A Texas trucker from Tinder pushes all those Okie-buttons I’ve tried to suppress. But pandemic, quarantine, and continued isolation make me rethink dating.
I already work at home, connecting with the world through a Zoom screen – already a pro at social distancing. The thought of personal connection powerful even if it means my vowels revert to a slower drawl and my speech is tainted with a few more y’alls.
Impressing me with a bit more savvy than my obvious stereotype has allowed, all my hard-won online dating rules for meeting in-person sooner than later go out the door.
Trucker-dude and I begin with a video chat. Nice guy, maybe a little shy, but nothing which sends up huge red flags. But, also, nothing hugely exciting. Maybe further acquaintance will help.
Next, the texting begins as he starts a cross country haul deemed essential. Then a six-hour phone marathon across the whole of Iowa. Followed by more talk and text late into the evening.
I realize the connection fuels my soul as my business freezes and the only direct conversation I have is with the grocery store cashier.
Friends reach out and I connect with family, but it is the very masculine voice in my ear which fills and excites me.
In the back of my mind, I find concern that something is not quite right. While the rest of my body is pumping with titillation, heat, and anticipation. I’ve never texted and talked so long before the in-person meet-n-greet.
Two weeks of this back and forth go by before he shows up at my doorstep. He can be part of my shelter in place, be on my side of the social-distance fence.
We talk and it’s all about him, like he can’t quite grasp a way into the depth of me. I find myself bored and a lot confused, feeling like I’m making do.
Despite my better judgment, I take him to my bed. All those rules still jettisoned in favor of skin-to-skin contact, release, and some cuddling to banish the isolation.
Later in a phone convo with my sister describing Mr. Trucker, I say, “Remember how I described sex with my ex as 15-minutes on a Sunday morning?”
She laughs, affirming the memory of those words.
“Well, apparently,” I continue, “Tinder truckers are good for 7 1/2 minutes on a Saturday evening and only five on a Sunday morning.” The lack of me in the conversation with him clearly a sign of a no need to include me in bed – his pleasure certainly should be mine he seemed to say.
High hopes for 18-wheels have restored my rules for sacred relationship. Skip the phone talk and the texting. Get to the in-person ASAP.
Thus, the next step in pandemic dating must be virtual reality.
An hour or more of fake sex sounds better than the disappointment of pathetic, pandemic sex with a Tinder trucker.
I’m thinking I’d like to give a biker or a cowboy a try.