She searches online for a partner. She finds men who only want sex. And is blown away when at last one seems seriously interested in her.
Actually, I find online dating stupid. I do not like the shopping attitude it invites. Profiles can be retrieved like products. The term for it is “rummage”, as if we were lying on the garbage table in the left corner of a department store.
Nevertheless, I register at a brokerage, because I sincerely wish a friend, and I ran neither in the job nor in the supermarket on the way. There are meetings, some of which end in bed. My question about a reunion is basically with “What for?” answered. A man tells openly that if he wanted, he could meet another “really good woman” every night. Yes, he would have liked it with me, but no, he does not want to meet again. For what if there is so much fresh meat? The husband, who seeks an infidelity with the permission of his wife, is the nicest encounter on the bottom line. Friends of mine have similar experiences. Those who delay sex will be dismissed at the latest after execution. Those who are already half in a relationship, are left without explanation. The online guys disappear where they came from: nowhere.
A friend says: “They just want to save the money for a hooker.” I do not see it that blatantly, even though the callousness of the men with their intricately designed profiles irritates me every time. Why do you pretend to look for someone seriously if you just want to try out as many women as possible? If they were honest from the outset, it could be a win-win situation: a nice night out for both of them, without desperately standing in a smoke-filled bar and having to hunt someone down. After a short time, I have only a few illusions and I’m very much on my guard.
One day I read, “I think your profile and your photos are great. If it’s mutual, write me.” His profile is short and sweet: 1.90 meters, 44, athletic, master, does not smoke, no drugs, speaks English. A photo in the half profile with black hair, slightly gray temples, beautifully curved eyebrows, straight nose and a slightly thick lower lip. That may look weird or just fine. I write back, we come into the “conversation”: He lacks the sun in Germany and that people smile. I answer: “You may not smile so often in public, but in private.” He writes that he wants to meet me to see me smile.
He looks a lot better
We meet in a cafe. He comes in, radiates, looks a lot better than in the photo. Big, well built, tasteful, nasty stuff, a winning laugh. He approaches me as if I were his jackpot. Something in my brain stops, all bad experiences are forgotten. “Sit down so that you have a nice view out the window,” I suggest. “You are the outlook”, he countered, fixing me, asking questions: do I like movies, do we go to the cinema together? How many children I am, what I did for a living?
Nobody has questioned me so aggressively. He does not stop to look at me and laugh at him. I do not doubt for one second that he is madly interested in me. I ask if he has met many women. “You are the first!” I say aloud, “Really?” and think quietly: Juhu! Hard to believe, but I just fell in love with a stranger “from the Internet”.
We tell each other about us. I’m a couch potato, he’s the total opposite. Comes out with five or six hours of sleep a night, works in the real estate industry, runs around the Schlachtensee several times a week, goes to the gym – and has a high opinion of its efficiency: “I’ll be through with what, in ten minutes others need an hour. ” In combination with the charm offensive I do not even find so much self-sufficiency repugnant. He reflects on our common future: “You on the sofa, me on the treadmill, in front of us the TV.” When he talks about his three children, whom he visits every two weeks in his homeland, I go pale. He says he is separated from the mother.
After two hours he brings me to the subway, in front of the station we kiss. He touches my neck and my hair. His perfume smells delicious, his black cashmere sweater is soft, his skin is smooth, in my head only cotton wool. 20 minutes later, he tells that he is flying to his homeland for ten days. Just now? We continue to smooch. As a farewell he promises: “I’ll call as soon as I’m back, but do me the favor: Do not contact me via this platform.” I am relieved because I felt uncomfortable there from the beginning. The next day I write to him how beautiful I found it. He reacts immediately. He would have enjoyed it too: “Big kiss, see you soon.”
After the ten days are over, I start to get nervous because the phone does not ring. After all, we exchanged messages, always with the words “kisses” and “I’m looking forward to seeing you!” contained. When I can stand it no longer, I write to him – against all reason: “It never came to my mind, not to trust you, I must have misunderstood you, your behavior, your words.” The phone rings. “I just landed, what are you writing, what do you mean, when will we meet?”
I’m waiting for his call the whole evening
I feel relieved, it’s not over. We make out that he picks me up. He comes in and whispers in my ear how nice it is to see me again how much he missed me. He holds me tight and heads for the couch, surprisingly brisk. “Take off your clothes, sit on me.” Even though I find the change from the planned seducer to the demanding macho quite abrupt, I am back to endorphins. I imagine that this is the beginning of something big. We land in bed.
At midnight, he looks at his cell phone and jumps up, “I have to go to the office, my staff made a mistake.” Before he leaves, he asks when we’ll meet again. On the weekend he flies to the children, on Monday to Dusseldorf. Tuesday I can not, so Wednesday.
Nothing will come of the meeting. I wait for his call all Wednesday and call him when I do not hear from him until the evening: “A late meeting until at least 10 pm.” Then he was exhausted and had to go to bed. He will call tomorrow. Again I wait in vain. In the evening it is enough for me: “You do not have to report, if you do not like me, I just want to know, so I will not wait.” He calls, “Who says I do not want to?” Friday he flies to Frankfurt, Saturday he comes back, then! I want to believe everything, but slowly I’m getting tired, I’m starting to wonder: “Funny, if he wanted, he could still come to me after a late meeting.” In me a suspicion germinates.
I set up a fake profile
I set up a profile with the photo of a very pretty woman in her mid 30s, call her Julia. Friday night, he calls, he has not flown: “See you Saturday?” He calls me “darling,” says how good it is to hear my voice. Suddenly: “I have to hang up, I’ll get back to you soon.” While waiting for him for the umpteenth time, he writes to Julia. What a great photo, if she would like to meet with him tomorrow in the best breakfast cafe in the city?
I’m shivering. As Julia, I write to him, I seek love. He answers, that’s exactly what he’s looking for. He wants a real relationship. She was his first date. Julia, suspicious: There are many brazen rip-offs on dating sites on the way. Not all men are like that, he gives her courage. While I wait for the call back, Julia has a choice whether to see him in the morning or in the evening. In between, he can not. Julia agrees to the proposal with the breakfast. I ask him by SMS if he plays with me.
I hardly sleep. I wonder what will happen tomorrow when he expects Julia and I stand in front of him. What will I say? My fantasies are about insults about “Can I sleep with you again?” to “You’re a phenomenon, you know, I’m a journalist: May I interview you?”. While he waits for Julia, he answers: “Believe me, I am seriously interested in you!” He sits in the black T-shirt, which emphasizes his upper arms, at the first table. A real laugh is the thick book about the British secret service MI6, which is on the table in front of him. He told me he never gets to read because of all the work. I take all my strength, sit down and say, “Hello.” Hard to describe how he looks. Little pleased, I would say.
He’s trying to suggest to me that I’m the real freak when I’ve created a fake profile – and what I really want from him? I say that I fell in love with him. He kisses me. We spend two hours together. I know it’s our last meeting. In parting he says: “I’ll call you later.”
I create a third profile with the photo of an even more beautiful, even younger woman. I click his profile once, he already logs in with her – enthusiastic as never before. He just wanted to make me smile. He says to her, “You will not stop laughing when you meet me, I’m just looking for one, my better half, not the many.” Suddenly he has only two children, and when he can not on the weekend, it is an important meeting and not the obligatory trip home.
Whether the others will succumb to him as much as me? How could I have guessed that he does not mean me? Is it his hobby to conquer women? When does he have enough? Or is he a woman-hater? A pathological liar? I can only speculate. I’m really hurt. I feel like an old box that has fallen for a marriage swindler. Only that he did not clear my account, but my heart.