Date me or F*ck You Pt. 3


Since my last post on this blog, numerous dating apps and sites have surfaced from B.A.E. to SoulSwipe and the ultimate cesspool of dating – TINDER. The past 2 years has been filled with both love and heartache. Between situationships relationships, rebounds, and random men, I entertained a few of these apps in hopes of meeting (and experiencing) someone new.

The Young Buck

Something about entering your 30s makes you feel alive again. I feel sexy. I like to do and say hood rat things because my life experience(s) has afforded me the luxury of getting away it. I’ve managed to make it. And not just wake up every day and struggle just to get by. I mean… I’ve manage to survive the ugly, the good, the bad, unplanned pregnancies, losses, death, dream jobs…you name it. Nigga we made it! I feel like I am boss and borderline unstoppable. My end goal in dating is to get married, build, and have a family. Not too much to ask for, right? My beloved grandmother once told me that I’ll likely end up marrying an older man (who has a child) and that’ll be our family. Maybe she’s right. But since I’m 30+ with no ring serious relationship in sight, I figured this year…I’ll have a little fun.

2015 tried it.

See…I like my men slightly experienced and sometimes that equates to older. I recently decided to give Tinder another swipe and landed on this 6’3” Adonis of a man. The only caveat…he’s still in his 20s.

We bonded over Greek life, careers, life in the Midwest (me being a native; him college years), and travel. So far, things were pretty great. It was refreshing to meet someone new that the entire NY metropolitan area hasn’t fucked and click. The communication was initially rocky. I had a hard time deciphering the latest teeny bopper vernacular/acronyms (i.e. tbh, hbu, wsp). I was able to leverage UrbanDictionary and snapchat my 16 y/o baby brother for help – so after a week or so…we were all good.

Our first date, in retrospect, was a nightmare. Initially, I thought I was having a good ass time. We went to a quant Italian restaurant and had drinks afterwards. Despite my 30s bringing on lactose intolerance, dinner was pleasant. We spent time shooting the shit about life & work. Me asking the more granular questions…him just listening. Oh! He did mention that ‘he doesn’t eat at the same restaurant twice’ and how his favorite thai spot is Pio Pio (which is Peruvian btw). I just chalked it up to him trying to impress me. Let us not get into the Gucci loafers and Rolex he wore to dinner…all while ordering Moscato but never sipped on Chardonnay. You fancy, huh?

After a while he decides to turn things up a notch (since I was keeping it cute). He started out holding my hand and then progressed to a full blown hand massage.

Ok. This isn’t too bad.

At this point we progressed from dinner to a nearby speakeasy. He leans in for a kiss and I’m no punk bitch…so I kissed back. During this moment, I should have put a stop to the kissing and hailed my Uber home. He turned porno on me:

“Oh yeah baby”

“You like that kiss”

“One more”

“Again baby”


“Yes baby”

“I like that”

After the first comment, I thought he was just being playful. A few more pecks in, this ninja was getting ready to nut orgasm. I’d like to think that I’m a pro at a lot of things. But do we really have to recreate a scene from while solely kissing?? It’s not that damn good to you. So cut it out!? I was both amused and confused. After I backed up and unlocked my lips from his death grip, I regained my composure and decided to loosen up a bit over a glass of Jack Daniels. Because, maybe kissing “these days” are supposed to be animated. We left shortly after our sex kissing scene. Before boarding my ride home, he suggests coming back to my crib to keep me warm and cuddle in my greatness. His words not mine.

I politely declined.

I knew he was ticked off by me not extending an invite to my home. I was hoping that his true motive was to fuck me that night and never call again. But he called the next day. Initially the conversation was going well. Him checking in on me, reclaiming that he had a good time the night before (I bet Brian Pumper), and how he would like to see me again. He tried it once more…asking if he could swing by later that night…but I decline and gave him the old, “I got plans” spill. Shortly after our telephone conversation ended, he sends a follow-up text with the exact words:

“I wanted to taste your juices so bad last night.”

You can’t seem to eat at the same restaurant twice [lies]

Your favorite “Thai” spot is Pio Pio [which is a Latin American restaurant]

You’re ready to nut explode over a kiss

You ain’t never had a glass of Chardonnay [yes – “aint never had”]

And still ordering Moscato like its fine wine

My ninja you don’t have an acquired taste in wine. What makes you think you can TASTE me?! I mean look. If your M-O was to hit it on the 1st night at least be a master con artist and ACT the part. You ain’t about that life, Sway. Because a real Playa from the Himalaya would have brought my rent money and Sallie Mae payment to the dinner table and then declared that we’re going back to my home to ‘cuddle’.

At this stage in life, that’s how you might get the pussy. You have to pay to play…since we’re having fun.

Do you have any nightmares/stories from Tinder? Soulswipe? Is this the norm these days? I have to admit… I hate dating. LOL


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