I loved the honesty of Tinder – then I met Mr No Sex Before Marriage
I loved the honesty of Tinder – then I met Mr No Sex Before Marriage O ne morning recently, after spending the night with a gentleman I was dating casually, something disturbing came up. He was torn apart with self-hatred for not being able to reconcile his desire to live life for God and his inability to stop chasing the “pleasures of the flesh”. This was a surprise to me, as the bulk of our time together was focused on the flesh. Tears came to his eyes as he spoke of his guilt. Tears. Just as I was spreading the jam on my toast, he made a confession with so much sadness it made me want to both slap him in the face and swaddle him up in my arms: he said he believed premarital sex is a sin A night that was hot to me was instantly regrettable to the other person – it was behaviour he was ashamed of. And that’s when it hit me: Tinder has turned me into a teenage boy. I told myself not to take it personally – he’s just dealing with his own shit – but the question persisted: am I a person who doesn’t know how to experience sex the way the other person in the room does? I am new to London, new to being single and, after my past two relationships with women, new to dating men. In the months since I turned 30 and left New York, my life has morphed into an off-brand episode of Sex and the City – one where there’s no budget for wardrobe and everyone is slightly fatter. I’ll go on a few dates with someone who seems great until they inevitably do or say something to relegate themselves to an anecdote.