OKCupid Locals: Convenient, Casual, With Consequences

September 3, 2011

We met with the help of the OKCupid app's Locals feature. I broadcast a message around 6pm, she replied 15 minutes later and, after just a few exchanges, invited herself over. She was forward. I liked her already.

We hung out on the roof of my apartment. We had some wine and talked about my upcoming trip to Japan. She'd been there recently, on business. She shared advice learned from her experience over there, said she could introduce me to friends of hers over there who could help me out in my travels.

I felt like I was at a cocktail party, but only two people were attending and only one had dressed for the occasion. She arrived in a modest little black dress and wearing a pearl necklace. She looked really good. 

After finishing the wine, we descended to get dinner a few blocks away. Then it was right back to the apartment for more conversation and more wine.

In that conversation, she told me her life story. She grew up up in Krygzstan, got herself into an initially loving but then calculated marriage to an American to get out of that country. She went on to talk about her move from there to here, her pending divorce, the child she had with the American that she never gets to see. She grew more comfortable the more she shared about herself. Her shoes were soon off. Her feet were then on the couch. She was soon learning back, one foot on the floor and one on the couch. Conversation continued for another five minutes while she was recreating Sharon Stone's most famous scene from Basic Instinct. 

"I'm going to your bed," she said. Powerless to not follow, I followed.

The next morning, ​I woke up early to clean the apartment. I had someone coming later to view the place, a potential subletter while I'm in Japan. I let her sleep.

I'm not sure why I took a photo of her on the bed. Maybe I wasn't sure this whole thing had happened.

After gathering up all the bottles, glasses, and debris and organizing the scattered clothing from the previous night, I woke her up.

"Why did I wake up naked in your bed? What happened?" she asked.

Gah. She didn't remember any of it. Good for her.

But I remembered. So I explained. As she correctly guessed, we'd had sex. I told her how: while she started out assertive, directing me on what she wanted, she soon started bawling uncontrollably, went somewhere in her own head where I couldn't reach her, then curled up and cried herself to sleep. Maybe someone with more tact would have avoided bringing those details up, but I was more interested in getting an explanation of what the fuck had happened than being courteous. 

I hope to never have a conversation like that with anyone ever again. 

She got dressed, said she'd talk to me later, and kissed me goodbye.

Later in the day, she wrote a long message both thanking me and apologizing for the night, but also saying that there was no future in us seeing one another. It was formal, businesslike. I wrote back that I understood. She added me on Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter. 

The two of us not going anywhere was not a problem as far as I saw it. A night like this would hover over and contextualize everything that came down the road. 


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