Day 73: Tales Of Dating Re-establishment and Back-Up Boyfriends

Day 73 Of How To Move On From A Man — 1LD

Apr 18, 2023

Why do I keep finding myself on Tinder?

Lying in bed, listening to another lashing of Melbourne weather belt down against the roof of 1 Lovelock Drive, I’m lonely.

It’s been months since I shared this bed with a man, or slept next to a warm body. And for months now, no one has provided me with unforgettable pleasure.

You know the kind right?

It’s those scream-inducing moments that make you forget all about your collection of sexual aids in your bedside drawers.

I’m sure if things were better with James I could ask him who on this app would be perfect for a quick romp. But there was no way I was trusting him with anything about my love life right now.

He wasn’t exactly acting like the tolerant best friend, enduring the ups and downs in my life as I did his.

I felt almost ready to cut him off.

But now he was my roommate, the situation was getting more complicated than ever.

My Tinder profile is incomplete. I’m not sure what to say about myself.

“Hey world, I need someone to have meaningless yet not scary sex with. Don’t expect much because my last boyfriend dumped me and I have no idea why and that means I’m 99% sure it’s because I’m bad in bed.”

Yeah, probably can’t write that. Three emojis will have to do for now.

I see a man that reminds me of my first boyfriend. I lost my virginity to him. Most of the girls I went to school with, the private school brigade, regretted their first.

They wished they had waited for the one. I don’t live with such regrets. The first person you sleep with is a mere another person who helps you figure out what you want in bed.

Reading into who they are and what they meant to you only prevents you from getting into bed with anyone else.

I swipe past the guy. And a few more. I swipe past a man who I’m pretty sure I went to university with.

The face rings a bell.

Best to not lust over someone who knows the old version of me. The young, dumb and horny version of me. Thirty-five-year-old me has my shit together.

Well, depends on who you ask, I guess.

I see a man I’m convinced was on Big Brother. Or MAFS. Maybe The Bachelor? Either way, the airbrushed photo isn’t helping me think the available people in the world are real, raw or what I’m looking for.

With all the secrets going on under my own roof, I didn’t need someone who required decoding.

Wanting sex seemed like an exercise in futility. Needing sex? There was no point pining over that either.

I turned to my bedside table, pulled open the drawer and sighed. Even a vibrator couldn’t cut it now.

Day 73: Tales Of Dating Re-establishment and Back-Up Boyfriends

Day 73 Of How To Move On From A Man — 1LD

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