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Note: I almost titled this “Eric the Passionate Poet” or “My Sweet October”.

Name: Eric Tinder

Met on: Tinder

37, never married, no kids

I met Eric on Friday, October 10th, for early afternoon coffee at a neighborhood French café. We had an awesome first date. The chemistry was palpable even as we sat across the table from each other. He was very charming and seemed enchanted with me as well. He kept steady eye contact and was very interested in our conversation, laughing and asking lots of questions, punctuated by lots of “Wow. Really?! That’s amazing!” He was a great conversationalist. He was charismatic. He was very attractive. He was successful. He seemed normal. This was going well!

We stayed in that coffee shop chatting until the last possible second before I had to leave to pick up my kids from school. He walked me partway home then we hugged on the street corner and gave each other a quick kiss.

He called me a couple days later, on Sunday, and we discussed meeting at a wine bar after my doctor’s appointment the following day. He sent me this text the day of my doctor’s appointment:

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Note the “magnificent”, “ignited a fire”, and “make love” language usage. I was cracking up! Oh boy. This was not the restrained, somewhat shy guy I met in the coffee shop!

It gets better. (I admit I am going to go overboard posting these conversations – please bear with me – because they so perfectly highlight the hilarity of his texts. Hot-blooded. Overzealous.)

In the end, we met at a dive bar instead of the wine bar because the latter wasn’t yet open.

I arrived a little early and ordered a vodka tonic while I waited. He was a little late and nearly ran into the bar. He sat down next to me to catch his breath. I rested my hand on his leg while talking with him. Literally two minutes later, he received a phone call. He looked at his phone and announced that it was work so he had to take it. He went outside to talk. Five minutes later, he was back inside and said that he had to leave immediately because of a work emergency.

No apology. No regret. Are you fucking kidding me?! And then he was gone.

He sent me this text later that evening:

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Something seemed fishy. He was in such a hurry to help his employer yet had time to head home first and pleasure himself? As you can see from the texts, I posed the same question but he didn’t answer.

The next night he sent me a goodnight text.

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Two days later he sent me a good morning text.

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A few days later I sent him a text asking him if he was available on short notice.

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We met at a neighborhood sports bar. He looked so adorable and had on an interesting navy blue shirt that received many compliments from many other patrons in the bar. We had a couple Blue Moons each, then he asked if I wanted to see if we could get a hotel room. I told him he was crazy, as there were two large conferences in town as well as the World Series. There would be no way he’d find a vacancy anywhere.

He didn’t believe me. We got in his car and headed toward the beach. He tried to find a vacancy at a couple hotels near the beach without luck. So we decided to take a walk on the beach.

It was a clear, unusually warm evening. The moon was out. We walked up a dune hand-in-hand and found a private, more sheltered place on the beach. He began passionately kissing me.

Sex on the beach sounds more romantic than it really is. I was at the tail end of my period and wear a Diva Cup. So, naturally, I had to remove it. This was awkward!

I told him I had to pee so I walked a few steps away, crouched down, yanked the Diva Cup out, then quickly tossed the blood onto the sand. I folded up the Diva Cup and stuffed it in my jeans’ pocket then walked back and started making out again.

He threw his jacket down onto the sand. I sat on top of it. He was soon on top of me after fumbling with a condom in the moonlight. It was over quickly. I was a little disappointed… but exhilarated by the absurdity of it all.

Sand was everywhere. In my jacket pockets. On my crotch. And it was impossible to get off my feet.

We walked to a nearby dive bar to use the bathrooms, then he drove me home. In true Eric the Passionate Poet fashion, he sent me an over-the-top text the next day.

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We exchanged a few more texts before we faded away. I haven’t heard from him since.

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