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Click to Download. Download our new app HERE! We laughed and I probably killed his drive. By the time I got the fourth one, all my squeamishness had left the room, or rather, the train. I was on an overnight train when a British bloke I matched with started sexting me.
Read more. Us being kilometres apart helps. I sent him a kissing emoji, told him that I had to leave, and quickly deleted the picture. I looked at each one. What else will happen when the otherworldly characters meet Hollywood royalty? It was the first time I was kissed by a guy and I lost myself in him.
I added a monosyllable or two. He looked like a dream and only talked about banging this exotic chick me in various cities around Europe. While he kept writing, I was talking to a Gujarati family about mukhvas, theplas , etc.
He kept adding links to his pictures on Facebook. I looked at each one.
Then he added a picture of his phallus, turned the setting to private, and sent me the link. This was a penis I was talking about, something that used to be eww for me, especially that of a random man. And here I was judging away.
The next morning, I took a screenshot and sent it to the girl bestie. We both giggled and felt guilty. Then we told ourselves: men do this all the time, dismissing women over the size of their body parts. His bio said he played the violin, was a Karate black belt, and a meditation junkie. I laughed.
When we got talking, he suggested we go to the best biryani place in town. It was a Military Hotel Mess. We then decided to go to an art gallery and look at Raja Ravi Verma paintings. We spent hours in the gallery in silence. We went to the park nearby and talked and talked until one of us suggested we eat, and we went to a shady erstwhile dance bar.
Drunk on Old Monk and Coke, we walked back to his place. He led me to the terrace and excused himself. I looked around. There were paintings on the terrace. Who leaves paintings on the terrace? Some of them had turned black around the edges, and yet there was nothing off about them.
In fact they looked like they belonged there. But his sexts had proper spellings, grammar and even punctuation. That, combined with the fact that I was slightly tipsy and alone in another country, made that sexting session a good one. He tried it again, but back in India and sober, I found it extremely meh. Or maybe not.
Normal chats got awkward after that and I had to let him go. Or the guy who almost fell in love with me after just one week of chatting. I had to let him go, but since he was this sensitive-tragic-poet-emowriter type, I had to let him go very gently. My very first dick pic!
But since he has a longwinded Rajinikanth connection, my very first dick pic was at least one that was famous by association. Because that…that… thing will keep floating in front of his face whenever I look at him. Some of them made it to actual real life flesh-and-blood dates. Like the media guy who took me to a Sangeeta for dinner. Anyway, the guy turned out to be very married, with a very public Facebook profile full of pictures of his wife and kid.
But I still keep him. For two reasons: one, I want to see for just how long he plans to lameass flirt with me and pester me for another date before he knows that I know. Nice decent guys, most of them. Tinder Fatigue. It is a very real condition. My fingers are tired, my brain is tired, my heart is tired. I am tired.
And the Universe can do nothing about it. I was jet lagged and woke up at 4 am every morning with nothing to do. So I installed the app. Like a noob, I would check everything before I swiped right. I imagined the men I right swiped would be at my doorstep, and that was a scary thought. Guy without a bio had little chance of getting swiped right. After the regular set of questions, he asked:. We were both in the 7th district in Vienna. I was elated to be living in the same neighbourhood as my hero. I also mentioned my love for Rilke and he quickly wrote out a few lines by Rilke in German.
Every angel is terrible. Looks-wise he was okay… a lot paler than the person I knew back home, but with Klimt and Rilke, he had scored.
This was the first person that had asked me to go walking. We met at an old church near my house. I was late, he was nervous. I had known many Germans and met a few Austrians before I met him. My perception was that people from cold countries take longer to warm up. But this guy was making sure I left all those preconceptions behind. He was warm, open and very engaging. It almost felt like we were old friends and I was visiting his city for the first time, so he had to show me all of it.
His house, where he worked, where he first smoked a cigarette, favourite park, favourite restaurant, etc. Everything one can share with a dear friend that one may never see again. I had not seen Before Sunrise then but now that I have, I feel our meeting was much like the film. He drew me out, threw open his world and invited me in.
I happily walked in and took my seat. He was funny, treating me to local delicacies and was totally charming the pants off me, while keeping a ten-inch distance from me. After walking for about five hours, we decided to get cake at a local coffee shop. I refused to eat any, saying Europe was making me fat.
After an hour in the coffee shop, he walked me home. We stood outside the apartment door and talked for a long time. It was awkward to say bye.