It has been a couple of months with Tinder, and I’d like to say I’m getting the hang of it. Swipe left, swipe right. He’s nice, he’s not. No problem. While navigating the app last month, I came across a man I immediately considered attractive. He’s tall, dark, big nose like I like ’em, and Sicilian. I’ve never had much luck as far as interracial dating goes, and always seem to attract the jungle fever mongers. You know, the ones with weird motives or those going through experimental phases. But I was pleasantly surprised when I saw that we matched. Let’s call him Marco.
Marco wasted no time in reaching out and saying hello. We struck up a really nice conversation about our mutual interests (we’re both in the design field) and our backgrounds. And I was intrigued by the fact that most of his relationships had been with Black women–Nigerian women most of the time. We connected on a lot of levels.
He asked to call, and we continued our conversations over the phone. I was worried about a possible language barrier, but we did just fine. Shortly after, he asked me out on a date, to which I obliged.
Our first date was amazing. Great laughs, good food and those ever wonderful butterflies began to flutter. You know your date is going well when the restaurant is about to close on you and you’re incredibly oblivious to said fact. That‘s how great things went.
We kept talking through most of the night, doing so on a rooftop overlooking the Manhattan skyline, and he even took care of an Uber ride home for me. What could possibly be wrong with such a romantic? Nothing. Oh, except for the fact that Marco lives in Italy and was only in town for a work trip. Yes, all the way in Italy. I’m not a fan of long-distance relationships and as such had no expectations leaving the date. I met a great guy, and that was it.
I knew he was leaving a few days later, and really didn’t bother to form any sort of attachments. We said our goodbyes and that was it. Now fast forward a week later and I received a long message from Marco. I left an impression, and he seriously wanted to see where things could go. To be honest, I was curious, but I wasn’t sold on the idea. What with him being a whole continent away and what not. But like the Kay jewelers ad says, keep your heart open and, well, you get the idea.
Marco and I had regular phone conversations and eventually coordinated Skype dates. I started to look forward to seeing him, and it was clear that he felt the same way. Marco never minced words and always let me know that he liked me and cared for me. In all honesty, this was actually great, all things considered. We even talked about a schedule as far as being able to see one another and Marco visiting before the end of the year.
But then things slowly started to get uncomfortable–and annoying. On one of our Skype dates, Miguel began to go on and on about how beautiful I was and such. I was used to the compliments. However, on that particular evening, he asked to see me naked. I politely declined. Cybersex, for me, is usually a perk reserved for actual committed relationships and marriage. Needless to say, several other attempts to coax me into doing this were met with irritation on my part. The comments about my curves were getting creepy. And then there was the time a Skype discussion began, and Marco appeared with no pants on–or underwear. He was trying to force cybersex to happen, and it was one of the least attractive things I ever did see from an attractive man. Way too much.
Of course, after I’d rebuffed his cyber advances, our travel plans to see one another veered off course. In the time that he was supposed to be visiting, he’d traveled elsewhere and pushed back his trip to New York. He clearly felt some type of way. Needless to say, the distance between us started to grow as big as the actual distance between us geographically. We’re still cordial with one another, and he does check in from time to time, but I had to move on. I guess that’s not amoré.
