Tangent
Before I even start, I just want to point out that I love using the name Amber for this woman, because it’s so inappropriate for her. To me, Amber is the kind of name you assign to bimbos – or, better yet, strippers – whereas this woman is accomplished in a field where you have to be smart even to enter it, let alone rise to the top. But I did a quick google search for “names that are similar to <her name>,” Amber was suggested, and the part of my soul that loves irony knew that I had found my name.The Story
Amber was a Tinder match. I met her while I was travelling, and at the time my schedule was such that I was in this particular city from Monday to Thursday, weeks at a stretch, meaning that Monday through Wednesday nights were available for “playing.” I matched with Amber on a Thursday, and we started talking in the app. Her profile was very simple, just a normal photo of her (and a photo of the moon for some reason), but no text; a typical Tinder profile. Not the first such profile I’d swiped right on, and by no means the last.Amber is able to write, so we connected very quickly. I found out early on that she’s in an open relationship, so I made sure to let her know that my relationship isn’t open, I’m just cheating. I thought this was an important point, since that often goes against the ethos of people who are in open relationships, who need everything to be out in the open and aboveboard. She mentioned that she wasn’t sure if she could continue – which I understood, it’s why I raised it in the first place – but after a while she decided to go ahead anyway. (When we met later on – spoiler alert – she told me that she finally decided that it wasn’t her problem that I was cheating, it was mine. She didn’t need to worry about it, I did.)
Obviously we couldn’t meet right away, since I was going back home for the weekend, but we did talk some more in Tinder, and we both continued to be interested. One minor issue was that my profile didn’t include a photo of my face, so she didn’t know what I looked like, she only knew what one of my suits looked like. (She never mentioned if she liked the suit or not. I’m smart enough not to ask questions like that.) She said that her photo didn’t reflect her very well, either – she was wearing a wig – so we talked about exchanging email addresses, so that we could exchange proper photos, but never actually got around to it.
She agreed to meet me on Monday night, when I got back to town, so the rest of my weekend was spent thinking about it. I even planned my wardrobe in advance, which is something I never do when travelling.
Just minutes before I was going to leave the office on Monday I realized: we still hadn’t exchanged photos. She didn’t know what I looked like. I warned her that I’m 5’4” (since that’s an important detail for women, and I didn’t want her to be shocked), and it was pretty obvious that that was an issue for her. She asked if there was anything else she needed to know (meaning: was I also 400lbs?), and I said no. And then she gave me an email address (her fiancee’s) that I could use to send some photos, which I did. She didn’t call it off, she decided to still come and see me.
To my surprise, she agreed to come and meet me in my hotel room. (No expectations.) She’d pop by around 7:00, and we’d see what would happen. When I checked in I sent her my room number, cleaned myself up a bit, and settled in to wait for her.
Have I mentioned before how much I hate this kind of waiting? Sitting in a hotel room, waiting for a woman – a potential lover, if the attraction is there and I don’t screw it up – to arrive? She had told me in advance that she’s very punctual, so if she said 7 then she’d be there sometime between 6:58 and 7:02, but I prepared myself for the fact that she still could end up being late. So at 7:05, when she hadn’t showed up yet, I was fine, just nervous.
Then there was a knock at the door, so I calmed my nerves and opened it – and it was the fucking maid. She wanted to give me a fresh bottle of water and a chocolate. I have never been so annoyed and disappointed to receive free chocolate as I was at that moment.
But Amber eventually showed up, hardly late at all, and we had a very nice time, sitting on the couch in the hotel room, talking, and sharing the chocolate and wine she’d brought with her. (I’ve never had a woman show up to a date with chocolate before1!) She told me that she’s 420 friendly2, and that was actually the reason she was late; she’d stopped off for a quick puff before coming up.
I won’t bother to write most of what the conversation was about, because it’s not important. She’s in an open relationship, and that’s gone up and down, and I’m a cheating bastard, and that’s had some twists and turns, so it was nice to talk to her. Even if we didn’t become lovers, it would be good to be her friend. (Then again, I’ve got too many friends, and not enough fuck buddies.)
In a sense, it was very similar to my second date with Sheer: It was a great conversation, and it was nice to be able to talk to someone about things I can’t normally share with others, but it wasn’t like either of us were raring to jump the other’s bones.
On her way out the door we kissed, and it was nice. One of those kisses that lingers on my lips for a while after.
Or maybe I’m just a romantic at heart, and they all linger for a while. I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know.
The next day we exchanged a few messages back and forth, but nothing spectacular. In the evening, when I was out to dinner with some colleagues, she wrote me an apologetic message saying that she just wasn’t feeling it, and I wrote back that she didn’t need to apologize, that’s just how attraction works: if it’s not there it’s not there. I’d have preferred things to turn out differently, of course, but it is what it is. I think she said something else, after that, but I never saw the message because she unmatched me, and in Tinder, once you’re unmatched you don’t see the person anymore, nor the old conversations.
The Aftermath
I told her that it was fine, it is what it is, and I meant it. But holy goddam fucking shit was I getting tired of women telling me that they weren’t attracted to me. Julia Garwood was the worst for just coming right out and telling me she wasn’t attracted (but that I talk good); Amber was in the middle by being honest but tactful about it; I’m still sure that Sheer wasn’t attracted, but could never bring herself to hurt my feelings by saying it. Just once I’d love for a woman to see me, and think to herself, “I want that inside me,” instead of, “Meh. I’d be willing to do him, if it comes to that.”The thing is, just hours after I’d heard back from Amber that she wasn’t feelin it, I got a message from someone on A-M3 who told me that I’m “very attractive.” Which should have boosted my spirits, but it didn’t. Instead, my reaction was basically, “yeah right. Sure you do, lady.”
Every time I get one of these rejections – you’re a nice guy, but I’m not physically attracted to you – it makes me question whether I should even be bothering with this whole adultery thing. Or maybe I should just go back to escorts, and let them pretend like I’m awesome. Except that what was really crystallizing for me, with Amber, was that it’s not just about the sex, it’s about the connection. I like the connection; I want the connection. You don’t get that with an escort.
I’m not just learning that, I’ve always known that, I’m not stupid. But the connection goes up and down in terms of importance to me. Sometimes I don’t need a connection at all; just a sexy body next to mine. At those times, an escort is the perfect choice.
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