The Online Booty Call

I’d made the move to New York 2 months prior, and was wholly enjoying my foray back into single life. I met a new, younger guy on JSwipe: 25, a Columbia university student, and very attractive. My dating app age filters for men are set to 25-40 years based on the fact that my mum met my dad when she was 30 and he was 24, and they’re the happiest couple I know.

He had light brown hair, a typically handsome face, was clearly on the shorter side but had a broad, muscular body and a cheeky-chappy charm about him. His pictures assured me there would be no let down on appearance. We facetimed once or twice, and the conversation was openly ‘hook up’ focused, which suited me just fine.

It was Saturday night and I was meeting English girlfriends at the Lower East Side Meatball Shop. The wait for a table was long, but the burnt orange margaritas and pear martinis at the bar kept us busy.

The menu was mix and match: your choice of meatball (beef, chicken, pork, veg or turkey and cranberry special), sauce, starch and sides. No easy feat. I opted for lentil and Parmesan veg balls, classic tomato sauce with cannelloni bean starch, and we shared leafy greens. It was fun, wholesome and warming grub; a good way to line the stomach on a chilly November evening.

The Meatball Shop New York

We moved onto Hotel Chantelle, a multi level bar / club, which was packed. Each floor had a different vibe, from the classy, glass-topped roof terrace to the blue-lit R&B dance pit in the basement. I was in search of cute men, but my friends were waning, so we called it a night pretty early.

Buzzing and feeling frisky, I messaged my 25 year old en route home, and scandalously agreed to meet at my apartment. Although risky, I trusted my gut, which told me he was young, harmless, and hot.

When I opened the door, I knew it was on, and we got straight down to business. The throw down was sexy and it felt beyond great to be pushed up against a gorgeous body, but foreplay was minimal and I was pretty tipsy, so didn’t orgasm. He wanted me to say his name over and over in my English accent as he came, which I got a kick out of. Too tired and tipsy for round 2, we passed out cuddling.

Word of advice: do not schedule a booty call post lentil and bean dinner. I woke in the night so painfully bloated I could have blown myself back to England, and had to sneak to the bathroom multiple times.

A few months later, one desperately horny Sunday, I accepted his invitation of a booty call at his Upper West Side studio. I expected the sex to be better sober, but was bitterly disappointed. It was a classic case of porn imitation; he thought that a spit on the hand and a quick rub was enough to get a lady off. I called him out and attempted gentle suggestions, but I could tell he was embarrassed, and his immaturity began to show. I left unsatisfied, and have since cut ties.

He may have been a student, but wasn’t open to an education on women’s sexual needs. He got three ‘F’s’ in my books: fit, fun, but fail.

3 Fs

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