I met a chap last Saturday night. A very nice chap. We had some excellent conversation on the phone, prior to meet-up, and both had high expectations.
Those expectations were met, certainly in my mind. A couple of drinks, more scintillating conversation, and then a delightfully adolescent frolic in a local park (we both had kids at home…one cuts one’s cloth to fit…). The frolic was adult and sensual and funny and all the good things. And post-frolic, he even called me as I was driving home, and again the next morning.
Since then…cue crickets. No calls, no messages, no response to my last text, which was four days ago. I know he is quite busy, as am I, but I have also noticed his regular and lengthy appearance on the dating site on which we first connected. So he has time to connect with other women, but not time to contact me again.
“Toughen up princess”, I hear you cry. “That’s the name of the game”.
If the name of the game was ‘one-night-stand’, then I would, ipso facto, be foolish to expect any follow-up. But I will bet three goats and my best brood mare, that, in a week or two, maybe even a month, he will contact me again. I will get a phone call or a booty-text. He will say “hi” as if we last spoke the day before, and be bemused should I call him on the communication hiatus.
And THIS is where I take umbrage.
A clear one-night hook-up is what it is. But when there is vast-ranging conversation, an obvious intellectual connection, and some time taken to get acquainted, then there is, already, a commitment. Not a diamond ring, not a dinner out every Friday, but a commitment to regular contact. A text every couple of days and a phone call once a week, is hardly going to break the time bank. Against this background, a 2 am booty-text is much more likely to meet with a positive response. You want lots of different women on the go at once? Good on you, you’re a legend. But you better make sure you can “service” all of them, and I don’t mean sexually. Don’t think you can call five women every week? Don’t bonk five women. Despite what the dating-site ads might try to tell you, sonny-boy, there is no such thing as a free lunch.
If the promise you give is NSA casual sex, fine and dandy. But that does not mean I go into your phone contacts, to be pulled out on the odd occasion when your loneliness, boredom, horniness and memories of me, all coincide. That is treating me like a free hooker.
You’re bored, lonely and horny? Call a working girl. Or make me a decent, monetary offer.
You want NSA casual sex with me? You treat me with dignity. No strings doesn’t mean “don’t have to fucking bother with her until I feel like a quickie”. Because even in this frisky, casual, adult arena, being treated like that hurts.