I had a personally unique experience recently. I think it says a lot about the age in which we live and the impact of technology on my generation's culture. I don't know how else to put it--I was digitally hit & quit. That is to say: I had cyber sex with a man and was seemingly forgotten about shortly thereafter.
It started out innocently enough. A guy I met a few years ago sent me a text. He said he stumbled across my Facebook and wanted to know how I've been. Ironically he assured me, "This is not a booty call." I told him I was doing well and asked how he was doing, to be polite. I do not like when people come out the woodwork. I was not interested. I even considered lying about having a newborn child to cut the conversation short. Something changed my mind. Eventually he asked me out and I agreed.
We met through a mutual friend at a party. I remember him being one of the more personable people in a sea of unfamiliar faces. He approached me with wide eyes and a wide grin. Roberto* introduced himself and engaged me in conversation. We bonded over our interest in Latin American culture. I liked his style. His shirt was low-cut and revealed a chest tattoo. I didn't spend much time with him because I was at the party with another guy--a guy who warned me I was not to get too close to the boy with the chest ink. "He goes after literally every girl I bring around," my date said. I thought he was jealous.
When pictures from the event were posted we started following each other's social media. At some point we exchanged numbers and texted back and forth a bit. Nothing came of it. He asked me out a couple times and I think I said no because I was trying to be loyal to my friend. That was that.
When we got in touch this time around I was more open. We texted almost daily leading up to the night we agreed to meet up. We'd built some anticipation and I was looking forward to expanding upon our conversations in person. An hour and a half before our date I got a text from Roberto. He said he hoped I wouldn't hate him but he was exhausted. I was disappointed but I understood.
We continued corresponding in the following days. One of our texting sessions escalated to sexting. He was at work and took a break to blow off some steam in the bathroom. We exchanged explicit pictures and sexts until suddenly, my phone was ringing. Before I could request a second dick pic I was looking at my barefaced reflection as his name flashed across my iPhone screen. FaceTime. I didn't look my best but what the hell, I thought, and answered. "Seriously?!" I asked him.
"Yup!," he said smiling back at me. He looked sexy as hell in his business casual get-up, complete with disheveled curly hair and round tortoiseshell glasses (trendy as fuck). I was horny. I put my phone down as I fumbled for my vibrator. We went at it together for about ten minutes before he ejaculated into a toilet and returned to work. The experience felt surprisingly intimate.
Five days passed before I texted him, calling him lame for not reaching out to me. FIVE DAYS. To my surprise, he was pleasant and took accountability. He apologized and said he'd been busy. But he hasn't called or texted since then. I'm not sure why he hasn't been in touch. Maybe he does this with new women often. Perhaps he was turned off by my proclamation of being on a dick-less diet. Maybe my vagina didn't meet his standards photogenically. I may never know.
These days we can zoom through an entire relationship process without ever having been on a date, all within a hand-held electronic device. It puts a new twist on the Nat King Cole lyric, 'love is ended before it's begun,' huh? As always, when you share a part of yourself with another person there's no guarantee that you won't be played. I took that risk and I'm at peace with how things turned out, albeit baffled. Going forward, I think I'll keep it in my pants until homie buys me dinner.
* Indicates name has been changed