The Mancunion

Britain's biggest student newspaper

Tinder tales

Certainly not your typical bedtime story

By

“Most people probably enjoy a bit of rough and tumble in the bedroom, the odd bite here, and a scratch or two there. But have you ever been bitten so hard you literally bled onto your pillow? That’s what happened to me on my last Tinder date. Conversation had been ordinary, foreplay unremarkable; I would never have guessed that she was a vampire. Then suddenly, out of nowhere she sinks her teeth into my neck and tries to take a chunk out. I yell out ‘AAAHHHHHOOOOWWWWW!’, waking all of my housemates with screams of pain. I’m still trying to decide whether or not the pleasure was worth the pain.”

I should have known from the moment she said she loved Twilight

Photo: The Mancunion

“So I take this girl out on a date, one thing leads to another and she ends up staying at mine. Pretty harmless, right? Wrong. But I wasn’t to know that until I embarked on my daily pampering ritual the following morning. Like many men, I’m a fan of that Mint and Tea Tree shower gel for reasons I’m sure you can guess for yourself. Unfortunately, this product doesn’t mix well with open wounds. Much to my horror and agony, I discovered this very fact for myself whilst in the shower. At closer inspection of the area of searing pain, I realised that it resembled what I imagine it would look like after a passionate night with the likes of Edward Scissorhands. Then again, maybe he’d have been a more gentle lover?”

Photo: zoup7667@Fickr

Photo: zoup7667@Fickr

 

Catfish 

“Met this girl on Tinder, got the mates’ approval, even verified on Snapchat. So I arranged to meet her at Revs in Fallowfield, a classic Tinder date spot. Waiting outside, she calls me telling me she’s nearly there. Just to get things straight, I wasn’t looking for a marriage but difficult not to be disappointed.

“I’m facing the former BaaBar and a girl comes round the corner on the phone. Not bad, pretty chuffed actually. All of a sudden, I’m tapped on the shoulder from behind and my actual Tinder date greets me. Much to my astonishment, the girl in front of me looks as if she’d eaten her Tinder self and is wearing every foundation available in Selfridges. Clearly, my shock was not well concealed as she asks me: ‘Are you okay? You look really confused.’ The gentleman that I am, I brushed it off with a smile and proceeded to guide her into Revs whilst plotting my exit plan.

“The barmaid at Revs definitely knew from the expression on her face. Drinks bought, we sat down and she necked her double vodka and lemonade as I cautiously sipped my beer. First strategy, make her dislike me: Her: ‘I have three cats’, Me: ‘I fucking hate cats’. I don’t though, I actually quite like them. Upon discovering that she studied Politics, I informed her that I was probably going to vote BNP in the following election. Disclaimer: This was my desperate response to the situation. As that strategy failed, I pulled the ‘Emergency phonecall card’ and stared passionately at the table whilst attempting to keep a straight face.

“When I went to make my exit, she didn’t make it easy. At first, she doubted me, then proceeded to follow me down the road at five feet’s distance. When I finally neared my place, I turned and asked her if she needed help getting home. In response she offered to wait until my “emergency” was over and we could continue with her date. The farce was up and I eventually came clean that I didn’t want to continue the date (mainly because my mate was standing 50 metres away, pissing himself laughing). Her completely understandable response was ‘Wanker’ and she consequently stormed off.”

 

“When I met this girl she seemed jovial and pretty. But I quickly realised she was on a phenomenal comedown from the night before and could barely string a sentence together. Her jaw ached and despite my best efforts to lift her spirits she sat there dejected for the better part of three hours, at points with tears in her eyes. She turned her nose up at the bottle of wine I’d bought, so out of desperation, I drank the bottle, went to the bar to buy another and bolted.”

 

“Our first Tinder date went spectacularly. We wandered around a London park for the afternoon arguing about everything under the sun: art, literature, who was more posh, and the best type of coffee. ‘This is the one!’ I thought. We had a real rapport intellectually and physically. But suddenly, after 10 weeks, she stopped answering my messages and blocked me on social media. I was left heart broken. ‘How had she slipped away? What had I done wrong?!’ I asked around a bit and apparently she’d had a long-term boyfriend the whole time. I was just there filling the gap while he was on his gap year.”