My Last Five Dates: International Tinder Matches, A College Fling, and a Remote Controlled Vibrator

When my 2020 travel plans were cancelled, I used Tinder to virtually meet the men I’d hoped to encounter IRL.

My Last Five Dates: International Tinder Matches, A College Fling, and a Remote Controlled Vibrator

Up until the pandemic, I was living the life of a single woman bouncing all over the globe, having a fine time for myself. New York City is my home base but I’ve long prioritized travel—pre-pandemic I spent more than half the year traveling. A solo trip to Asia or Latin America in the spring, Europe through the summer and fall. My friends used to joke that I had a lover in every port and, although funny, it wasn’t completely untrue.

Whether it’s because I’ve been burnt so many times or because I just have a thing for people who don’t share my native tongue, I find that dating in other countries isn’t just more fun, but a good way to keep men at arm’s length. It’s hard to get too deeply involved with someone who only understands 50% of what you’re saying.

When my trip to Sri Lanka and a few other Southeastern Asian countries was canceled last year, I assumed (hoped) it would only be a temporary delay. It was March and I couldn’t conceive of what 2020 had in store for us. I was confident I’d be back in a flat in Barcelona by the summer, happily going forward with trips to Paris and Rome. I was so confident, I put my travel plans in my Tinder bio, alerting all potential international lovers I was coming for them.

A year later, I’m still stuck at my parent’s house in New Hampshire. But I decided not to let my lack of mobility keep me from meeting the matches I'd hoped to encounter all over the globe. 

I wasn’t willing to give up my international lovers, so I set my Tinder location to Rome where I’d planned to be last summer. I got a “super like” from a guy named Francisco. After a few days of messaging, we decided to take it to the next level which, in a pandemic, means a Zoom date. Frankly, I couldn’t believe that this is what the world had come to, but I did my hair, applied some red lipstick, and tossed on a pajama top that could easily pass for an “Oh, what a fancy shirt for a fancy date,” top.

Francisco was born and raised in Rome and had traveled a lot. He was passionate about animals and before the pandemic, he was supposed to head to Zimbabwe to work at an animal sanctuary. Instead, he was living with his sister teaching English to Italians online. He was cute, interesting, and when he slipped into Italian to think of the English word equivalent of what he wanted to say, was sexy as hell.

Things got pretty dirty and naked in our virtual romance, with him even using a We-Vibe vibrator that he could control from Rome. 

We-Vibe Match Couples Vibrator with Remote

But in November, I had a fall and broke my right leg, right ankle, and sprained my left ankle leaving me bed bound and unable to engage in our relationship as online sex buddies—he bailed. 

Francisco popped up occasionally after that with dick pic via Instagram, claiming he’d lost my number. But each time it was aggressive and unsolicited—and when you’re trying to heal from your waist down, the last thing you want is the one-eyed monster in your face.  

Jordi, a match from Barcelona, was sweet—too sweet. Too understanding, too patient, too positive, too complimentary, too everything that I think many people would eat up with a spoon, but I just couldn’t. We talked over Zoom and FaceTime and he was so attentive and so kind, that I actually started to think there was something wrong with him. Was he the Catalan version of Ted Bundy? 

On our first Zoom date we talked for hours; hours that were mostly me talking as he wanted to know everything he possibly could about me. It wasn’t as though he was waiting for his turn to talk—he genuinely wanted to know me. 

He told me that when I finally got back to Barcelona, he wanted to take me out to dinner and just talk all night because he was intrigued by my brain and that he didn’t want to have sex too soon, because it would ruin things; he’d rather give me a massage instead. 

I felt like I was in a Jane Austen novel. Francisco was whipping out his penis before our first Zoom session was over and here was Jordi with the manners and etiquette I thought were long dead.

He was a lovely person, and although we’ve kept in touch—meaning we follow each other on Instagram and like each other’s photos—his sweetness felt like overkill. He even sent me a message wishing me a happy International Women’s Day. Again, I had to assume the worst about him, because both society and experience simply don’t allow me to take his kindness at face value and accept it as real.

Michael popped up, yet again, around August. We went to college together and every six months or so he comes around to tell me I’m the one who got away, the sexiest woman he knows, and all the other things you want to hear, but also know is total BS because of who it’s coming from.

I slept with Michael in college, then again after we both, separately, moved to New York, but I always knew dating Michael was the worst idea on the planet. He was a notorious womanizer and had already been divorced twice because of his infidelities.

But five months into the pandemic, Michael seemed like a great idea. I’d reached the point where my body was aching to be touched. I hadn’t seen my friends since January 2020 and I hadn’t had sex since December 2019. It wasn’t even just about sex; I just wanted him to lay on top of me and make-out with me for hours.

Over FaceTime we made plans for an actual date IRL. I suggested he meet me in New York and he suggested I come to Raleigh, where I would most definitely stay in a hotel—my choice; not his. We talked about it for a couple weeks—the things we’d do, the places we’d go, almost forgetting we were in the middle of a pandemic. I even booked a refundable hotel in Raleigh and bought a refundable plane ticket. 

The day before I was supposed to leave, I changed my mind. Since I was then living at my parents’ house, it seemed so unfair to fly to North Carolina. My parents are in a high-risk category—if I were to catch COVID-19 and pass it to them, I’d never forgive myself. I got my refund.

By the time the fall rolled around and I had officially accepted that travel was definitely not happening, I put my Tinder location back in New York where I met David, an actor/waiter. If there’s anything in life I’ve learned about dating, it’s that actors, musicians, struggling artists of any kind (writers included, because I never want to be written about—hypocritical, I know) just aren’t for me.

After a FaceTime chat in which we both asked each other, among other things, where we’d go first once travel was safe again, I knew David wasn’t a good match for me. I said Siem Reap, which had been part of my plan for earlier that spring after going to Sri Lanka and Laos. David, on the other hand, wanted to go to Minneapolis.

My facial expression must have said it all, because he stumbled over his words as he explained that it might sound silly but there was a convention there. The conversation ended shortly after that and, to no surprise, he unmatched me on Tinder. But I really hope he enjoys Minneapolis when he gets there. 

If American men are pining for Minneapolis, I decided I should put my Tinder someplace else. So I put myself in São Paulo, because why the hell not?

After about 20 minutes of swiping, I came across Paulo—a guy I’d actually dated in Barcelona in the summer of 2019. Like me, he was stuck in his home country waiting to get back to Spain and, as usual, our communication (he only speaks Portuguese) consisted of Google translation.

In 2019, I found our lack of ability to communicate endearing as he laid next to me, his arm damp with the sweat from the Barcelona summer heat and his long dark eyelashes cascading against his beautiful bronzed cheeks. I was hardcore smitten with Paulo that summer. It didn’t matter that he didn’t really have a job—unless selling weed is considered a proper career—or that he couldn’t speak a word of English. He made up for it in other ways.

We chatted a bit, but it felt pointless. I’m here, he and those gorgeous eyelashes are there, and being together in person still seems like an impossibility. After a few interactions, he said, “Sea u when we get to the Barcelone agen," having  given up on Google translation and just doing his best to speak English. 

I responded with, “hopefully,” and he signed off with a kiss emoji.

This story originally appeared on: Glamour - Author:Amanda Chatel