I started to enjoy the process. OkCupid was like Facebook, except instead of seeing people I didn’t like in high school, I saw profiles of women who theoretically would have sex with me. I considered this a significant upgrade from Facebook.
After the LE-GAL81 catastrophe, I dashed off only short messages. I wouldn’t waste time on a missive that might get lost among Luv dem tits, wan 2 fuck? messages. The note didn’t need to make the woman fall in love with me or communicate the essence of my being; it only needed to be intriguing enough to get her to my profile. A couple of times I simply sent Do you like me? Check yes or no, and it got a reply. Eventually my quantity-over-quality approach worked and I ended up in Makeout City with Angela, a success that turned out to be a sign of things to come.
6
* * *
THE TALK
There is a checklist you can use to determine if a date is going well.
• Is she sitting close to you?
• Is she laughing at your jokes?
• Is she initiating physical contact?
• Is she awake?
I had checked off the first three with a flourish, but not the fourth. Shortly after our second round of drinks arrived, Bridget’s head fell forward like she was a trucker who had run out of speed. A quick recovery proved she hadn’t passed out or had a “spell.” She had just drifted off. In the middle of our date. During the climax of a story. It was good material too! Another date had found the story very amusing. And yet, it bored Bridget into unconsciousness.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, “it’s been a busy week at work and the wine went to my head a bit. You weren’t being boring or anything.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said, doing my best to hide my contused ego.
There was no good-night kiss, only more apologies. I assumed I wouldn’t be getting a second date—unless Bridget found herself suffering from insomnia—but she texted me the next day and asked when we could go out again.
For our second date I asked her to go on a hike in Malibu, which is about forty minutes outside Los Angeles. After I’d asked, I realized how potentially off-putting this date request might have been. Hey, I know you barely know me, and you have a propensity to drift off, but why don’t we go on a long car ride out of town and then walk into the wilderness where no one can hear you scream we can enjoy the outdoors. I knew I wasn’t going to serial-kill her, but she didn’t know I wasn’t going to serial-kill her. Still, Bridget said yes, perhaps thinking the only danger I posed was boring her to death.
The date ended up lasting almost eight hours, half of which we spent in horrible LA traffic. But Bridget, Murray, and I had a good time anyway. Once back in LA, I suggested we go to my place so I could cook her dinner. She agreed. (NOTE: If a guy offers to cook dinner for a girl it’s not because he’s a wannabe chef, it’s because his kitchen is close to his bedroom.)
The tactic worked. Before I could so much as put water on to boil, we were in my bedroom, with Bridget taking point. Her sexuality was unabashed in a way I hadn’t experienced. She instructed me where and how she wished to be touched, her actions indicating that my desires were a distant second to hers. I did nothing more than say, “Yes, ma’am,” and do as I was told until Bridget finished loudly. Only then was it my turn. By the time I’d caught up she was ready to go again.
Did I mention online dating is awesome?
Over the next few weeks I went out with Bridget a few more times and our compatibility in and out of the bedroom flourished to the point where I knew we’d soon have to have The Talk.
The Talk is when you define what you’re looking for in a relationship, how you feel, and whether you want to be exclusive. I dreaded giving this State of the Union address because I didn’t have good news for the country. I wanted to keep seeing Bridget (and sexing her), but I didn’t want to be her boyfriend and I was sure this would hurt her. After all, we’d gone on several nice dates and I’m wonderful—how could she not be in love with me? I would have to be delicate during The Talk to make sure she wouldn’t throw herself from a bridge upon learning she couldn’t have me.
But, before I got the chance, Bridget had The Talk with me. (This is more or less the transcript from our online discussion, my thoughts added in parentheses.)
Bridget: hey
Me: Hi.
Bridget: I think we’re gonna have to slow it down for a bit i’ve been having a grand time, but i’m seeing other people too
(Okay, so she wasn’t exactly picking out wedding china.)
Me: that’s okay
I am as well
(Don’t feel too proud of yourself. I’m a Player too. Playas gonna play.)
Bridget: nice
(Well, that seems a little patronizing.)
Bridget: we’ve gotten to know each other better than I usually do so maybe in the future we could try again, but I’d like to leave it for now.
(YOU’RE letting ME down easy? That’s what I was going to do!)
Me: If it makes it any easier I’m not looking for anything serious. I just enjoy your company.
Bridget: hmmm
thinking. Haha
Me: If you’ve gotten serious with someone, or aren’t interested, no problem
but if you’re worried I’m trying to make you into my girlfriend, don’t be
(No need to worry about me. I’m Mr. Chill-As-Can-Be Bachelor.)
Bridget: i’m just thinking that hanging out is fun, and if it doesn’t have to be something more serious then maybe we can still hang out
i’m in an “open relationship”
(Well, well, well, the truth comes out.)
Me: oh. so, you have a primary boyfriend, but you guys have an open relationship?
Bridget: it’s become that yes
well i don’t know
(Does her boyfriend know it’s an open relationship?)
Me: listen, I’m a pretty relaxed open person
(Oh boy—starting a sentence with “listen” makes it sound like I’m recruiting for a cult and ending it with “I’m a pretty relaxed open person” makes it sound like orgies are a very large part of that cult.)
Me: I like spending time with you
I like having sex with you
Bridget: yea we were pretty good at that
(Ego boosted! Date me or don’t, I don’t care—you said I’m good at sex. That’s all I need.)
Me: I got out of a serious relationship a few months ago so I’m not looking to be anyone’s boyfriend right now
(Girl, I’m a wolf, you can’t domesticate me!)
Bridget: ok
yeah, i do like our dating thing
that’s my goal right now too
to be open about my relationship
this could work.
Me: cool. seriously don’t stress.
(Ugh, I sound like a guidance counselor who wants his students to think he’s cool.)
Me: Whatever you’re comfortable with
although I would like to be good at sex with you again soon
Bridget: haha
ok, we’ll do that soon
well i’ve gotta go
And thus, for the first time in my life, I had a “Fuck Buddy.”
Every three or four weeks we’d get together, share a meal or see a movie, and have sex. This arrangement seemed like magic to me. I knew I didn’t have to “earn” sex anymore (thanks, Angela), but I still sort of thought, deep down, women ultimately wanted a serious relationship. They might say Let’s take things slow, but that really meant I hope this is the one who finally puts a baby inside me! Of course I was wrong. Bridget wanted the same casual relationship I did.
Bridget and I got so comfortable, we could talk about the other people we were seeing and give each other advice. One weekend I even gave her a ride to a date. We’d spent a Saturday night together and in the morning I took her to the Farmers Market, an LA classic, where she was meeting another guy. We arrived a bit early, walked around, and ran into my friend Kathy.
“And who was that?” Kathy asked after Bridget had walked away.
“A friend.”
“Friend, huh?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Come on,” Kathy said, “you two look like raw sex. Did you fuck behind the kettle corn tent, like, five minutes ago?” Kathy, a petite girl in her twenties, cussed like someone four times older and twice as drunk.
“No. It was thirty minutes ago and in my bed.”
“Where’s she off to now?”
“She has a date.”
“Oh, you little sluts,” she said, and shook her head. Kathy and her boyfriend, Jason, had known me as the monogamous Nice Guy and my new MO amazed them.
“And you don’t mind that she’s seeing someone else?”
“No. She knows I’m seeing other people too. We’re just honest about it.”
“Well, aren’t you so fucking goddamn adult.”
Kathy was giving me shit, but I DID feel like a fucking goddamn adult. In some ways, my relationship with Bridget felt like the most grown-up relationship I’d ever had. There were no coded communications, passive-aggressive stabs, disappointments, or jealousy. We were two people who liked to have sex with each other and didn’t pretend it was anything more. It was simple and honest, which wasn’t true of some of my past “real” relationships. I now saw that with the right person, The Talk didn’t have to end a relationship. This honesty thing, I realized, might be crazy enough to work.
* * *
The next time I saw Kurt and Evan, I reported my positive progress.
“The Plan is working—I am casual sexing and I haven’t gotten a girlfriend or an STD.”
“Yet,” Kurt said, “you don’t have an STD yet.”
“Don’t give up on yourself, buddy,” Evan said, “you’ll get one soon.”
When our food arrived, we devoted a minute to our ritual preparations, cutting eggs, applying butter, dripping hot sauce. I took a few bites of my country potatoes dish (the brunch edition of hash browns), and looked at Evan.
“Okay, so let’s hear it. How was Salt Lake City?”
He’d recently returned from visiting his ex, Joanna. Evan took a dramatic sip of his coffee.
“It started out really great. The first two days were amazing. Then, on the last night, she got weird and distant. Said she was overwhelmed by me being there.”
“So, are you guys back together?” Kurt asked.
“You know, our relationship is too complex for labels. We’re just trying to let it be whatever it is.”
“Which is nothing?” I said.
“I wouldn’t expect a slut like you to understand something as deep as what Joanna and I have.”
He was kind of joking, but he was also right; I didn’t understand what Evan had with Joanna. His breakup was so different from mine. They’d been (mostly) broken up for almost a year and Evan wasn’t seeing anyone new. Only a few months removed from being with Kelly, I had had sex with multiple women, which meant I was unquestionably over her. Your penis doesn’t work right if you’re not over your ex. That’s biology.
7
* * *
SEEING THE EX
After a pleasant dinner, my date, Sonya, and I headed to a comedy show. The person taking tickets looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember how I knew him. Not wanting to insult him, I acted generically friendly, figuring his name would pop into my head shortly.
“It’s great to see you, buddy,” I said. “How are you?”
“Um, good,” he mumbled. As he took my hand his eyes widened and his smile sagged a bit. This subtle fear response jogged my memory. I was shaking hands with Kelly’s new boyfriend.
* * *
Three months after Kelly and I broke up, I stumbled upon (actively sought out) her Facebook page and saw she was “In a Relationship” with a guy named Ryan. Being “In a Relationship” on Facebook doesn’t mean you’ve had a single date or gone out for a couple weeks—it means you’re committed and exclusive. People say “I love you” more readily than they change that status. If Kelly had updated Facebook that quickly, it meant the new relationship must have started right after we split. Or even before.
Ryan was a part of the group of new friends Kelly often stayed out with all night toward the end of our relationship. Though he was more Kelly’s friend than mine, I did know him and we’d even performed improv together on a few occasions.
One night during that period, when I tried to catch up with her after work, she was slow to respond to text messages, vague about where she was, and not answering calls. She seemed to be avoiding me. Finally, after I’d spent an hour eating alone in a diner, I’d gotten an address from her.
I’d expected to find a group at the bar, but it was only her and Ryan. They were sitting close together at a table and laughing loudly at a “bit” they were doing. They tried to describe the joke, but explanation always ruins humor, so I was Matteson, Destroyer of Laughter.
The loud music prevented me from hearing much from across the table, but I could tell from their body language the conversation was going really well. About halfway through my second drink a thought occurred to me—I am crashing my girlfriend’s date. Despite being the boyfriend, I was the third wheel. Amazingly, my initial feeling was guilt. I felt bad for interrupting. These crazy kids were having fun before I rained on their parade!
When we got back home, I asked Kelly if anything was going on between her and Ryan. She denied it, saying they were just friends.
“Then why did I feel like I was interrupting a date?”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“A guy and a girl go out for dinner and drinks. That’s what a date is. You were on a date.”
“I was hanging out with a friend. Don’t be so controlling. The way you were acting at the bar was embarrassing.”
Our relationship should have ended that night. I should have pushed harder to find out what was going on with Ryan and, more important, us. This would have led to the truth about our crumbling relationship and we would have broken up. That’s what should have happened. Instead, I immediately retreated from my position and apologized. Controlling, embarrassing, jealous? That’s not me. I wasn’t some chauvinist who wouldn’t let his girlfriend have male friends. No, I was the Nice Guy who always understood and never made a fuss. Instead of standing up for my real feelings, I shoved them under an apology and our relationship carried on for another miserable month.
When I saw that Relationship Status update, I felt vindicated. I WAS RIGHT—there had been something going on! I wasn’t a crazy, paranoid, controlling boyfriend; I had reacted appropriately to a weird social situation. The silver lining was thin, though, and I quickly became bummed. While our relationship was failing, Kelly had been forming a new one with Ryan. And I couldn’t say it surprised me. After all, we’d gotten together the same way, our relationship blooming as her previous one decayed.
* * *
I was halfway through the second pump of the handshake before I realized what was going on. Oh, wait, I shouldn’t be shaking hands with this person. I hate this person and this is super awkward!
I pulled my hand away and an uncomfortable silence followed as Ryan and I sized each other up. To break the tension, he turned to a coworker and said, “This is Matteson. We used to do improv together.”
Yeah, that’s the connection between us, that we did improv together, not that you’re FUCKING MY EX-GIRLFRIEND.
Ryan tore our tickets and Sonya and I headed upstairs to the theater. Once we were out of earshot, I told her what had happened.
“I thought he was a friend of yours, you seemed so happy to see him,” Sonya said.
“I didn’t fully recognize him until after we were already shaking hands.”
“Well, the good thing is you look like a total badass now.”
She was right. I, the spurned former lover, hadn’t cowered when I ran into the new boyfriend. No, I’d greeted him with the smile and handshake of a game-show host. I w
as a live-and-let-live guy, too happy in life to hate my ex’s new dude. Sure, I’d behaved this way because of a faulty memory, but neither Ryan nor Kelly would know, which meant I’d earn a few points in my battle to “win” the breakup. (I was still WAY behind.)
Sonya and I were sipping wine at the refreshment table when my phone buzzed with a text from Kelly: Ryan told me you’re at the show. I was already planning on going and I’m on my way. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.
“So, you know how that guy was my ex’s new boyfriend?” I said to Sonya. “Well, my ex texted. She’s going to be here too.”
“At least you showed up with a girl, right?”
“Very true.”
I’m sure meeting my ex-girlfriend wasn’t what Sonya had envisioned for our first date. We’d met online, but not through online dating. I’d heard her as a guest on a podcast and a Google search had revealed her to be as cute as her adorable voice implied. Via Twitter I learned she lived in Chicago, but would be working in Los Angeles for a few months, so I sent her a tweet telling her I loved her on the show and followed up with this: I see you’re going to be in Los Angeles. If you’d like someone to show you around, I’d love to play tour guide.
I immediately regretted sending the message. Making the offer in a public forum was dumb. If anything happened to Sonya in the next six months, the authorities would search her social media accounts and I’d become a prime suspect. I might as well have sent this message: I see you’re going to be in Los Angeles. If you’d like to spend some time kidnapped and living in a pit I’ve dug in my basement, I’d love to play your kidnapper. Can’t wait to smell you!
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