'Tinder
is to the twenty-first century what the Pill was to the twentieth.' A friend
just shared that pearl with me, and while it may be an exaggeration, there is
no doubt that the app makes all manner of intercourse easier, and perhaps a
little safer. The app works by presenting you with Facebook-sourced snapshots
of one man (or woman) after another— all located somewhere in your vicinity—and
if one of your chosen chooses you, it’s a match! That happens more than
10,000,000 times a day, according to the company, and it’s then that the
texting can begin. (As for the sort-of- safe part, Tinder shows you which
Facebook friends, if any, you share with a guy.)
The reasons why women
use the app, and the types of relationships that
develop out of it, are as varied as the human race itself (or the operating
system in Her). Read on for the sexy, chaste, exhilarating, hilarious—and
hilariously horrible—details.
CASE STUDY 1:
She Checked Off Every Item on Her Sexual Bucket List
She’s barefoot, without makeup, and in a teeny
black negligee when the elevator opens and I step out into her loft. “Hi!” she
says cheerfully, reaching up to wrap me in a hug, before “Oh, you’re so
pretty!” tumbles out, almost as if she didn’t mean to say it out loud. I blush.
I’m not sure if she’s just trying to make me feel at ease, but I’ll take the
compliment: It seems an excellent way to start a threesome.
Over
the next few hours, after some strong weed, innocuous conversation, and repeat
listens of Rhye’s Woman, I’ll have one of the most thrilling
experiences of my life. Her boyfriend will kiss me, then she’ll pull me onto
her living-room floor, and I’ll stare hazily at the ceiling, thinking, I can’t
believe this is happening.
A
few weeks before, early in 2014, I’d connected with the male half of this pair
over Tinder. A dirty blond with a boyish face, he wasn’t my usual physical
type, but when he asked after a brief introductory exchange, “Have you ever
wanted to be with a couple?” it didn’t feel creepy, because via Tinder, I could
tell he knew 18 of my “friends,” including the real ones, like my best
girlfriend and a former friend with benefits, whose benefits I’d enjoyed for
nine months. “Actually,” I typed back, “that’s on my sexual bucket list.”
Some context: As a whole, 2013 had been an
emotionally exhausting roller coaster of romantic disappointments. I’d had
multiple mini relationships, but
much to my clichéd, ever-so-slightly-panicky midthirties dismay, none had
gained traction. Enough already, I decided after a head-clearing vacation over
the holidays. I needed to do something different. This is often when a woman
declares to her best girlfriends and to “the universe” that she’s going on a
man fast, abstaining from dating and sex
to “heal.” But more time alone felt like the last thing I needed. I mean, dear
God, I’ve been alone for years. So instead of a man fast... how about a man
gorge (spiked with a few representatives of my own sex), designed to check some
items off the list? Because despite how loving, and lovely, my boyfriends have
been over the years, they’ve often seemed intimidated by my experimental
leanings. I had stuff to experience.
Which
is how I found myself in the aforementioned threesome; being bossed around by a
JFK Jr. look-alike; interviewing other group-sex candidates in East Village
bars; and discovering my personal fine line between super hot and super skeevy
dirty talk. I was happily more submissive than I’ve ever been, although I did
find out that I really don’t care to be slapped in the face. I buzzed the
apartments of men I’d met only electronically who were skilled in orgasmic
meditation, a kind of mindfulness practice in which the man strokes the woman
in 15-minute intervals to increase awareness and connection, not to mention to
extend pleasure. (I’d learned about OM years ago through a friend. My review
based on four sessions: more clinical than sensual—although, I have to admit,
one had been borderline transcendent.) Because I’m clueless about online porn,
I actually had to ask a male friend how to cut and paste porn clips so that I
could better sext with a guy who’d requested details about what turns me
on—something no boyfriend had ever done. (A word about methods: I didn’t
announce the bucket list on Tinder—too many crazies out there. I revealed my
intentions only once I communicated with someone for a while and decided I
could trust him.)
“Why
do you want to do these things with strangers?” a platonic friend asked me. I
could hear the genuine confusion in his voice, but he’s lucky enough to be in a
relationship with someone who shares his carnal tastes and quirks. Perhaps
someday I’ll find the perfect combination of meaningful and mind-blowing—the
dream, obviously—but not thus far. And regardless, I’m way too jealous to
explore group sex with an actual boyfriend. (I was so conscious of this, in
fact, that during that first threesome, I kept worrying that the dirty blond
was going to neglect his girlfriend. “Wait, you shouldn’t come with me!” I
panted to him. “Shouldn’t we stop so you can switch?” They both started
laughing.) Plus, the almost-anonymity of these encounters certainly turns up
the heat a notch.
When
I first launched my project—and that’s what it felt like—I had a pretty clear
idea of things I wanted to try. But as I started sharing fantasies with my
(very, very small) handful of similarly interested Tinder partners, my sexual
world expanded even more: Did I want to have a threesome with two men? Well,
actually, yes! How about two couples? I hadn’t really thought about it,
but...I’ll try it! What about double penetration? No, thanks—that looks
terrifying and way too porny.
Many
of these scenarios did not end up happening (yet?), although not from lack of
effort: My main partner in sexual experimentation created a flattering and
well-written Craigslist Casual Encounters ad to recruit a second man, but none
of the replies were workable. Disappointing, but not a big deal. For the first
time in my life, my libido and interests were accepted, appreciated, and
encouraged rather than feared or scorned. I learned more about what I wanted
and didn’t want, what felt good and what didn’t.
After
a few months, my connections started to wane. Couples are involved in their own
lives; everyone is busy with work (at least in New York); and sometimes you
just don’t want to keep things going (the face slapper and I decided our, um,
lifestyles were too different). And sexual questing brings its own form of
exhaustion—all the planning, the meeting up, the issue of chemistry. After a
multi-month period of having a hyperactive sex drive, I’m actually feeling more
focused on work (yawn) these days, so I’m setting aside the bucket list.
But...did you hear about that new threesome app, 3nder? I signed up.
See more at the: http://www.elle.com/
.jpg)
Post a Comment
Post a Comment