For a hot minute I thought I was going to get laid again, I really did.
I made a snap decision to rejoin Bumble a few days before Christmas. However I was tiring of the crap I was wading through and I remembered my hookup over the summer. I could do that again, I thought. I definitely missed sex. And while I’d ideally like to find something serious, if something like that came along I’d definitely consider it. So I posted a picture of me in a holiday suit, declared I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and joked about having a Red Room of Christmas, donning a Santa hat and engaging in elvish kinkery.
I created my profile at 8 in the morning, and within a couple hours I already had an interested party. She was 28 and lived a few miles away in my old hometown. We met for coffee that afternoon. Profile creation to first date in five hours. That’s a new record. She was cute as hell and even better looking in person. We chatted for an hour before parting ways with a quick kiss. Her lips felt amazing. I actually got hard, not going to lie. I would have kissed her longer but we were outside and it was pouring rain.
The plan was to meet for drinks the next night and then back to my place. She wanted to see this Red Room, or at least this kinkery of mine. We would have done so later that day, except she was stuck with the kid for one more night. That’s right, she was a single mother, which for me made her a candidate for something casual. However it was not to be. We messaged back and forth the rest of the day and then my last message went unread (Bumble now indicates when your messages are read).
A week went by with no further response from her, so I shrugged and unmatched with her. Then I put my Bumble profile back to semi-normal, excising the lines about not wanting anything serious and engaging in elvish kinkery. It was funny while it lasted. A week later I looked her up on Instagram again and noticed she’d updated her bio to include the handle of the guy she was now dating. Well. That was fast.
I took another trip into the city the weekend after Christmas, bouncing all around Midtown and the West Side before heading back home again. It seemed like everybody in the world had the same idea to go into the city that day. What a zoo. But I had Bumble running the entire time I was in there and I returned home with 90 matches. Within a couple of days I had whittled it down to a couple dozen and two or three hot prospects. I set up another date later that week.
This one was 28 and lived a bit of a distance from me. We picked a halfway spot at Dave and Busters. For those of you who don’t know, D&B’s is basically an adult arcade, along with a bar and restaurant and bowling alley. I got there before she did and she messaged that she’d be there in a minute. A minute later a girl walked through the doors, glanced in my direction and continued inside. Her phone was in her hand and I noticed Bumble on the screen, and she was turning this way and that looking for someone. Was that her? She looked a little like my date. I dithered about and finally went to ask her, and it wasn’t her. Oops.
I got back to the front doors just in time for my real date to walk through. Ah. This was definitely her. She looked a little different in person but it was definitely her, and she was definitely cute. I liked, and I admired her assets as we sat at the bar and took off our jackets. We had a drink before proceeding to the games. I held my own but she whooped my ass at most of them, and as we waited for the basketball hoops to open up I put my arm around her and she immediately reciprocated. Yes! That was a good sign. And I got hard again. Seriously, that’s all it takes with me sometimes.
We bowled a couple of games, had something to eat in the restaurant, and then browsed the shop to see what we won with all the points we’d earned. Not enough for anything good unfortunately. But we’d been there for four hours so we called it a night. Outside I gave her a hug good night and then I went in for a kiss. Second first date in a row that I went in for a kiss. I have no qualms or hesitation about doing so now. However all I got was a quick peck. Huh? I went in for another. Another quick peck.
I was so surprised that I very nearly said, “That’s it…?” We had such a great time and she seemed to have really enjoyed herself, laughing and joking around with me and touching me in return. I thought for sure she’d be into more than a lightning-fast smooch on the lips before doing the familiar trot across the parking lot to her car. I said good night and drove home with a pit in my stomach, replaying the entire night in my head and second-guessing everything I had said or done.
Then I waited. Sure enough I got the following message the next day, right on schedule: ““Hey! So sorry it took so long to get back to you. I had a lot of fun, thank you for a nice evening. Unfortunately I don’t think we’re the right match. Best of luck!” Dammit. That stung. Sigh. Well, at least I still had a large pool of matches to draw from. The next weekend I was back in the city, this time to meet one of my matches from the previous weekend.
This one was a 27yo au pair from South America. She worked for a family on the Upper West Side, so we met at this place called Mom’s Kitchen not far from Restaurant Row. We met out front and she looked just like her pictures, but seemed a bit quiet and passive. Hmm. Things got off to a slow start but eventually warmed up to a semi-decent conversation. But despite her proclaimed excitement about going to a place with all-day brunch, she ordered… a salad. FFS, really?
There was an Irish pub down in Hell’s Kitchen called O’Neills with live Irish music, so I said I was going there and asked if she wanted to join me. Basically I gave her an out, because I wasn’t sure what else to do with her and I wanted to ensure that I at least had a good time. However she elected to come with me and I bought her a drink, and we took a seat near the back where it was quiet enough to talk but still able to hear the music. Eventually I ran out of things to talk about with her, and she asked me very little in return. Yet she stuck around.
We were there until midnight when the session ended, and before it did I jumped up and did a quick step with the rest of the group that was dancing to the music. She seemed totally unimpressed and uninterested. The hell with her. I was still going to have fun. It was another four hour date for me, and I walked her back to her subway stop. Nice to meet you, hug good night, and away she went. Then I took a seat in Times Square and started swiping, collecting 30 more matches before I started walking again. (Full disclosure: I indiscriminately swipe right and filter them out later.)
The Nanny continued to text me for the next few days before things dropped off. I was surprised she did, because I didn’t think she was really interested in me. I’d decided I wasn’t. Plus the whole time we were out she didn’t make one motion or suggestion to split the bill, or offer a round of drinks on her or anything. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, but it left a really bad taste in my mouth, especially considering the distance I covered to meet her and the time it took me.
And finally, I come to the story behind the title of this post. This past weekend I took part in Improv Everywhere’s No Pants Subway Ride. It’s a public prank that is exactly as it sounds. I’ve wanted to do it for a long time but missed it each year. This year I finally made it. There were six starting points around the city and I chose the Great Hill in Central Park. Hundreds of people showed up, and were divided into groups and assigned subway cars. Of course I was sorted into the group without any of the cute girls that had gathered.
From there we took the C train to Times Square, and switched trains to go to Union Square. The looks people gave us were priceless, but since the event garners a good amount of media coverage it’s not such a surprise anymore. In fact we had a reporter from one of the major networks embedded with my group. She didn’t take off her pants though. I on the other hand relished the opportunity to show off my sexy legs. The gym has been paying off.
There was an impromptu pantsless dance party in Union Square despite the cold, and I stuck around to watch before putting my pants back on and going down the street to gorge on junk food. I spent the third weekend in a row swiping on Bumble and collected 80 matches. This time, though, it was early enough to meet someone before heading back home.
She was 39 and lived on the Upper East Side. Coincidentally my sister and her boyfriend were also in town, over at a rooftop bar in the meatpacking district. So I met them for a quick drink before meeting the latest Bumble chick. When I told her i was gorging on junk food she was like, “you should have invited me!” Well, I can always squeeze in more, I told her. She said there was a Shake Shack near her so that’s where we met. Man, I love me some burgers. At least she didn’t order a salad, but all she had was a burger with a glass of water and no sides. Women don’t like to eat on dates, do they?
We talked for an hour about our lives, families, politics and culture. Stuff like that. And only for an hour because she said she had to get up at 4:45 for work. Hmm. Okay. I know what that means when they call it a night after only an hour. Sure enough, she unmatched with me on Bumble afterwards. Oh well. Guess I failed to make a good impression.
So that’s all for now. There’s more to write about, but this post is long enough as it is. I’ll save it for the next one.