Dating

A taxonomy of the women I don’t enjoy interacting with on Tinder, which is to say, nearly all of them.

She reminded me of a bird — tiny, fragile, shivering when I placed my hand on her throat.

A turbo-slut, a Tinder match, and the inevitable trajectory from first message to leaving the bar.

On Tinder, I lead with something vaguely suggestive and slightly funny — and I mean every formulaic word of it.

My three approaches to swiping on Tinder, from mindless to attentive — none of which, it turns out, makes much difference.

A brief meeting, a direct question, and an unsurprising disappointment.

The unsexy truth about how I schedule sex.

Luna scares me — she’s too hot, too smart, too snarky, and my desire for her is so visceral it makes me stupid and vulnerable in ways I don’t write about well.

I meet, and prepare to use, Luna.

She’s tall, toned, and joyously kinky — and our date got me thinking about shame, its absence, and why I need it lurking somewhere nearby for sex to mean anything at all.