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I’d just hit my one year anniversary in New York, and believe it or not, I was still an amateur at dating in the city. I consider myself an old soul, so often times I try to steer clear of dating apps. Yet, just like any other twenty something year old, I find myself at the mercy of Tinder (Bumble, OkCupid, Happn, SoulSwipe). You name it, I’m there.
It was another dreaded Monday morning, and while pretending to work hard, I was at my desk thinking about men. For the last time I decided to give Tinder a try. I downloaded the app, and began the swiping war. After a few hours went by I finally matched, and started to have a great conversation with an interesting guy. His name was Max, and he was an investment banker from Kazakhstan. We chatted throughout the day, and besides the fact that he was an investment banker, he seemed to be a pretty cool person.
We agreed to meet up that evening at bar called Mace in East Village, known for their craft cocktails. To no surprise, I arrived a little late. As I walked in he stood up to greet me, he was very tall with tanned skin, dark hair, and very nice lips. We ordered drinks and got to know each other a little better. The conversation was going great. He talked about his exciting life as an investment banker, and his family, which I thought was sweet. Every girl loves a family man. After the third drink he asked if I wanted to try out another bar, and I agreed. The night was young!
We jumped in a cab and he directed the driver to a bar I hadn’t heard of. He assured me I’d love it, and that they had the best wine selection. As we were riding, my sweet gentleman started to get a little frisky. He gently grabbed my face, and started to kiss me without permission. I was taken aback, but there was something about his assertiveness I enjoyed. I didn’t stop him. Before I knew it, we were in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The driver pulled over to the curb, and we jumped out of the cab. I had no idea why we’d driven all the way to Brooklyn for great wine, but this was my attempt to go with the flow.
Once we were out of the cab he gave me two options. One was the bar with great wine, the other was his studio apartment, which we happened to be standing right in front of. I went with his apartment, since it seemed to be the only answer he wanted to hear. Once we were inside he poured me a glass of wine. Before I could finish he was on top of me, tongue deep down my throat. I quickly pushed his shoulder back, and told him to slow down a bit. I’d literally only taken one sip from my glass, and believe me, I’d intended on finishing the bottle. He was acting like a 13 year old virgin, there was thirst in his eyes. After we exchanged a few more words, he took my hand and led me up the stairs to his loft like bedroom. At this point I knew there was no escaping what was about to happen.
He took off all of my clothes, and I slid his shirt over his head. He was aggressive, I tried my best to keep up. After about 45 minutes of rough, sweaty, hair pulling sex, we were done. Finally. I was over him puling my hair, and asking for oral sex. Everyone knows you don’t pull black girls hair, and don’t ask for oral if you’re not reciprocating. I quickly put my clothes back on, and asked him to call me an Uber. There was no way in hell I was paying for my ride back to Harlem, from Brooklyn. He called the car, and kissed me goodbye. We agreed to keep in touch, although both of us knew this was the end. I rode back uptown feeling naive, and contemplating my dating life. It made me think, why do we as women agree to do sexual things we are unsure of? Maybe, I didn’t want to seem like a prude? Maybe I wanted sex, but definitely not like that. Whatever it was, from that point on, I promised myself I’d never just go with the flow again. If I’’m not 100% feeling it, then it’s a no. At the least, the sex could have been good, and not subpar.