Page 44 of Has Anyone Seen My Sex Life?
We’ve blurred the lines of right and wrong I feel. I am also now thinking about those times I’ve found trails of what I’ve thought were mis-squeezed shampoo in the shower.
Danny continues, ‘Research on things like Tinder helped but you forget, I take a walk on the factory floor most days and have banter and a cuppa with some of them lads and it is pure filth. Half of what they tell me is in them pics. And that’s how it is these days. They make friends online and hook up for sex.’
‘Like prostitution.’
‘Like how we used to hook up with people in bars and pubs and clubs except now you don’t have to leave your house and waste cash, you just pick someone you like and invite them round for a bit of Netflix and chill.’
I feel strangely prudish.
‘So, show me what you did. What your research entailed…’
I’m not sure what I’m suggesting here. Some of it is fuelled by curiosity to educate myself further but a part of me wonders after today’s conversation with Ro about whether I need to up my game. It’s an experiment in pushing the envelope, in trying to convince him and myself that I am on board with this, that I want to understand this more so it doesn’t become an issue in our marriage. I grab my phone and download Tinder. Danny watches me curiously. I can sense he wants to sleep but also understands there’s a bit of urgency in me needing some answers to things he’s hidden from me for so long. He grabs my phone and creates a profile for me.
‘Let me. I’m calling you Olivia, you’re thirty and looking for fun. I’ll use some stock photo.’
Olivia sounds like the classy sort. He writes some fake bio scattered with emojis. Her Spotify anthem is ‘Yellow’ by Coldplay.
Done. I press a button and suddenly the Tinderverse starts looking for suitable men to show me. Danny and I sit there in anticipation. Who will they give us? Shite. A picture pops up. They’ve given me Kevin. I don’t believe he’s forty-five I’m afraid. Kevin sits there in his front room in a football shirt with a look that says he might want to kill me, eat me and hide the rest of my remains under his patio. Danny gives me a nudge.
‘He might be hung like a stallion.’
I flick through his photos.
‘There’s a lot of pictures of him with his cat.’
‘Maybe he’s subliminally trying to tell you he’s good with pussy.’
We’re both laughing.
‘So aside from browsing through Tinder, where else did you go?’
‘Well, there are all sorts of sites where I could see what people are into: the swingers, the ones into kink, hot wives, cross-dressers. It was insightful. No meet ups, just conversations to see what the landscape is like in sex these days.’
‘Hot wives?’
‘Ladies whose husbands allow them to hook up with other men.’
‘OK then.’ I am still dubious as to whether this was alright or whether I’ve been a prize mug. I distract myself with the men provided before me. Brett is the sort of man I would typically call attractive; that unshaven, lumberjack look. His profile picture is him with a guitar and an eyebrow raised.
‘Skinny jeans…not a good look.’
‘Hmmm, he’s a little bit fit. But I’m thrown that he’s twenty-four.’
‘He’s from Carlisle which should be a warning sign. Are you going to swipe?’
‘And engage with these people? Hell no. I’m just window shopping.’
Hello, George, 29 from Cockermouth. The place name alone is promising. I open his profile.
Likes wine, travelling, good food, dogs, health and sleeping. Looking to meet the one.
I laugh. I like that he values his health (don’t we all?) and has made it clear he doesn’t like bad food. I like the optimism too. I hope you find the one, George. I swipe through a few more pictures.
‘Tinder is just the tip of the iceberg though. Look here…’ Danny takes my phone off me and logs on to a swingers group. He’s in a swingers group? That said, he is not wrong. Whereas Tinder consisted of mostly selfies and middle-aged men in Lycra telling me how tall they were, this is pictures of people in their actual pants. I scroll through some of the profiles.
Looking for GS/BDSM/BBW only. Love queening.
Huh?
