I froze Tinder, but how do I find sex in quarantine?

Another week began. I really can not understand how it is that time keeps moving if nothing happens in it. It feels like I’m trapped inside a time capsule – on the inside time stands still, but on the outside it progresses as usual. At least pleasing to the eye as my capsule, an old Jaffa two-room apartment with high ceilings and painted floors. But boring. I long for the matter, for a bright and thrilling evening that you never know how it will end.

Since “Rehearsals” aired, I started receiving all sorts of annoying messages, some on social media and some on my private cell phone. One mother even wanted to match me to her son! Men who did not bother to waste time answering me on Tinder, suddenly came out of the holes and started sending messages.

It’s not right for me to go out with someone who wants to go out with me just so he can run to the guys after that and tell me “I fucked Kasha courting.” If you have been so persistent in ignoring me, why do you suddenly remember to pay attention to me only now, when I’m on TV? Do not buy it.

It’s getting a little too much for me, these interests, and it’s daunting, so I froze my Tinder account. Now a little quiet for me, thanks. But how do you know potential sex partners nowadays, if these apps can’t be used, and if we’re all locked in a time capsule, more isolated than ever? What, recycle guys from the wizard? I hate doing it, but there seems to be no choice. I did not think I would ever say that, but it seems to me that it is time to take out the ‘list’. She’s pretty old and out of date, but this is just the beginning.

I know what you’re thinking – you’re probably thinking I’ve become Joey from “Friends,” and I understand, it’s really embarrassing, but I kind of remember all the guys I slept with from the moment I stopped updating the list. The problem is that remembering them also floods quite a few less pleasant memories from completely unnecessary encounters that have taken place in the past year, so this is probably not the way.

Besides, if I have such a hard time remembering, or if I remember things in horror, there is probably a reason for it, and it is possible or even desirable to give up a reunion with these men. I just have to think, who do I want to meet again? Do I miss someone?

After a considerable amount of thought, I manage to narrow down my list to just two guys. ‘The Tuffin’ – a guy I sleep with who is almost a decade younger than me, with tattoos in strategic places and a chiseled body like that of a Greek god in the Tel Aviv version, with whom sex is simply out of this world (the guy does not get tired!). The problem is that the same Greek god is now stuck in a blockade in the north of the country, so he has to get out of the equation. There’s also Guy – the most loyal sex partner I’ve had, but I broke up with him a few months ago.

“I want love and I prefer not to force my need for intimacy on our encounters,” I told him at our last meeting. He looked at me, tried to conquer the disappointment at the thought that a year and a half of amazing friendships and wonderful sex were coming to an end, but finally he understood, and we moved away. But now I’m back to myself. I do not want love! I mean, yeah, that would be nice, but that’s not what I’m in for right now! I just want a pleasant and passionate sex with a man I can trust and his interests.

I think about it and my sexual energies are already starting to run wild. I’m stuck here, in my time capsule, and for so long I have not seen a man just like that, who is not the salesman from the grocery store or the man from the butcher shop in the corner. enough. I can not anymore. Let me go for a show and eye wash, something that will allow me to feed my libido a bit with beautiful looks. Really in my situation everything goes! I’m really not picky. really! Older, young, bearded, short, tall, women, men. Everything. Just give me some refreshing, different look, something that can at least be fantasized about a bit.

I go out on the porch with my cup of coffee. She sits down on the chair, stretches her legs on the fence opposite and looks at the neighbors’ roof. A chubby man in his forties, wearing stained clothes, entered my frame. He is holding a large bucket of paint. He is balding and has a small belly and lots of hair on his hands. I laugh out loud. Okay, I admit that when I said to myself that “everything is going”, I was aiming for something a little different, but it’s something too. Thank you up there, whoever you are. Thanks!

The guy puts down the bucket, turns his back to me and gives a call, and another young man now enters the frame. He, too, is wearing stained work clothes. He has cropped dark hair and a long but neat beard. In his brown, muscular arms he holds another bucket of paint. He places the bucket, nears the edge of the roof, and now it is located right in front of me, roof to roof.

He lights a cigarette, and I realize I’m staring at him mesmerized. Seeing him bring his lips closer to the tip of the cigarette, sucking from it a deep inhale to the lungs. He stands so relaxed, with zero effort. Oh no! His eyes meet mine. sailing! I hurry to look away, hoping I was saved in time. My head is turned in the other direction, but I keep sending subtle squints in his direction. He’s still looking at me. His eyes are now deep in mine, and his gaze lands me in place. I feel his eyes like a laser, scanning me with every movement I make.

Why is he stuck? Shouldn’t he go back to work? I get up and decide to leave the porch. The windows of my house face the direction of the neighbors’ building, and from their roof you can see everything that is happening in my apartment. It’s a beautiful day today, warm with good air, and the windows of my house are wide open. I move from the bedroom to the living room, and see my boyfriend move in with me. I stop in the living room, he stops in front of me. I continue to the kitchen, he continues with me.

Every other day, it would probably have bothered me. But precisely because I prayed so much to wash my eyes a little, I find this rooftop flirtation particularly exciting. As if someone upstairs listened to me most attentively, ached in the pain of my limping libido, and decided to accede to my requests and send me this gnarled and dirty guy. Maybe I should have prayed for something a little more important? Enough, Yuval, everything is impossible.

I turn up the radio in the living room, and start dancing. He’s still looking. I dance and sing gently with the music, and my shirt flutters to the sides, revealing a tanned shoulder. He’s still there, continuing to watch me from the roof. Occasionally I send an invisible squint to see if it’s still there. I keep dancing. Supposedly I dance for myself, but actually I dance for him.

He knows it. It’s a small and exciting flirtation, without words. Like spotting someone from the edge of the bar and sending each other secret glances all evening, but doing nothing but “behaving naturally” in space. But every action is intentional. Every action is an appearance. Every smile, every hum of a song, every bow. It’s all a show. And both sides know. Know but are silent.

Here, too, lies the great thrill in my opinion, at a distance and in doubt. I am so excited about this secret and spontaneous flirtation that I quickly skip to the bathroom to apply lipstick. If already, then already, give him the whole show! I leave the bathroom, put on light make-up and puffy lips, and return to the living room.

But wait, where is he? I look gently out the window, not seeing him. Maybe he changed position on the roof? I go out to the balcony, from there you can see better. No, he’s gone. A moment ago he was here! I look down, at the street, to see maybe he went to the car, to get something. But the guy disappeared. Maybe his work day just ended? Makes sense. He can’t stand here on the roof forever. Maybe he had a pee? Maybe when I went to the bathroom he thought our little game was over, and left?

And maybe he was not looking at me at all and I was just getting so desperate and horny that I started imagining things, and our little rooftop flirtation was in my head the whole time? But I could swear he looked at me. I’m not that flying. Disappointed, I enter the house. Gomeret says in my heart that tomorrow I will wait for him again, at the same place and at the same time, for another roof flirtation. Tomorrow he will appear again. I’m sure.