I ventured to a sex club – it was about as erotic as a trip to the fishmongers
It’s been quite the week. I ventured to a sex club last Saturday night, where, to my relief, I found no signs of anyone having actual sex. The following day I was insulted on the dating app Bumble (the one where women are “in charge”). After 20 years an ex-boyfriend came out of the woodwork, which knocked me sideways. And to top it all off, a friend’s 50th turned into the kind of outrageous lunch that was just what the mood-doctor ordered.
To put it in some semblance of order, let’s begin with the sex club. I have no idea why I’m headlining it as thus; it was about as sexy as a trip to the fishmongers on a rainy afternoon.
A ticketed event, the emails sent in the run-up to Saturday were filled with saucy, intoxicating mystery. “The venue will be announced the day before the event,” one email declared. But why? Was something illegal about to take place? No such luck, it was more of an immersive theatre night with models wearing PVC and rubber. In my head, I’d imagined the night to be a heady mix of masonic meets demonic, with a touch of Eyes Wide Shut. I’ll stick to the local pub in future.
Instead, I rejoined Bumble, possibly the world’s most complicated dating app. First of all, there’s the “beeline” to contend with. The beeline is where all the men (or women) who fancy the look of you gather together in an endless scroll. My beeline is so busy (show-off) I have to set aside time to go through it. You’d think that clicking the “tick” button on a friendly face would be enough. But non! You’re given just 24 hours to contact them, otherwise their profile goes into some sort of sleep mode.
I pay attention to Bumble for no more than 10 minutes or so a day, but this week found a handsome Swede buzzing around my beeline. I pressed “tick” then messaged him, after which we exchanged a few cursory introductions. Almost all messages usually kick off with something along the lines of, “Hope you’ve had a nice day? Where do you live? Are you an axe murderer?” After only two exchanges, he said he’d like to meet. I didn’t reply immediately – blame it on the fact I have quite a busy life. “You are very boring,” he wrote the next day. “You have nothing interesting to say and I’m very intuitive and know this will go nowhere.” Oh, buzz off.
Next on this week’s agenda is the ex – let’s call him David – from two decades ago. They say love strikes when you least expect it. But can love strike twice, with the same person, 20 years later? Out of the blue, I received an email from an ex-boyfriend who’s always occupied a small part of my heart. Entitled “Long Time”, the mere sight of his name in my inbox made me gasp. “You were on my mind and I filled a sleepless night reading some of your amusing and candid articles. I’ll be in the UK soon and it would be good to reconnect.” Once I’d regained control over my breathing, I didn’t hesitate to reply. Friendly, no hint of romance in our exchanges, we were just two people catching up after years of zero contact. Older and wiser, give or take a few battle scars.
I can’t remember the exact year we met, but it was a New Year’s Eve and at the time I worked for Giorgio Armani at his London head office. On my way out of a nightclub, I remember heading towards a revolving door. I stopped when I saw him – tall and clever-looking. He took my number and asked to see me the following day. It was dark when a flatmate knocked on my bedroom door. “There’s a man at the door with a dog,” my roommate announced, slightly irked, possibly because I’d woken up the entire house with a drunken clattering of high heels at some godforsaken hour.
We went for a walk in the dark, to a nearby park. I remember this so clearly, and yet I can’t remember how or why our brief moment together ended. His intelligence and gentle demeanour made him unlike the usual reprobates I dated back then.
When we met again last week, being with him was dreamlike. As was the kiss we shared at 2am after spending three hours on my sofa chatting about everything. Reconnecting with people from a lifetime ago is often like that. On the dreamlike theme, the message I received the following morning detailing where we were going on our next –date? No, not a date – meeting, was nothing short of a surprise. He’d booked a restaurant and tickets to an exhibition. In a year of online dating, not once has someone taken such care or initiative when it comes to planning a date. The days that followed that first night seeing David again were strange. Melancholy, even. He lives on the opposite side of the world. Nothing will come of this. I must protect my heart.
And to the final point on the agenda. If you’re ever feeling out of sorts, going wild with good friends at lunchtime is the perfect pick-me-up. My dear friend Sigrid Kirk, an influential figure on the London art scene, hosted her 50th birthday at a Japanese restaurant. Fabulous outfits, hair and teeth aside, it was Sigrid’s musings on turning 50 – a touching tribute to the wisdom and friendships that come with age – that reached into my soul like a pickpocket.
The opening lines of The Divine Comedy: “In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself, within a dark wood, where the straight way was lost…” As you read this today, I’m on said “date-meeting” with David. No straight roads exist at this age, only winding paths with some tricky turns to navigate. Perhaps I’m in a cul-de-sac and will find my way out soon? “Stay tuned for next week” is a tempting way to end today’s column. But this is The Telegraph, not Netflix.
