personal essay: meliena decuypere
The year was 2016, and after an emotionally taxing summer I found myself single and ready to mingle. In true millennial fashion, I downloaded Tinder, set up a profile, and started swiping. Since I had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and wasn’t looking for anything serious, I mainly went off of looks those first couple of weeks.
My first match was with someone, let’s call him “Dave”, who seemed reasonably attractive and nice. It was late, I had work the next day, and I was already in bed when my phone pinged with a new message. Curious to see how this would work, I started talking to him, and promptly made my first mistake: I gave him my phone number. Not soon after, he texted me, asking if I wanted to come over. We both knew what this was. I looked up his address, realized he wasn’t too far away, and put on some clothes. I ordered an Uber and let Dave know I would be at his place in 15 mins. That was mistake number 2. As I got to his place, he opened the door, and I realized his photos from Tinder were not quite as accurate as I had hoped. But, not wanting to be mean and judge someone purely by their looks, I decided to walk in. We had a beer, got to talking, but the longer I stayed there, the more I knew that I was not attracted to him. Against my better judgement, I stayed, we kissed, and things went very fast from there. I’m not sure if it was the beer or the fact that I was not in my own, familiar, environment, but I still didn’t leave Dave’s place. We ended up in his bedroom, and that’s when I realized this was not what I wanted. At that point, my dress was already lying on the bedroom floor, so I knew it wasn’t going to be a straightforward get-away. I sat up, looked Dave in the face, and told him, sorry, I wasn’t really feeling a connection, and wanted to leave. Dave, who had been perfectly nice (albeit a little pushy maybe) up to that point, was not happy about that. But as soon as I had said the words, my confidence came rushing back, and I was not going to be persuaded to sleep with someone I wasn’t attracted to. I got off the bed, put on my dress, and that’s when Dave’s behavior changed. He went from trying to persuade me to stay, to yelling at me. I was called a whore, a bitch, and many more things I don’t remember. As I ordered my Uber back home in the bathroom, he proceeded to yell at me that he was going to jerk off to some porn. All I could muster was a quick “Have fun” before I went down the stairs and hopped in my Uber. I remember blocking his number in the car, but nothing really after that.
I developed a steep learning curve after that. I never gave out my phone number on Tinder anymore, and I always insisted on meeting someone in a public place first. I also informed my friends where and when I was going on a first date and with who, just in case. Although I definitely got into some awkward situations, none of them was as bad as my encounter with Dave. Now, I look back and marvel at my stupidity, but I am grateful I had the confidence to get out of there before it was too late. And if that confidence means I get called a bitch once in a while, it’s a trade I’m happy to make.
about the author: meliena decuypere
Meliena is a thirty-year old Belgian/American with her homebase in Boston, Mass. She currently works in hospitality and yearns for the time when she can go explore again with her dog and boyfriend. The best advice she ever got was to say yes as much as possible, and she embraces every opportunity she gets because of it!
