Through Hinge, Ritalin Girl’s virtual second home, she had been talking to a man called Wayne. He was slightly younger at 26. Ritalin Girl has reached the big 3-0.

 

They hadn’t got off to a good start. He had been talking to her like she was a bloke. First he said he was off to have a wank as he was suffering from stress. Then he said it was a joke. So Ritalin Girl had cancelled their first date. The idea of a man wanking himself off in the office toilets wasn’t a turn on funnily enough. Joke or no joke.

 

Then about a month later he resurfaced on Hinge and they matched again. Wayne had tried Feeld but it wasn’t for him. “For kinky people” he said, not his scene. He was back searching for a casual fling on Hinge again. The safe option.

 

They got chatting and arranged to meet. Ritalin Girl reminded him that she was a femme and casual or not, she wanted to be treated like a woman. Man to woman. She wasn’t his mate. So he asked her out and booked a bar for happy hour in Covent Garden, the Escapologist. He was able to get off work early at 4pm lucky fella.

 

The Escapologist was a basement bar with a cosy feel to it. Snug sofas and dim lighting. They got going with happy hour. Conversation was flowing easily. He was densely built. Very appealing.

 

A few cocktails later they headed out towards Honest burger to get some chips. Funnily enough it was right next to his flat. Oh how convenient.

 

They went up the staircase to his nearly £2,000 a month cramped tiny shared flat in Holborn. It was messy. A typical boys flat. Nothing extra or frivolous. No photos, no candles, no warmth. Just bare walls, bin bags on the kitchen floor and junk scattered everywhere. Utilitarian some might call it. Just the bare necessities.

 

Wayne went back down to collect the chippies and Ritalin Girl made herself comfortable in his utilitarian bed. No extra pillows, no teddies, dark navy masculine bed sheets.

 

Soon he reappeared. The chips were salty. They continued talking and started munching, not very sexy.

 

When the chip container was half empty they got down to business. They made out like teenagers. She went down on him. He didn’t reciprocate. And they had sex. Lots of it. She felt positively worn out. He was a big fan of the flatiron sex position.

 

Whilst he wasn’t a gentleman in bed. Some choking, some slapping in the right places. He was a gentleman the next day, graciously ordering her an Uber back to the station the next morning. Much better than having to hobble to the bus in her heels.