I’ve been on 50 Tinder dates – one bloke brought his dead cat along, another wanted to oil me all over… it’s hell
WITH the UK opening up, dating experts have predicted a 'sexplosion' with pent up singles desperate to get back on the dating scene.
Sales of contraceptives have soared and dating apps have seen members increase as the sun shines.
But for people looking for their happily-ever-after it's not all plain sailing.
Jane Fulton, 35, from Glasgow, Scotland, has been on an astonishing 50 dates and still hasn't found the one. Now she tells her story:
'Ting'... a beep on my phone signalled another match - but certainly not the only one I’ve received.
It’s nine years since I joined Tinder and since then I’ve been on more than 50 dates - from the awkward (don’t say you’re 6ft if you are 5ft 3ins) to the gross (please, guys, wash before you go out).
"Fancy meeting tomorrow for a mid-week walk," asked Ben* who I’d been talking to for a few weeks. ‘He must be really keen,’ I thought. We’d actually arranged a date for the weekend at the pub.
But with a good feeling about him, I wore a cute dress with my make-up perfectly applied and waited at the gates.
"You look a bit sad, everything OK?" I asked when he arrived, a downtrodden look on his face and swinging a carrier bag.
That’s when the tears started to fall. "My cat," he spluttered. "He just died. I’m going to bury him and I didn’t want to do it alone."
Needless to say I was stunned and more than a little bit turned off as he told me in great detail about tabby Fred who’d died due to old age. I’m ashamed to say, unwilling to partake in an impromptu feline funeral, I muttered something about an ‘emergency’ and fled the scene before blocking him on the app.
And he’s far from the only bloke who’s failed to tick the right boxes as I embark on my quest for ‘The One’. There’s the bloke who couldn’t stop swearing, the 60-something who catfished me with snaps taken a decade earlier in flattering black and white and the lad who gave me food poisoning before ghosting me.
Looking at my dating resume would explain why, aged 35, I am still single. But I didn’t think it would be this way at 18 when - as a student at uni in West Yorkshire - I was convinced I had already met Mr Right.
I met Joe* at a house party in my native Glasgow. We dated throughout my time at uni with me catching two six hour trains back home every weekend to see him.
I thought that was it for me - I’d get engaged, married and have a kid.
So it came as a shock to me when we split up aged 24 after realising we were better off as mates and I learnt, albeit not immediately, dating wasn’t easy.
After the split I left the UK and joined the kids’ club staff of a cruise ship sailing around the Canary Islands.
For two years I enjoyed one night stands and short-lived flings with fellow staff. But I got homesick so aged 26 headed back to Glasgow where I got a job in TV production.
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I worked crazy hours and my love life was put on the backburner. I naively declared to pals I would never online date. ‘It’s for weirdos,’ I scoffed.
But in the years I’d been gone old mates had started to couple up. It was no longer ‘me’ but ‘us’ and wild nights necking Sambuca shots out had been replaced with his and her dinner parties.
So, following persuasion from pals, I set up a profile on the popular app.
‘It’s just a bit of fun,’ I was adamant, firmly believing every bloke I matched with was bound to be either a serial killer or an OAP.
So I was pleasantly surprised when I immediately matched with Kirk*.
We chatted easily for a few weeks before agreeing to meet at a restaurant in Glasgow.
My heart was in my stomach as I walked in.
But he was so fit and the chat was on fire.
Just weeks later I fell into bed with him. However, he refused to put a label on us and I subsequently found out he’d been seeing other people throughout our two-year relationship.
My confidence knocked, I embarked on a period of a few months where I used Tinder only for sex.
But it didn’t feel right, I wasn’t being true to myself, so I deleted the app.
Alas, my self-enforced celibacy lasted just a few months and in no time at all I’d downloaded Tinder, Hinge and Bumble - but this time my eyes were on a relationship.
It seems I’m not the only one who feels this way. With lockdown restrictions eased retailers are predicting a ‘summer of love’, dubbing it a ‘sexplosion’.
Sales of contraceptives are set to soar - and dating apps have seen its members increase too.
Justin McLeod, who runs the Hinge app, says users went on 10 per cent more dates in April than in March - and its pace is only going to increase now summer has hit.
Meanwhile, healthcare director of Superdrug Michael Henry says millions of people had “missed sexual connections during lockdown”.
In swiping right to every Tom, Dick and Harry I’ve encountered fewer Tom and Harrys and a lot of d***s.
Jane Fulton
“We’re expecting a significant surge in demand for sexual health and sexual pleasure products as restrictions have been eased,” he says.
But I will issue a warning to app virgins - be careful. Not just for your safety - but for what is out there in the dating swamp, as I call it.
In swiping right to every Tom, Dick and Harry I’ve encountered fewer Tom and Harrys and a lot of d***s.
One memorable date ended up with me in bed with a bloke - although not how you might think.
After meeting Kieran* on Bumble, we chatted for a few weeks before deciding to go to a restaurant. He was good-looking and seemed nice. So far, so good.
Only he suddenly went ghostly pale and started panting. A heart attack? No, thankfully. ‘I’m having a panic attack,’ he gasped. ‘Call my mum.’
Now I have every sympathy for mental health issues, but it did dampen the mood as we waited for a taxi, him with his head in his hands, me taking frantic instructions from his mum.
Tucking him into bed, he was crying. He was so lovely but we couldn’t see each other again after that. It was too much.
At least he was looked like what he said, which is more than I can say for Tom* who I matched with while on a walking holiday. The chat was great and when he asked me if he could take me to dinner I jumped at the chance.
But what I really liked was his pictures - in all of them he was doing adrenaline sports, something I am really into too.
Aged 40, he was a little bit above my usual age range. So I was shocked when a greying bloke who looked weeks off claiming his free bus pass approached. ‘Who are you?’ I gasped.
It emerged he was so desperate for a younger woman he used pictures from 15 years ago and lied about his age. ‘Otherwise the women I’m keen on wouldn’t swipe yes to me,’ he grinned cheekily. He was right, there’s no way I would have - so I claimed I needed to work and left, blocking him on the way home.
While Kieran was a catfisher it was fish which caused my downfall with Sam* who I met on Tinder and went on a date with to a bar in Glasgow.
The date went brilliantly and we moved onto his flat for date number two. My nerves were fizzing with expectation - was he going to be the one?
Sitting down for a seafood salad we chatted easily, but around an hour afterwards fizzing nerves had been replaced by a fizzing stomach. I legged it to the loo and vomited violently.
Thank God he had two bathrooms, otherwise he would have been s****** on the floor.
All dignity went out the window as I threw up and he pooed for the next couple of hours. The stench was overwhelming and way too much for a second date.
Still, unwilling to be deterred I had a good feeling about Jimmy* who I met on Hinge. He lived two hours from me and he wooed me with an impressive-sounding date to a castle with wine and food.
He was very late, sweaty and he had forgotten to book anywhere to eat - then said he wasn’t hungry anyway as my tummy growled.
Setting up a tab he necked bottle after bottle - then sneaked out leaving me to pay. What a tight a***, I fumed, going home with considerably lighter pockets.
One bloke I met on Tinder seemed really nice but was harbouring a saucy and somewhat unusual secret in the bedroom.
I was turned on after three dates when we ripped our clothes off. ‘You’re so sexy,’ I whispered, desperate to get down and dirty.
But he was after something a bit more, well, oily.
He explained he was into spreading oil over women and then slithering over their bodies. ‘Like a fish?’ I queried.
Initially he started with a massage which was great but it quickly became bizarre so I called it a day - and we never ended up having sex.
Looking at my dating resume would explain why, aged 35, I am still single.
Jane Fulton
But at least he didn’t swear constantly like Craig* from Hinge. At the bar he dropped the c-bomb and I let it go; after all Glaswegians aren’t shy about using bad language.
But as the date progressed and he drank more his language got more and more obscene with me blushing a shade of scarlet.
I felt like his unpaid therapist as he shared all his woes with me, increasingly sweary and angry. ‘Great f****** date,’ he said at the end. At least one of us thought so.
Then there was Mike* who I met on Bumble and chatted to for a few days before meeting for a beer. He looked like he said and was fun and friendly. I was left waiting for the other shoe to drop - and, of course, it did. In the form of a fart.
‘What’s that grim smell?’ I asked, wondering if it came from the bloke near us, supping a pint. But it just lingered and lingered.
Embarrassed, I realised it was Mike - and he couldn’t stop pumping.
Still, I wondered if he’d had a dodgy dish the night before and he was so nice I gave him the benefit of the doubt. So we arranged a second date, a meal at his place. But there, sitting in his lounge while he cooked, I could hear him farting merrily away. ‘Gross,’ I thought, realising he was not the man for me.
Even lockdown hasn’t stopped me. ‘Go away,’ hollered one date manically while on a recent walk around a park. His target? A sweet little squirrel. It was the sixth time he screamed at it I realised we weren’t meant to be.
Still, and despite my dating woes I’m not quitting yet. The more you swipe the better your odds are of finding The One - and I figure I’ve kissed so many frogs I must be just about ready to find my prince.
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