When the pandemic hit, I hadn’t dated anyone since the previous October, when my blink-and-you-miss-it “relationship” with a woman in an open marriage ended in my being dumped via Facebook Messenger on their wedding anniversary. I had been living in Thailand, and by the time March rolled around, I was completely over my life there. But mass lockdowns and travel bans put a stop to any repatriation plans I might have conjured up.
Staying in Thailand during those beginning months of COVID-19 turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Holed up in a traditional house in the backwoods of Chiang Mai, I set out to put all my newfound universe-imposed free time to good use. I taught myself how to ride a motorbike, whipped up viral TikTok recipes (Dalgona coffee anyone?), and took on other quirky alone-time hobbies like bullet journaling. I made good use of my time, if I do say so myself, but when I lay down at night, I couldn’t shake this feeling that seemed to be growing steadily inside of me: I wanted some dick.
So I set out to find some.
With Operation Get Some Dick underway, I headed to the one place I knew I’d find a sea of men, eager to stick their dicks in a new vagina: Tinder.
My aggressive swiping resulted in a first for me: a virtual date. I scheduled a Zoom coffee meet-up with Steven,* an older white guy from Edinburgh who had been in Thailand for however many years teaching English. As I sat on my porch sipping my Dalgona coffee, we exchanged pleasantries and typical first-date questions and had a pleasant enough conversation, but I knew he would not be the one to break my four-year penis fast. For one thing, he gave off major #mediocrewhiteman vibes. Hardly asking me anything about myself, he boasted about how his students describe him as the “best teacher they’ve ever had.” Ultimately, I just wasn’t attracted to him.
I met a few other guys off Tinder, like Dwayne,* an early 40s, divorced Black Brit who was—you guessed it—teaching high school at an international school just outside Chiang Mai. We met for lunch at a local vegetarian restaurant. I knew right away that I didn’t care for the place he’d chosen, but not wanting to come across as difficult or picky, I agreed to meet him anyway the following weekend.
Right away I was a bit disappointed. Well, maybe disappointed is the wrong word; rather, my date with Dwayne was a reminder of the antiquated gender rules that govern the heterosexual dating game. I wore a full face of makeup and a cute J.Crew sundress, while Dwayne showed up in a T-shirt and some gym shorts. As I picked at my flavorless cashew nut rice, I made a silent mental note to speak up the next time someone suggests a restaurant I’m not into.
He’s cute, right? I typed to my friend Isaiah as I sent him a screenshot of Danny,* the guy I was going on a second date with. “Ooooh, he is. And he looks just like your type, only in guy form. LOL.”
Danny, another Tinder find, is closer to my age and originally from the Midwest too.
He is tall, thin, and lanky, just like I like, with a head full of Afro-kinky curls and a pretty fit body from years of training in Muay Thai. We video-chat for close to an hour, talking about our favorite music, what our Midwestern parents make of our wanderlust, and how hard it is to find products for our hair in Thailand. We met up for coffee—at a place of my choosing—in the city center. All these months later, I don’t remember much about our conversation, but I do recall enjoying it.