Some men come into your life for a night. Some men come in for a week. And some men… think they can just sprint in, get what they want, and vanish like Houdini.
That was him - the Grindr guy.
We’d been chatting on Grindr for almost a month — half-Pakistani, half-Turkish, tall, hairy, the kind of man who makes you think, Yes, yes, yes. I didn’t expect him to actually show up that night. It was almost midnight. In this city, men at midnight are usually either drunk, desperate, or delusional. Spoiler alert: he wasn't any of the three.
He arrived. Cute, confident, hair in all the right places… and smelling like he had personally wrestled a basket of onions. Yes, it was gross. Yes, it was intoxicating. I’ll admit it: sometimes stinky can be sexy. And honey, I know sexy when I smell it.
He made his intentions clear, and let’s just say… I obliged. We were two consenting adults in a city that doesn’t exactly encourage this kind of freedom, and for a few minutes, it was fun, raw, hot — everything you'll want about a man.
Then came the classic move: “I just need to grab condoms from my car.”
Oh. Honey. Let me translate: I’m about to bail, but I want to pretend I’m responsible.
I told him I wasn’t interested in anything more. He insisted. He pulled on some shorts, bolted out the door, and never came back. Not a text. Not a peep. Gone. Like smoke. Like my patience in his presence.
And I laughed. Oh yes, I laughed.
Because here’s the thing: men who run mid-pleasure, mid-adventure, mid-anything - They’re not mysterious, they’re just pathetic. And I? I don’t chase. I don’t beg. I don’t wait by doors.
I deleted his messages. And then I poured myself a glass of wine, turned on some music, and went about my night — exactly the way a guy who knows his worth does.
In the Middle East, desire is complicated. Men are complicated. But I don't do complicated. I do pleasure. Fun. Freedom.
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