Tinder

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

A gorgeous woman from Tinder writes me for advice about her vanilla boyfriend. I do my best, conflicted as I am.

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

A woman on Tinder appreciates my… specificity.

Tinder has suspended me again, mid-conversation with a handful of matches, and I hate being the guy who just disappears.

Tinder is teaching me that not everyone treats interactions — virtual or otherwise — as real. I do, and it stings when that’s not reciprocated.

Holidays disrupt everything — writing, playing, routine. But I took my Tinder on the road, and apparently I’m catnip west of the Hudson.

Emily sends me self-destructing nudes on Snapchat to protect herself, but won’t send the clothed photos I actually want by e-mail.

A new dating app that’s sort of like Tinder, but creepier. Christine is less than 500 meters away.

She brought a bag with a girl scout uniform and several outfits, then declined to suck my cock while complimenting my eye contact. There’s not much I find more compelling than a woman who *might* want to go to bed with me, and that’s some toxic shit.