The First Week: Bumble Date #1

Moral of the day: Sometimes a picture is worth no words, cuz it’s a lie.

Me. Wednesday at 4:30 p.m.

Let’s be honest. I did feel empowered from the HUD experience in post one but I didn’t want to experience it again anytime soon. 

So I went back to Bumble. 

I began talking to a man late Tuesday and he seemed pretty nice. Things seemed pretty good so I sent him my number. 

We talked of travel and life and sex, well he did. I had the day off on Wednesday. When he found out my neighborhood (I did NOT give him my address, just a building nearby), he invited me for coffee immediately, which I couldn’t do because I had my day planned. I had to go to another neighborhood miles away for my errands.

When he said he was thinking of heading down to the errand neighborhood just to see me a small warning bell went off. He seemed a little eager. I brushed it off and said happy hour would be good for me, completed my errands, headed home, showered and got ready for my first first date in six years. I was nervous but thought I looked pretty good with my cute red floral blouse that showed just enough cleavage and new jeans a size smaller than last year (thank you Keto) and my new clunky heels. I threw on my olive green Gap jacket from Goodwill to counteract the sexy vibe since it was 4 p.m. in the afternoon. I was so nervous. I gave myself a little pep talk and headed out. 

The place I had picked I had never been to, a sports bar a few blocks from where I lived. I texted I was there and he texted back, I see you. 

I turned around and my heart sank. 

He did not at all look like his photos. 

The photos were him. Yes. A much much younger him. 

The photos had showed a professor-y man with short gray hair, cute. His stated age on Bumble was 54. 

This guy was 65 if he was a day. 

His forehead was eating his hair back to the middle of his head where five-inch gray locks bounced. 

He was smiling with all his teeth at me. 

I wanted to leave. 

But I didn’t know how. 

We went in the empty sports bar. It was awful looking. 

We went upstairs to the area where games were and got a drink. 

He was a nice liberal, worked for good things and was going to read to a 7-year-old at the library for Pete’s sake. He deserved a nice time. I’d stay for a half hour. 

We got our drinks and he found a couch that we sat down on. 

He looked at me like I was Angelina Jolie. 

Like I was a steak and potato meal for a condemned man. 

Like I was the breast to a hungry baby. 

Yeah. It was sweet. Kind of. 

I have this writer side that gets me in trouble. The writer side is always curious and will proceed when the logical side of me is saying, “Bail! Now!” 

I listened to the writer side. I stayed. 

He is just smiling and finding out about me and wants to marry me now. He didn’t say that but I could see it in his eyes. 

He just kept laughing at his good fortune. 

He flung his arm toward me to give me a hug and knocked my drink, spilling it on me. He apologized profusely and then grabbed toward me a little more gently. 

We kissed. 

And then kissed more. 

And tongues were involved ladies. 

I kept thinking, “Okay if I close my eyes, you know, it’s not so bad. I can do this.” 

We made out, full on, in an empty sports bar at 4:fucking 30. I knew the bartender was watching us and it made me nervous. We were the only people in the place.

We made out more and he smiled more and professed his love with his eyes and laugh. He literally could not believe his luck. 

He went in for second base and I let him. He touched my nipples and it was pretty nice.

The logical side was screaming at me at this point to stop. The writer side was laughing its ass off.

I moved back and saw the bartender and a bouncer standing near us. I’m betting they were checking to see if I’d been roofied. I mean the difference in our looks was that much. I’m not trying to be mean but it was. 

“I have to go,” he said mournfully. 

I told him again how nice I thought it was that he volunteered. He asked if I stayed up late and I said no. 

I said I looked forward to seeing him again. At that point I thought I might. 

We walked to the stairs where he pushed me against the wall and we kissed more. 

Now he had been super sexual on his texts. It’s just that I was trying to get past his looks. And his age. 

He kept laughing and smiling at me. Shaking his head. 

I was ready to go and so, so happy that he had this appointment so I wouldn’t have to say that. I was wondering what the bartenders thought and I was embarrassed. 

We walked out. He was mournful that he had plans all weekend with his children, hugged me, and walked away. A text popped up immediately telling me how wonderful I was. 

Later he texted me a booty call at 9:30 but I ignored it. I unmatched on Bumble and blocked his phone. 

He’d lied and I had followed my curious side at the craziness of it. It had felt crazy. 

I don’t want to feel crazy. 

He kinda looked like a not handsome Einstein.

2 thoughts on “The First Week: Bumble Date #1

  1. This is so familiar to me because I’ve been there myself, many times over but not with older ones but just as unsuitable younger ones. I was just stuck with this idea of going with the flow and creating stories in my life, and giving guys a chance etc etc. In reality, it was all insane and I gave people too many chances. I did shit I’m not proud of and that I regret. Much of this was sexual. I don’t know if there is a moral to this rant, except…be mindful of who you give chances to? Life’s too short.


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