So I’ve been on Ashley Madison for over a week now and the emails have been piling up. They are, quite literally, all over the map: 21-year-olds to 67-year-olds, San Diego to Ontario and everywhere in between. My initial observations still stand: most of the men are married, as one might expect, and most of those married men are both taller and better looking than the motley selection of single dudes on other dating sites. General behavior is markedly more paranoid and evasive, no doubt a symptom of sneaking.
The site goes back and forth on letting me respond to my admirers for free, either cutting me off completely while waiting for my profile to be “approved” or informing me that I need to purchase credits. I’m not sure if the site is buggy or if their tech is just crap. They extended 25 free credits after what I’m assuming was my complimentary grace period yet now I intermittently seem to have more. No notice of when or why I have more, just sometimes when I hit “reply” my message is magically delivered while other times it is sent “collect,” an embarrassing situation I’d prefer to avoid.
I’ve already managed to meet up with two men in person and neither of them are married. Of course, neither is technically single, either. I’ll change their names, to make it all seem more mysterious:
“Dave” is a tall, dark and handsome former professional athlete from suburban Long Island who is going through a divorce. He has a great sense of humor, seemed to be entertained by me and was generous to a fault: he not only treated me to a bunch of yummy purple margaritas, he bought rounds for my friends as well. (The plan was to meet him for a few cocktails before I was meeting my pals and he wound up hanging out. Don’t want anyone to think I invited him to a group gathering expecting him to carry all of us!) He wasn’t in the least bit sad-sack and genuinely enthused, “Abby, you are living!” which cracked me up. Yes, indeed, I am! He eventually bumbled off to dinner with a friend but neglected to follow up with a “nice meeting you” email or anything else. I sent one to him and he responded with a very brief and non-committal communiqué, so I’ll assume that I won’t be seeing him again. Either, upon sober reflection, my “living” life frightened him off or he’s not as deep into that divorce as he said he was. Who knows? I enjoyed his company and didn’t have to pay to get drunk! Huzzah!
“Jim” immediately struck my fancy. His profile listed him as “attached” but he didn’t seem over-eager to jump into bed, sounding more like a businessman stuck in the city in search of someone with whom to share dinner and perhaps a few laughs. Easy enough! We met at a new neighborhood restaurant and he was even better looking in person than he’d been online. Tall, dark, distinguished touch of grey at the temples and great teeth! Fantastic smile, too! His story turned out to be that he’s divorced but seeing someone and they’re both just…bored. Seems to be a common affliction. Surprise! Anyway…at least I wasn’t gonna be cast in the “other woman, dreaded home-wrecker” role… His sexual history was a hoot as well: Catholic schoolboy-cum-college student loses his virginity to a married 40-something Mrs. Robinson and they carry on a torrid four-year affair! She teaches him “things that still work!” Whoa, baby! Sounds good to me!
We immediately fell into an easy and engaging conversation — the perfect balance of banter — and agreed on beers, tapas and just about everything else! He interjected a few suggestive asides but, rather than being off-putting, they were wryly delivered and therefor surprisingly welcomed. He was animated and intelligent and earnestly seemed to find me “really interesting.” When he leaned in for a quick kiss, with the somewhat chestnut-ty “Sorry, I couldn’t resist any longer,” even that was perfectly timed. We had a couple of beers and a lot of laughs — the perfect date — and when he walked me home there were more than a few absolutely amazing kisses. I can’t really explain why I didn’t drag his ass upstairs into my apartment. Sigh. I blamed my reluctance on the messy foster dog situation but maybe the situation itself just felt a bit too…cliché. It’s really a horse I need to get back on and ride, if you’ll forgive the hackneyed phraseology. Next time I’ll force myself! Giddyup! Stay tuned!