He was another Bumble match. 26, a student, Jewish, half Israeli and looked it: dark hair, sexy beard, big dark eyes and full lips. He had artistic, colorful tattoos, which I’m not typically into, but they suited his tanned, muscular arms.
We messaged for 6 weeks before meeting: I was sick, he was sick, he had exams, my diary was crazy. As a result, our conversations over text and FaceTime became somewhat intimate and deep. We talked about sex a lot. I texted him in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep, and he would calm me down.
It was the night we were finally going to meet, and I was excited to see how our connection would transition into real life. I had high hopes for everything, including the bedroom: he’d told me he likes to take his time and that good sex for him is primarily about the woman’s pleasure. Thank the lord.
We met close to my apartment. The minute I saw him, my heart dropped in disappointment. Like most Jewish men I’d met online, he was small. I had known his height, so wasn’t expecting tall, but his entire physique was petite; possibly skinnier than me. He looked so much ‘bigger’ in his pictures. Bit of a let down.
Determined to have a good night, I put on a smile. He was still handsome, and I was looking forward to talking in person. We impromptu picked a restaurant, that I wouldn’t go back to. The food was average, but we had a quiet table, perfect for chatting. Early in the conversation he filled me in on his unusual health issues. He’s coeliac, and doesn’t eat gluten among other things, such as dairy, nuts and turkey.
He also said he thought his body wasn’t absorbing iron (but had no medical confirmation). As a result, he had brought multiple bags of ‘beef jerky’ to snack on throughout the night. Sweet Jesus. Beef jerky? I instantly diagnosed him as a classic case of overly-neurotic, anxious Jew (but not to his face). I’d definitely picked up a quirky one.
Following this, conversation normalized. We had plenty to talk about: he’d lived in New York most of his life but did a stint in the Israeli army, his mum is a successful psychologist, and he had hilariously awful stories about his housemate. At times I noticed an underlying lack of confidence, which I hadn’t detected over the phone. He put himself down more than necessary, and shyly backtracked once or twice, slightly flustered. It was evident he had some shit to sort out, and I didn’t think I was up for the job of sorting it out with him.
This was a prime example of why not to talk too long before meeting. It lures you into a false sense of something ‘more’, before you know if there’s anything at all. Realizing this, I was clear to communicate that I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and was enjoying single life in New York. He said he wasn’t looking for a big commitment either.
Despite my husband dreams being dashed, and the frequent reaches into his bag for more beef jerky, I was having a good time! He was a sweetheart and a good listener and I felt 100% comfortable around him. He also had a killer smile. I contemplated whether to call it a night after dinner, but there was chemistry between us, and we both had expectations of going home together; I had changed my sheets especially! Without overthinking, I took him back to mine via the liquor store for a bottle of red wine.
The sex was slow and passionate, preceded with plenty of foreplay. He kissed and caressed each part of my body for an eternity, and he loved going down on me. It took some time to relax: I hadn’t been with someone sensual for so long, who didn’t see foreplay as a tick-box means to an end. He gave me a much needed, satisfying orgasm and release. I thought I’d found myself a new sex buddy, and was pleased.
At 1am, we went to sleep, only he could not. He got up twice to take Xanax to knock himself out, which I found bizarre. It didn’t work, and he started to stress. Eventually I had enough, and politely as possible, kicked him out. I needed my sleep, and if he couldn’t, he may as well leave me to it!
He texted to meet the following week, but I was on my period, and therefore suggested we wait until after. I didn’t anticipate his reaction: he was offended I didn’t want to hang out and talk regardless, and felt objectified: that he was being used for sex. I reiterated what I was and wasn’t looking for, and we argued over text. Although the sex had been great, I couldn’t feign more interest and emotional investment than I felt.
A few months later, we began texting again, and seem to have become semi-friends. He also changed his tune, inviting me to booty call him any time. I might, but I think that ship has sailed. He is a strange, sweet, sensitive, sexy man, and I’m glad we met. I appreciate that he was there for me during those 6 weeks, when I was going through a slightly unsettled, lonely time.
On some unidentified level we have a connection, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we hang out platonically one day. I wanted a sex buddy, but he unexpectedly ended up being more buddy than sex.