Stuck between Dan who needs to turn up the sex and Alex who needs to dial it down, our girl struggles to find a balance
Follow the weekly adventures of our anonymous columnist as she searches for love via her smartphone
BRITAIN has gone batty for online dating – but can you really find love at the touch of a button?
Last week, Sun columnist Tinderella, 39, met divorced vet Dan. Will he make the grade (and a move) on their second date?
I’VE had my first proper boozy date with Dan – and I’m confused. We met in a bar this time round and just like on our coffee date, he’s great company.
As the gin-and-tonics stack up, we laugh a bit, flirt a lot and I’m fairly confident he fancies me.
He brushes a strand of hair out of my eye and I touch his arm when I want to make a point. You know, all the usual “chase me” jazz.
Things are building up nicely, so when he walks me to the Tube and we’re laughing and he slows up, I’m SURE he’s going to kiss me.
But instead he turns to me, thanks me for a great night, pecks me on the cheek and walks off.
Huh? This is technically our second date and he had his hand on my leg for a good half an hour yet . . . nothing.
Have I read this wrong? Is he just taking his time because he’s nervous? Or did I have something in my teeth?
Luckily, there are no mixed signals from Alex.
We exchanged a few chatty messages on OKCupid last week before fixing up a date for this Wednesday.
He sounded a bit shy but was friendly and eager to please. I figured there was potential there. Then on Monday he texts me with a request . . .
“So when we meet, fancy a slightly cheeky dare?”
Nope, but go on.
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He continues: “It’s a bit naughty. If you wear a dress or skirt, I dare you not to wear any underwear :-)”
Seriously, Alex? I’ve gone from a person to some kind of rent-a-groin in the blink of an eye. Conversation? Nah, getcha clothes off, love.
I’m tempted to roll up naked from the waist down, pointing to my bits and shouting: “HERE IT IS!”
The thing is, I’m not a prude.
If I knew him and we were already dating, I might say yes. But we are complete strangers. We haven’t even flirted over email. I vaguely picture us making small talk about our Easter plans while a stiff March breeze whistles around my nethers.
We’re clearly on different pages, so I tell him Wednesday’s off and go for a drink with date pro Rach instead.
I quiz her on what clues I missed that Alex is more of a creeper than a keeper.
She’s none the wiser until I mention swimwear. Rach nods sagely as I mention one of his pics is a beach shot of him in trunks and says: “That’s it.
Classic perv sign.”
Apparently the budgie smugglers (actually, board shorts) are a red flag – showing the guy’s vain and only up for hook-ups. God, it’s a minefield out there.
Right now I’m stuck between Dan who needs to turn up the sex and Alex who needs to dial it way down.
Meet me somewhere in the middle, fellas?