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The spreadsheet - part VII

#dating #NewYork #NYC #onlinedating  #BDSM #bondage #kinky #sex #romance

Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Hermione
Imports and exports
No bullshit
Black
yes
Tall

More cocktails at my local neighbourhood speakeasy. Hermione had this kind of ‘resting bitchface’ expression that made her look annoyed whenever she was in a neutral emotional state (or at least that is what she told me). This stone eyed expression made it hard for me to tell when she was actively disapproving of what I was saying or just mildly interested. She stared at me with a particularly disconcerting ‘open-mouthed-bitchface’ when (for some reason) I started to ramble about my desire to have my brain cryogenically frozen and reconstituted as a computer… Needless to say she wasn’t on board with the idea.

Despite her confusing facial expressions we seemed to get on and have plenty to talk about including our kinky dating experiences. While on date number one she reacted positively to the suggestion of a date number two. Later however she texted that I seemed like a nice guy but wasn’t interested in getting freaky with me.

*

Did that list get exhausting? Imagine how it felt living it…

At this point it might be starting to look to you, cher compatriote, like I was overdoing the whole dating thing a bit…  This may be true, but I had to do something with my time! I suppose I had started to make a few New York friends, but I certainly didn’t have a ‘posse’ of compadres. The friends I had made were either fellow NY stragglers or people who were ensconced within their own friend networks, which I felt somehow invasive trying to infiltrate. There was no central perk for me to go and laze in with a group of amigos; there was no ‘Monica’s apartment’ in which to gossip with shared acquaintances, there was no fountain to jump in pointlessly with a bunch of umbrella wielding besties[1]. It was just me... in my empty studio... with my two pot plants and a pet firefly I’d named Boris[2].

So it could be said that I dated for company more than anything. As an only child I don’t really mind spending extended periods of alone time, but the nascent companionship I felt on some first dates bleakend my otherwise empty social calendar. To quiet the discomfort I felt when second dates failed to materialise the most effective distraction was to seek another first date. And so the cycle continued.

After its early blossoming my sex life also seemed to be wilting in the summer heat (only 2 out of the 17 dates in this chapter were ‘home runs’, in case you weren’t counting ). Perhaps my new ambition to try and find a real match was part of the problem as I was keen to push for second dates and keep in contact with girls I’d met, but on the actual dates I adopted a relaxed approach and I didn’t push girls that I liked to come home with me for sexy times, as I wished to appear like ‘respectable boyfriend material’ who wasn’t just out to get laid. I suppose at that time I hadn’t completely debunked my theory that genuine emotional connection might be best cultivated by careful courtship, with romantic desires would be enhanced by a slow build-up of sexual anticipation over multiple dates[3].

However, one by one all the interesting first dates I hoped to court and seduce slowly dropped away into a black hole of unanswered text messages. My ‘building anticipation’ theory of romance did not square with the data I was collecting from ‘I want it all and I want it now’ world of New York dating[4]. If I didn’t sleep with a girl on the first date it seemed like my chances of seeing her again were dramatically reduced. This was especially true with the kink themed profiles, as I had several dates that seemed to go really well but I didn’t sleep with them, and then date two never happened. It was as if once the thrill of meeting a kinky Englishman for the first time had subsided then some critical frisson was irretrievably lost. Perhaps when these girls were given time to reflect their nerves got the better of them, or they decided the mysterious phenomenon called ‘chemistry’ was missing[5].

The silver lining to all these low blows to my ego was that at least I was getting plenty of experience. Continuous and excessive post-date analysis I was teaching me things, although what exactly I was learning would be kind of hard to condense into a lesson plan. Most importantly the constant dating was conditioning my subconscious (and other socially relevant backwaters of my brain) to make the right moves and not the wrong ones[6]. I suppose dating is a bit like learning to play a sport; you can read books about it all you want, you can plan your actions to the minutest detail, but if you don’t get out there and practice you’ll just get knocked for six every time.

*

Name
occupation
personality
hair
kinky?
Other notes
Timothy
Scientist
English
Brown
Serious weirdo
Complains far too much about dating.





[1] This will definitely become a more surreal paragraph if read by future generations.
[2] Well, Boris’s light in my life existed only briefly, but it shone oh so brightly! (And also greenly)
[3] Sometimes it’s funny to look back at how wrong you were.
[4] My keenness to maintain post-date contact may have also played to my disadvantage, perhaps making me come off as needy and lonely (which maybe I was, but I probably shouldn’t have projected that!) On the other hand I also wasn’t sure if some girls just wanted me to chase them more, and if not chasing them made them think I wasn’t interested enough to be worth their time… Not getting replies left me no way of knowing whether they thought I was too interested in them or not interested enough…
[5] Personally I think there is an over-reliance on gut instinct or ‘chemistry’ in early dating decision making, I think a lot of people expect it to be there instantly and probably miss out on a lot of great opportunities to fall in love just because the first time they met a stranger a bunch of brain chemicals didn’t fire in quite the right order.
[6] It also seemed apparent that I needed to be more confident and aggressive in my dating tactics. This might sound unpalatably close to the dating ‘philosophy’ expounded by certain noxious individuals who refer to themselves as ‘pickup artists’. Some of these ‘pick-up-‘‘‘‘artists’’’’’ teach that guys should be as manipulative, rapey, and consent violatey as legally possible in order to get girls into bed. This was a level of fucktardery I had no intention of exploring, and when I say ‘I needed to be more aggressive’ I’m talking about a subtle increase in aggression that could take the form of small differences in body language or how I said things. For example replacing the nonchalant “You can come back to mine if you like?” query, with more the more expectant question: “Would you like to come back to mine?” could easily tip the balance from a “not-sure” to a “maybe”.













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