What Happens When You Meet Up With A Guy You Already Know On Tinder

I never intended to download Tinder, and not because I thought I was above the new millennial form of “online dating” or because I was off the market due to an unofficial relationship, another millennial fuck-up, that continuously led to crushed hopes and anticlimactic disappointments. I never downloaded Tinder because I feared Tinder. Online dating was, and still is, an extremely strange and uncomfortable concept; you have six photos and a limited bio to convince someone you’re worth dating, and if not that, fucking. Oh but don’t worry, Facebook throws in every single thing you’ve ever showed interest in in the past ten years you’ve even had a Facebook profile, so you’ll know if you and that USC frat guy both like Wiz Khalifa and Soul Cycle. It’s a match!

Okay, I’m not trying to shit on Tinder, or people that use Tinder in any way. A lot of my best friends actively use Tinder, and have even had significant relationships in result of the app. One of my friends used Tinder innocently (well, knowing her, it probably wasn’t totally innocent) to meet friends when moving to a new city, and was extremely successful. Someone who to this day she calls one of her best friends was all thanks to Tinder. When one of my friends first came out, the only way she could meet girls was through Tinder ironically, and she actually met a girl she genuinely liked.

I, personally, find it difficult to accept flattery from perfect strangers. For guys to be hitting me up with lines like “Hey beautiful” or “You seem amazing, I’d love to get to know you better,” is just straight up uncomfortable when a) you’ve never actually seen me in human form and b) how can I seem so “amazing” from four selfies and a bio that states solely “#migosgang.” What have we learned so far? I’m decently attractive, I know my angles and I like trap music. Any takers?

I downloaded the app one night before going out with my best friend. She got fed up with me swiping left, and the occasional right, on her profile for my own entertainment and forced me to get my own. “You don’t have to talk to anyone, you can just swipe if you want, it’s fun!”

I swiped mostly left, and on the infrequent cutie, I’d swipe right. I always matched with the chosen few, and I’d usually have a message in a pretty timely fashion. I never responded, despite slight curiosities, except to one. He was the only one to reach out regarding my unexpected interest in Migos, proving both that most dudes were not even glancing at my bio and that we may have a similar interest outside of those expired Facebook suggestions.

When we began talking, I suddenly realized we had already met before, and I told him not to feel bad if he couldn’t recall. It wasn’t in some “I walked with you once upon a dream” meeting that would never escape my memory. We met super briefly at a crowded bar on Sunset one night, introduced through a mutual friend with no further interest or conversation. He did barely remember when I refreshed him, and we essentially picked up where we didn’t know we left off. 

One night he invited me to go to a house party that was just down the street from his house, letting me know our mutual friend Kim would be there as well. I accepted, we pre-gamed in his room, and then went out for a couple hours. At the party, we engaged in conversation that should allow humans to get to know one another better, but I couldn’t tell you much about him if I tried. Maybe I was hesitant, and not because I had learned he was a Pisces, but possibly due to the un-official relationship I was still caught up in.

He told me later that night that I would sleep at his house because I had been drinking. This wasn’t in a forceful way, but more so in a protective way. When we walked home later, both of us slightly buzzed yet fairly coherent, Kim stumbling behind us, he gave me a t-shirt and we climbed into bed.

To my surprise, nothing happened. He didn’t even kiss me. Yes, he may have fleetingly stuck his hand down my pants before we both passed out, but other than that, it was a peaceful nights sleep with a semi-stranger in nothing but my underwear. In the morning, when it should get weird, it didn’t and we cuddled until I begrudgingly had to get out of bed to go to work.

A couple days later, my millennial lover came back to town, apologized for all the things he’d said drunk on the phone before he left, and I melted into putty. My friend told me that my Tinder boy’s ex had also made a comeback, the one he always seemed to go back to, and that I probably wouldn’t hear from him much. That didn’t affect me in the slightest.

Sometimes we still talk, me and Tinder boy. It’s extremely occasional, but our “pseudo friendship” has extended over some years now. I know when he’s not seeing his ex-girlfriend again, and he knows when I’m not purring like a kitten when the person who never chose to date me in the first place comes back around. We both know, although we’ve never talked about it. It’s sort of comforting to have that with someone, someone you sort of identify with, empathize with in a way for our broken hearts, but never feel the need to invade. Some things really are better left unspoken. But you know what they say, millennial lovers and ex-girlfriends come and go, but your Tinder security blanket is forever.

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