Dating : Online Dating in the Time of COVID

One thing I’ll say about online dating. If you manage to make it to your thirties with any semblance of a romantic sensibility intact, it’ll give you a run for your money.

— — — —

‘So this is the point in the date when I’d usually try to kiss . . . ‘ my date looks across at me questioningly.

We’ve just pulled up in a No Stopping zone. Night workers are standing a metre away in their hi-vis vests, drilling into the footpath. Traffic roars past. I’m in the driver’s seat, dropping him off at the bus stop. I look back at the interesting stranger I met for the first time two hours earlier.

He was pretty cool about it when the pub I’d suggested was closed, and in my lateness I left him outside on the cold street to wait and wonder a while. When I finally got there he smiled, joking that Balmain has more bars per capita than any other suburb in Sydney, and off we went to find another. We settled in a cute, cosy corner pub a few blocks away.

‘So how do we do this dating thing now?’, he asked me after about an hour, ‘you know, with Covid and stuff?’

I don’t know, I tell him. Same as before? I never dated before Covid*.

‘Because usually I’d give the person a casual kiss or hug when we met,’ he tells me.

Oh, that’s where this is going. I hadn’t really thought about that. Yeah, I guess I might too. But we didn’t do that. I haven’t done that with anyone for months.

I tell him I’m social distancing. So.

I was surprised when he brought it up again later, as we sat idling near the bus stop.

‘So this is the point in the date when I’d usually try to kiss . . . ‘

– or was I in the bus stop?

I admired his directness. But his words didn’t exactly fill me with desire.

‘This is the point in the date when . . . ‘

Wait, why? Or do you actually want to kiss me?

I glanced in the rearview mirror to check for parking cops. I was tired. Two dates, two brand new people, two nights running.

Did I want to kiss him? I mean, social distancing aside?

We’d just met.

And let’s face it, kissing across the front seats of a car isn’t exactly comfortable. Twisting your body around like that. Handbrake sticking up between you.

Why would you?

— — — —

Later that night I met the porndog hero of the online dating world.

He looked nice enough in the photos. He said he likes the beach and described himself as ‘very fun’. Who doesn’t like fun?

So I sent him a generic message like ‘Hey, nice to meet you. [Insert some question based on his profile pictures or something he said].’ We went back and forth a few times, the usual niceties. Then this:

Him: I wrote a book on online dating apps, sex and relationships.

Me: Cool, that sounds interesting! What’s it called?

Him: Sends link to article in respected Australian daily

What I should have said:

Dude, that was published five years ago. What have you been doing since?

What I actually said:

Me: Oh cool, I’ll take a look.

The article, which went viral in 2015, is all about how dating apps have revolutionised the dating game. The bar is always open, he writes reverently. It’s wherever you are, and the possibilities are endless.

Him: So where do you live in the Blue Mountains?

Me: Blah Blah

Him: Oh nice! I was meant to be up there tonight but the date got cancelled at the last minute!

Me: Ah, sorry to hear that.

Him: Yeah, I booked a hotel and everything.

I went back to the article. He wrote that he signed up for online dating and was amazed to go from having a few dates a week to having

‘a rock star-type experience of 18 orgasms . . . in a week’.

As I read on, it became clear that this brave new world of online dating has heralded, at least for some, the age of the sextrovert. In this bold new era, men are the consumers and women are always on tap.

He tries for a little humanity, referencing a sense of overwhelm and little heartbreaks along the way, but I think it’s fair to say that in general, he’s quite happy with the arrangement.

He sent another message.

Him: All good, it’s dating! So are you into something casual? Do you like to do things that are a little naughty, a bit cheeky?

Intriguing.

I flicked back to the web and found his website, a veritable treasure-trove of online dating escapades. I read about his threesomes and orgies and ‘Fifty-Shades’ moments. I read about the time he had sex with a girl half his age, who was basically ‘brought up on porn’ and wanted to try things that will ‘make your eyes water’, which he wrote with a light-touch pragmatism that did little to conceal the swelling of his . . . pride.

His website offers one-on-one online dating consultations with the man himself, promising to reveal his patented strategy for upping your game and reeling ’em in. It’s a couple hundred bucks for an hour or so.

I went back to the chat screen.

Him: Do you have a couch? Are you good at cuddles?

What I should have said:

Do YOU have a couch? Or better, a comfortable, clean bed with nice soft sheets?

Are YOU good at cuddles? And if I turn up and find you’re not as good at ‘cuddles’ as advertised, can I walk away mid- ‘cuddle’ without fear of, well, whatever?

Also, it’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think, a stranger asking to crash on my couch for free? (I assume he plans to stay the night). Why not book through Air BnB? Here’s the link.

What I actually said:

Me: Well, call me old-fashioned, but . . .

It was becoming clear that ‘girls like me’ are far too much work for ‘men like him’. I found myself thinking about something I heard a guy friend told another guy friend a few years ago:

‘There are so many desperate women out there, it’s a buyer’s market. You can basically date and shag as much as you want and whenever you’re ready, you can just take your pick of women to settle down with.’

Him: What are you looking for?

Me: I don’t really know yet. I’m pretty new to this.

Him: Have you been on any dates yet?

I have been on three dates in the past week. Before that, the last (and only) date I remember going on wasn’t even a date until about halfway through, when I realised it was.

We met in France, over a night of soft cheese and too many glasses of génépi. I don’t remember much about the soirée, crowded with new faces and laughter, but he must have made an impression because years later, going through my photos of that trip, I found a series I’d taken that night. He was in most of them, centred and slightly blurred, looking quite lovely.

Some time later he invited me on a motorbike ride into the mountains, and against my better judgment (who in their right mind jumps on a motorbike with a twenty-something-year-old guy? But he seemed sensible enough) I said yes. He rode like a demon, fast but firm, and as we leaned hard into yet another hairpin bend I prepared for my imminent death. It would be quick, I reasoned, and a hundred percent my own fault.

We zoomed past green fields and pine-softened hills to a ski resort, recently closed for the season. It was kind of weird actually, all those abandoned buildings and deserted trails, a few swatches of dirty snow left in the valleys. But it was lovely too, quietly nestled in amongst the craggy mountains. We walked across a wide, wooden deck and looked out over the field, the grass still matted from months of snow, glittering in the evening light. I caught my breath.

He asked if he could kiss me.

Huh?

Oh — this is a date?

Ohhhh.

Looking back, it was a pretty damn good one.

The porndog sent another message.

Him: Look, realistically, you live 80km away. So this probably isn’t going to happen. Sending you a big hug! See ya!

Before I could type a similarly perky response and wish him well, he was gone forever.

Pouf!

Wow. Well that was a bit of a whirlwind.

Welcome to fucking online dating, girl.

— — — —

Over the past week or so I noticed I’ve started listening to ‘Ella Fitzgerald radio’ a lot on Spotify. It makes me feel kind of happy, and reminds me of a few important things.

It’s fine to feel bothered and bewildered by this whole dating scene. Sure. It’s pretty bothersome and bewildering.

But take it lightly. Men and women have been doing this dance forever.

And it’s meant to be fun.

So go home, take a hot shower, turn up the Ella and whip up something delicious to eat. Light the fire and get all cosy, maybe grab a book. Because you know what? If I’ve realised one thing from this online dating thing so far, it’s that I definitely don’t need it — or anything that could go along with it — to be happy. And they can’t take that away from me 🙂 ❤

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You can read more here.

*It’s true. I reckon I’ve been on one or two ‘dates’ total in my life, which I didn’t realise were dates until they were half-done.