Tindergarden

After asking some friends which app-based dating site they would recommend, several suggested Tinder.

“But I thought Tinder was just for casual hookups? And that, that’s not really what I’m looking for!”  

Shoulders shrugged, “Used to be but it’s a legit dating site now. It can really be whatever you want it to be. Just be clear what you’re looking for in your profile.”   

So I flipped through my photos for the most flattering shots of me looking happy, cool, fit, fun, sexy and, frankly, as youthful as possible. I created a profile.  I sat nervously staring at the screen, hesitating before pulling the trigger on making it public.  What the hell.

As a 63 year old woman, to say I was feeling worried and insecure about getting myself “out there” would be a massive understatement. I’d been divorced for a year, after my ex walked out in search of his “best life.”  I knew I wasn’t quite ready to date, but sitting at home with a bottle of wine and a Netflix felt like an admission of depression and defeat that I wasn’t ready to call my “best life,” not without a fight anyway. Tinder was my way of declaring that I’m still in the ring and swinging.   

So, what was I really looking for?

Embarrassingly, I wasn’t sure. I had a better idea of what I didn’t want. I didn’t want a long term relationship. Not just yet. But I wasn’t about casual sex either.  I wanted long-term friendship. I wanted intimacy, emotional as well as physical.  After going without intercourse for the last four years of my marriage, I was ready for a solid fuck.  But with someone who cared about me, yet didn’t need to put me into monogamous lockdown. I guess I felt like I just needed to have some fun, with somebody, or some bodies, that I liked, trusted and could be myself with. Would that be so much to ask?

I pushed the button and my profile went live. I sat in suspenseful silence. As a total newcomer to the swipe culture of app-based dating, I really had no idea what to expect next. I literally didn’t know which direction to swipe. I heard a ping: “Someone likes me!” Another ping! In 30 minutes I got over 100 likes. It was a major dopamine rush. I was stunned. Now what do I do? 

But wait, what’s this? I had a message!   My heart was fluttering as I clicked on it. The sender was handsome. 12 years younger than me. The pictures of him in mid-air karate kicks, his black belt wrapped around his six-pack were impressive. He looked large and powerful. So far so good. I dropped down to his message, my eyes widening and my jaw dropping as I read his proposition for me: “Hi! You’re an extremely attractive woman.  How would you like to receive oral sex on a regular basis?  I am a Dominant man, experienced, skillful at giving pleasure and very oral. Would love to make you come as often as possible.”

Excuse me? 

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. I wrote him back: “Thank you for your very generous offer. Although I suspect the correct answer should probably be, YES! By the way are you available tonight?, somehow I’m just a tad taken aback by your directness.  I have to confess I’ve only been on Tinder for five minutes and you are the first person to message me (thank you!). Your forthrightness may be standard operating procedure, but seriously,  I’m a teensy bit shocked, and call me old-fashioned, but, should we maybe consider getting a drink to get to know each other a little better first?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, lol!”

He continued: “What are you into? I like bondage, toys, rough-housing, ass play, flogging, and cats”

Cats?

An image of myself intricately roped and getting my ass flogged with a cat caused a sudden short circuit popping sensation in my head. 

“Um, what do you do with the cats?” I asked.   

“What? I don’t do anything with them. I just like cats, that’s all. I have one. He’s my pet, he’s my buddy. I rescued him. He’s my boy.”

“Oh, ok, that’s cool! Yeah, cats are nice.”

“Do you like being tied up?”

“I’ve never been tied up.”

It was maybe a movie I’d seen once where a woman who lets a man she barely knows tie her up and gag her. It didn’t end well.

“Honestly?” I responded, thinking that I needed to wrap this up, “I guess I’ve been pretty vanilla my whole life.”

“Well, we can work on that.” he countered, “we’ll get you to 31 flavors before you know it! lol!”

“Yeah, we could, but you know what? I’m just gonna have to think about this a little bit, okay? I may not be quite as adventurous as some other women you’ve known.  I’m not saying I wouldn’t get kinky, but I don’t think I’m ready to just jump in with both feet quite yet. Anyway, nice chatting with you! And thanks again for reaching out.”

My head was spinning. What did he mean by “dominant”?  What did “ass play” entail, or would that be in-tail? I hadn’t “roughhoused” since my brother and I were kids, and it always ended up with some serious bruises, tears, and my father pulling us apart yelling something like, “How many times have I told you, ‘no roughhousing!”’  The thought of this massive black belt taking me down in a wrestling match was freaking me the fuck out.  All of it was freaking me out.

I realized in pretty short order that I had a lot of fear around kink.  Yet, apart from some generalized ideas about BDSM, leather, ropes and handcuffs, I didn’t have a strong understanding of what the lifestyle was really about.  I didn’t know if it was for me. I always just assumed that it wasn’t. I had viewed it as weird and maybe sick and it scared me. But then I thought: I am so tired of my old operating system. All my beliefs (are those beliefs even mine?), and limiting thoughts and always being afraid!  I don’t know if I have a kinky bone in my body, but dammit all to hell,  I’m going to find out!  

I opened a new tab in my browser and typed “kink”.  I wasn’t sure if I was opening my eyes or Pandora’s Box, but either way the blinders were coming off. 

• Victoria XO