations he’s also gone through. We talked about my ex, even though that is like a huge no-no when you’re with another guy. We talked about Roy. We talked about loneliness. We talked about my other dating experiences. He told me that if we were in one anothers lives for the next two years and if he had to choose between sex with me, or more of a mentor/friend relationship, he would choose the mentor relationship. Like why is he the only person that told me to be careful when I told him about Roy? Why is he the only person who didn’t laugh it off and was genuinely concerned about my well being? Dudes, he. Was. Just. Lovely.

             And maybe that’s the key to good sex (or maybe it was the wine). But that night, we had amazing sex. Like amazing. I mean it was goofy because we kept talking and laughing and fighting. There were hot moments and intimate moments and sexy moments (there was even a moment when he cracked my entire back – the fuck is that?!). And it was just amazing. And I wasn’t upset that his dick wasn’t bigger. I wasn’t upset that he wasn’t hurting me. I just enjoyed being with him. And it was fucking bizarre.

             Even with Roy, when I “felt something,” it was empty. Because I wasn’t feeling anything for him, per say, but feeling an appreciation for his body and his proximity. I’ve never let Assad hold me in the way that I did Roy, but I was so much more open and raw with Assad. He was kind to me. He listened to me. He comforted me. And then he fucked me in just the right way.

             And while all of that is wonderful and magical, I’m fucking terrified. Because I don’t know what I’m doing, but I have a lot of feelings. Maybe I’m crazy, but every guy I sleep with is my current obsession until I sleep with another. Does that mean I should go out and try to screw someone else ASAP? Does that mean I stop talking to Assad? I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know why I get so emotionally invested in these people. Finn. Eli. Roy. Assad. Am I so desperate to be with someone that I will literally be with anyone? It seems that way. And if that’s the case, how do I stop?

             Could things ever be serious with Assad? Is it just that he reminds me enough of my ex that he brings me comfort? Do I like him or do I just like what he is to me right now? Why am I overthinking this so much? This is not what tindertales are about! I’m doing it all wrong!

It’s been a while. My blog isn’t fun anymore. It’s not fun because I don’t have it in me to fight off the demons long enough for a mediocre dinner with a mediocre guy who only wants to fuck me once or twice and then find someone shinier.

So I deleted the apps. Tinder is gone. Hinge. The league. It’s all gone. And I’m processing.

My life is continuing to hit bumps that I’m not prepared for. Sick grandparents that are getting sicker. A long lost ex to offer comfort when I don’t ask. (No, not THE ex, but another).

I am so confused by my emotions and how to process them. But this is where I’m at:

I will never love someone the way I loved Alex. Never again. And I think that’s a good thing. Because it isn’t sustainable to breathe for someone else. It isn’t realistic to love someone more than you love yourself.

But even so, I love him in that way. In a completely unhealthy, obsessive, soul-crushing way. And I’m alone. And that’s hard.

I don’t even know if what I feel is love. It may be a by product of the relentless abuse. It may simply be the way he conditioned me over time with pain and minimal reward. Because even now, when he hasn’t put my needs first in the entirety of our relationship, I am plagued by guilt for sleeping with other people and talking to other people. Simply because I know he wouldn’t like it. Even now, with no claim to me, he would be livid by what I’ve been doing. And it still scares me. Is that love? Am I confusing love and fear? Did he get me here? Or did I?

And so I’m here. Alone. And so full of sludge in my soul yet empty. Day dreaming about a boy that put the sludge there. Thinking about what he’s doing all hours of the day. Thinking about if he misses me. If he’s with someone else.

And so I’m here. Contemplating my hearts capacity to love again. He may have been awful, he may have chipped pieces of my soul out piece by piece... and I wonder if I’ll ever feel a fraction of the fire in my heart that he makes me feel.

It’s probably best that I don’t. I shouldn’t want this for myself. Because it’s unhealthy and gives another person way too much control over me. But it’s a feeling I yearn for. Will I ever be satisfied with any other relationship? I’m sure I’ll be content with the dynamic (at some point), but I don’t know if I’ll ever have such intense feelings for someone else ever again. And I want it. Even though I know it’s bad for me.

I don’t know what to do with this. But tonight is another night that I’ve come to the place where he used to fuck me.

And I sit here and I write to him. And I, of course, don’t send the messages. But I write to him. I talk to him. And I miss him. And this is the closest i think I’ll ever be to him again. And I think that has to be enough.

So I took a trip to escape my reality. I went to visit family in another state and managed to get 1,667.84 miles away from home (but who counted??).

I spent a weekend relaxing. I got hammered my first night. So hammered I woke up at 6am, threw up everywhere and also managed to shit my pants (none of my friends have admitted to doing this, but I’ve done it like 6 times in the last few years - judge me).

And the next day I recovered. And shopped. And shopped. And ate. And shopped.

And the next day it snowed.

It snowed 6 beautiful inches. It snowed all day. And we did nothing but watch the snow and drink beer and watch movies and just be. And it was everything I needed. I found bliss in another state.

But then it comes time to leave. And don’t get me wrong, I had moments throughout the trip in which the sadness creeped in. But being in a new place with people I love, I was able to quell those feelings.

And now I’m here. Sitting in the airport. Waiting to board my flight. Sad as fuck. Holding back tears as I watch a man hold his fiancé and kiss her head. Because the harsh reality, my reality, is I’ve experienced one of the worst losses of my life.

My ex boyfriend was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Or maybe the best. Because I learned so much about myself and about love and just everything.

But even so. Despite all of the bad. Despite all of the heartache and anger and tears and fights and missed phone calls and canceled plans... I still miss the fuck out of him.

And unfortunately, going 1600 miles away doesn’t change that.

Unfortunately you can’t outrun your problems (or apparently your heartaches). The pain is just part of the process. And pain demands to be felt.

So I’ll weep softly on this flight home, wipe my tears before I land, and get back the fuck on all of my bullshit.

Because bad bitches don’t cry. Well they do, but not for very long.

He may have broken my heart. But he will not break me. I will heal. And I will come back stronger than ever.

Thank you - my 4 friends who read this - for sticking out this ride with me. I’m in the shit, but I promise it won’t be forever.

The great, mysterious Eli graced me with his presence the night after Roy (keep in mind, it has been a month since I’ve seen him…).

            He was on a train home from somewhere and said he would come over after he got off or something and I was like “aight, bet.” There was talk about sex, so I started drinking a little bit to make it a little easier on myself (as I would need to be the aggressor).

            So he comes over, and I’m drinking, and we’re talking and just hanging out. We talk about Roy (LOL), we talk about my family, my job.. I’m a chatty drunk. But so we’re just talking and laughing, and then I realize it’s been an hour. We both have to get up early, so he excuses himself to the bathroom. I expect him to come out and pounce, and for sexy time to happen, but he just grabs his shoes and is heading for the door. Not a big deal, but I was a little thrown.

            And I was texting him the next day, and he’s all “I was super confused – I didn’t think you were in the mood… yadda yadda yadda…”. And I realized that in order for us to ever have sex, I will need to fully initiate this. And I’m so uncomfortable with that information lol. Like in what world am I the initiator? I am so much a submissive that it hurts my bones to even consider making the first move. But that’s what he needs…

            I told Eli that in the future I will try to be more aggressive and make the first move and whatever else. So maybe I’ll see him in another month and we can try this thing again. Maybe that next time he won’t come over at midnight so we won’t be so rushed. Maybe I’ll grow a pair and just fuck him. But maybe I’ll still just be an awkward weirdo and will never actually see if he’s lying about his 7 inches.

Guys, I did a thing. I did a very serious, crazy, LIBERAL thing. Roy came over and I kicked him out of my bed over politics.

             The night started out well enough. He came over and we talked and cuddled (a lot) and had some wine (of course). And we’re doing the cute thing where we kiss and talk and giggle and laugh and just thoroughly enjoy one another’s company. I got those fluttery butterflies again and was truly just basking in the bliss of sharing my space with a man that I mostly trusted.

             And somehow we got to guns which then turned to politics, and he boldly admitted that he’s a Trump supporter.

             Let’s just pause for a minute and let my world shatter.

             I kindly asked him to leave. And he was not happy about it. Not angry per say, but just absolutely floored. Confused. Uncomfortable. And that’s good. I want Trump supporters to be uncomfortable. He goes on to say “why does it even matter? It’s not like we’ll ever get married.” And my dudes, that was it. Because we both know that marriage was never in the cards for us and that none of what we’re doing even really matters, but to so boldly call it out, when I openly expressed my bizarre feelings for him.. was just. Rude.

             So he left. And that is the end of Roy’s story.

             Because he may not think his support of Trump should have any effect on our sexual relationship. But sorry, I don’t like to be “grabbed by the pussy.”

             And that’s the tea.

In a desperate attempt to distract myself from the ultimate fuckboy that is Roy, I continued my Tinder shenanigans (or Hinge in this case), and I matched with Brody. And Brody is an interesting fellow; he went to college not to far from me, lives not to far from me, and did some time in the peace corps but was pulled out because of a civil war in the country he was in (if you feel so inclined to do the research, you can definitely find where he was, but that’s on you).

             And so I was excited to meet Brody because he seemed like such a cool guy. He knows like 4 languages, served in the peace corps… Is just an overall cool guy, right? He told me some funny college stories (he was definitely wilder than I was in college), so I was fully prepped to have a fun night with a typical college douchebag and I was okay with that.

             But so I meet Brody out for dinner one Friday night. Important detail: I have a friend coming to spend the weekend with me from college though she isn’t supposed to be here until 9, and we’re having dinner at 7, so plenty of time. But anyways, I went all out. Curled my hair. Heels. Lipstick. The whole deal. And I should mention that I did all of this to go to fucking ShakeShack (you can laugh; I’m laughing at myself). But anyways, I’m totally feeling myself and am hype about this date because I look hella cute and this guy seems super fun.

             But of course, nothing ever goes according to plan. Because I definitely left my house with enough time to get there, but was still 10 minutes late because of traffic (jesus I hate where I live). And I hate being late, so I’m just sweaty when I get there. I also had no idea where we were going, so I got lost and it took us a solid 10 minutes to find one another. But whatever. It happened. We made it work.

             So I find him. Kind of. We’re on the phone and he’s like “I see you I think” and he’s right – he’s on the floor below me, looking up at me. So we meet at the escalator. And guys… I’m so sick of ugly guys. His pictures were cute AF, but in person, he just didn’t do it for me. And this guy is actually really nice too. So the niceness combined with his face and body… My pussy was dry. But whatever, my pussy doesn’t need to be wet for me to eat a burger.

             We get to the place and it’s packed (again, I hate where I live). So we get in line and order food and we order beer. But since we got beer we definitely have to eat there (or chug them, which I definitely suggested and was down to do – he was down if we couldn’t find a table by the time we got our food). But so we got out food and a table and we sat down to eat and chat. And boy did we chat. I think that’s my favorite part about first dates. Well, only if the other person is fairly outgoing. I’m pretty good at matching the personality of those I’m with, so if I’m with someone super outgoing, I can match and it’s totally good. But I definitely enjoyed talking to his ugly ass and hearing all about his experiences and sharing some of my own.

             We begin wrapping up our dinner and I know that the end is near so I need to make the decision to peace the fuck out or continue hanging out with this dude. And so I suggest we go to the bar upstairs in the mall and keep drinking. So we go and order giant beers and keep drinking and it’s great mostly. But there are two important moments that are worth noting, and my reaction to both are also super important.

             First: he is showing me pictures of himself form all of his traveling and his time in the peace corps and I’m pissed because the guy in the pictures is so cute and then I look to the guy holding my phone and I’m just not. Into. It. When you aren’t physically attracted to someone, you shouldn't continue to hang out with them (either that night or more generally, after), but here I am, just hanging out with this ugly guy that I'm not into. It’s fine.

             Second: he told me a story about when he went to visit his friends’ college while he was in college. And it was Halloween or something and, so, Halloween is always a fucking nightmare, right? Well he’s hammered and he’s party hopping which is fine, but his friends and him take a bus to go to another place and he finds this girl on the bus (also hammered). And so they start making out – totally fine, two consenting adults, whatever. But then they reach his stop and his friends get off, and leave him on the bus making out with this girl. Not really a big deal either. But then he goes to go home with this girl. And they get to her place, and her friends/roommates let her in and slam the door in his face (and she does the awkward “I’m so sorry but my friends are out of control – there’s nothing I can do”). And so I’m really weirded out by this story, because we all know those guys. Those weird fucking guys that we end up hooking up with and regret, so we text our friends telling them to get rid of him. We’ve all literally been there, right? We’ve all had to get rid of the weird guy, right? And it just made me super uncomfortable that I was having dinner with the weird guy that another girl desperately tried to get away from. I should have let this end here, but of course I didn’t.

             We finish our beers and we’re in the process of leaving the bar. I tell him that if he goes with me to get wine, I’ll drop him off at the metro station on my way home (there’s one right by my place – of course, this dude doesn’t have a car either). He agrees, and onto the grocery store we go. And I don’t know how the fuck we got on the topic, but I start telling him how I’ve been hooking up with these non-white people that just all seem to have tiny dicks, right? Like I’m going tf off about how every dude I go out with sucks because their dicks are tiny. And it’s fine, because Brody is white and I fully expect him to have a little peen, too, so I’m kind of indirectly insulting him though he doesn’t know it.

             But here is where it gets interesting, because he isn’t the least bit offended because he claims he’s significantly larger than the guys I’ve been with recently. The fuck? I’m like, there is absolutely no way in hell. And he responds, goig on this rant about how white guys get a bad rep because there are no white “show-ers,” they’re all “growers.” Weird flex, but okay, Brody.

             We go into the grocery store, get the wine, and are getting back into my car when my gas light comes on. So I’m like “can we get gas before I take you to the metro station?” and he agrees, so up the road to a gas station we go.

             And, look, I’m thoroughly not proud of this… But he was explaining how large he is, and I’m a bit desperate. I’m desperate to not feel anything for Roy. I’m desperate for sex that mirrors sex with my ex (he was large, and that’s all I had for 2 years, and I just wanted the sex I was accustomed to having). I’m just desperate. And so yes, Brody is ugly, but I suggest he goes home with me for quick sex before my friend gets there. It’s like 8:45 and for some reason, I legitimately thought she was coming at 9:30 (reality: 9:00PM), so I was thoroughly convinced we had plenty of time. And he, of course, agrees, so he runs into the gas station, buys MAGNUM (yippee) condoms, and onto my place we go.

             He says hi to the beasts, and then we head to my bedroom. He starts taking off some clothes, I start taking off some clothes, it’s fine. Except that he’s kind of sweaty, which is kind of gross? It’s like 40 degrees out, why is he sweating? But still, I persevered. And guys, look, I know my body isn’t great, but I’m got enough going in the right places, you can kind of ignore that my stomach isn’t flat. But this dude…. He just looked soft. Like no part of him was hard (minus, you guessed it, his dick). He just looked like a soft, squishy thing, and I just wasn’t into it… But still, I persevered.

             Anyways, he starts kissing me, and he kisses in the same way I imagine a snapping turtle would. I tend to, the first time I'm hooking up with a person, go slow and let them lead, but my dudes, this man was going nuts. It was all teeth and darting tongue – he like bit me, and not nearly in the good way. And he’s just going for it. And it’s all so fast. He’s pawing at my body. He’s panting. And I’m just not with it. But I’ve made it this far, and Jenna doesn’t give up!

             He realizes I’m just not feeling this, so he lays next to me, slows down a little, and just kisses me. Still not great, but without the speed, the ferocity of his kisses is significantly less, so I start to get there. And we do the thing. And it isn’t great. I’m not wet. He is large, it hurts; skin is pulling… And he’s just gross. Full disclosure, I can only orgasm on top, and so I’m on top, and I’m looking at his face, and I just… HELP.

             I close my eyes, I finish, I let him finish, and we’re scrambling for clothes (my friend should be here any minute – it’s like 9:23 [Note: she was supposed to be here at 9, but I thought 9:30]). We get dressed, and I walk into my living room to put on my shoes only to see my friend, Mia, is walking up my walkway to my place. GREAT!!!

             So Mia comes in, gets to meet Brody, and thinks this shit is fucking hilarious. Brody is visibly uncomfortable, climbing into himself, and I'm just like “welp, we’ll be back! Going to the metro!”

             And of course, after I drop him off and get back, Mia is all “dude, he’s UGLY!” Yes, thank you, I know…

So a week passes and I haven’t seen Roy yet. It’s literally a week later, the following Thursday, and I’m Snapping him. He’s naked in bed after a long day, and there is sexy talk in the air. Note: I’m taking a trip the following day (Friday), so sleep is kind of important for this on this particular evening. We mildly discuss him coming over, but he stops responding. Not a big deal.

             But an hour later, he snaps me back having awoken from a nap. By this point, I’m in bed. And we’re talking about him and his life and the other woman he’s slept with in the week since I’ve seen him. And I’m oddly jealous. Maybe not oddly because I am very much the jealous type and don’t know what the fuck I’m doing trying to sleep with multiple men and NOT get emotionally attached.. But I’m jealous. Why fuck her when he can fuck me, am I right? And we’re talking and talking, and I move past my jealousy. And I don’t remember where the conversation went, but I do remember I said “Come over. Now.” And this mans put on some clothes and got. In. his. Car. To. Come. To. Me. !!!!!

             Not going to lie, I definitely set a 20-minute alarm and let myself sleep a little while he was driving over. And voila! He’s here. He comes in, doesn’t even get to say hi to my pets before I’m shoving him in my room and closing the door. He starts stripping immediately, and I’m right there with him. Clothes are flying, mouths are kissing, hands and skin are touching… It was rushed, but in a needing way – we both needed this.

             He didn’t bring a condom. I don’t own condoms. So we fucked without one. And I know, I’m disgusting and risky and whatever the fuck else, but he’s clean and I’m clean and I have an IUD and he uses condoms always (apparently not though, right?). But, fuck it (I know, I won’t be saying that when I get chlamydia, but so far so good so…). So we have sex. Not earth-shattering sex, but good, hot, heavy, needy, sex that was like cracking your neck after staring at a computer for too long. Every nerve in my body responded to this man, and I was THERE for it!!! It was also one of the most perfectly timed team orgasms I’ve ever had because as I was finishing, he came as well and we rode the last bit of pleasure together which was ~magical~. Okay, maybe it was earth-shattering, but what the fuck ever.

             And this is the more interesting part… Because I let him spend the night. In my bed. With me. It was a fucking nightmare, but I let it happen. Essentially he brought literally nothing but the clothes on his back and his phone. No toothbrush (gross, but I gave him a spare [which he left at my house?!]), no charger (I tried to find him one, but apparently my non-iPhone chargers are out of date – also not my problem). But whatever. He got his teeth brushed and programmed his work number into my phone so he could call in at 5:30AM (I really should have kicked him out…).

             And this is where things get weird. And uncomfortable. And I'm embarrassed to write this shit, but I have to fucking write it because I need to get it out.

             I physically laid on top of this man, naked bodies pressed together, and we talked. We talked for so long (let’s not forget I’m traveling in a few hours, but whatever…). And I don’t even remember what we talked about, but I do remember that I asked him not to ghost me. I asked him to be a decent guy and to not disappear without telling me first. And he agreed. I remember we talked about love (or more accurately, the lack of love he’s experienced in his life). And I think this could be a result of the type of person he is. I mean he’s a stereotypical douchebag – he doesn’t want to be tied down or commit to anything, he just wants to live out his early 20’s having fun, and that’s fine. I genuinely considered whether he met criteria for a sociopath (he doesn’t), but when I told him that, he was totally offended and offered me a little more information about the feelings he does have. And it was in this moment that I felt a thing. I felt something for this dude. This dude that was in my bed, naked, holding my naked body, listening to me complain about love, and so I told him that I loved him. And I did clarify that I wasn’t in love with him, just that my heart felt a fondness for him that was love. I loved who he was to me in that moment. And he wasn’t weird about it. And I felt hopeful. I thought that maybe my TinderTales were over, that maybe there was something here. And so we cuddled. And we kept talking. And eventually, we slept. Together. In my bed.