A housewife

Let’s imagine her life. She has two teenaged daughters. They look like her and her husband. They have her lips and his eyes. Her mother is Srilankan. Her father is American. She grew up in London. At 25 years old, she met her husband. He was handsome. They got married a few years later. She got pregnant at 35 years old with the first child. Then the second one at 37 years old. She gave up her model career for him. She followed him to his country as his career was more important for him. She was happy being home and raising the kids. They spent their vacations in Australia, in India, in England. When the kids were small, they lived a happy bohemian life. They could travel around Asia by motorbike for months. They spent Christmas and New Year’s Eve in the mountains in Switzerland, in the village where her husband was born. Ten years ago, her husband got an important contract in Spain. They decided to move to Madrid. They bought together an old flat in the Old Town and he renovated it into a loft, keeping the structure of the flat but adding a few modern details for the kitchen. There were no separation between their bedroom and the bedrooms of the kids. They lived in an open space, husband, wife and daughters. Their kids could sleep and play wherever they wanted to in the flat.

Eventually her husband started to become well-known. He got more and more contracts. His design in architecture and ideas of keeping raw concrete material in construction were appreciated. He opened two more offices in two other cities in Europe and started to travel more. At the beginning he stayed two nights in a hotel where he first opened his office. After six months, he said he was tired of travelling back and forth too much and asked her if she would mind if he rented a room in one city where the second office is. She said that she would understand if he found it more convenient.

The next two years, he moved from the room to another studio in a nice house. Same city. He practically only came home to Spain on the weekends. She did some charity works, mostly unpaid. She took care of the kids alone during weekdays. The weekends when he was home, he was invited to work events and networking parties. She followed him everywhere they were invited. She dressed up for him. She did not feel particularly happy about it but she imagined that could help him to show an image of a happy couple. People seem to fancy about how beautiful and harmonious their life was. She could not do anything about it. People always seem to think or imagine something. Would anyone imagine her in the laundry room during the week, in the kitchen, cleaning the bathroom, ironing his shirts? Would anyone imagine how it could be to sleep alone four days a week, in the master bedroom designed by him? People could imagine their lives and love life and marriage life as a successful life. No one could imagine the loneliness and the resilience that she has accepted to live through these years.

Eventually, he moved from a studio to a bigger two bedrooms apartment. He built the building and kept for himself the flat. He always came back home. He was more and more tired. Ten more years passed by. They talked during dinners on the weekends. They went to events, still. They went on vacations where he had the construction sites. Their sex life was nothing special but hygienic.

Eventually, the arrangement suited them. Their feelings were fading away or were a pale memory of what they were before. But there were the two beautiful kids and there was the celebrity that kept them together. She imagined and knew that he had mistresses or lovers elsewhere. A divorce was out of the question. It would cost them a lot emotionnally to decide for a separation, even though it might have cost them more to stay together all these years.

She imagined her husband with other women in his room then in the studio then  in the big flat. What did they look like ? What were their professions? How old were they ? He chose them carefully enough. They would not bother her, or them, or her couple. They slept with him and left. He gave them nothing. He took from them nothing but their bodies. He gave her nothing either but took from her everything.

Why did she accept ? As a mother to her kids ? As a wife to her husband ? She knew there were other women. He tried to be discreet, not only to protect her, but also to preserve the marriage and the family. She never knew why he would do that ? Their marriage was not what it used ot be. There was nothing bohemian about their lives these last years. What kept them together in this loft built in concrete walls was merely the laughs of their kids. And the idea of being a family, in a traditional way, a husband, a wife, the kids, the father, the mother. What he did outside, in another country, in another flat, had nothing to do with her. Or it had everything to do with her but she preferred to ignore. All these women whose faces unknown to her. As long as she could not imagine them more than some vague associations of images and fantasies of her mind, she preferred to ignore their existence. That was how she opened the door every weekend and greeted him with a smile. A sad one. But enough to preserve a family.


A Tinder match

He is 52 years old. Two grown-up daughters. Lives 4 days in your city, 3 days abroad during the weekend. Works in both places. On his profile, he put his website so you could easily check his background. A successful man, well-known career. He is an architect. You browsed the images of the buildings he built. They were well done and stylish.

After two seconds of exchanges in Tinder message, he gave you his phone number. You did not chat a lot with him. After maybe three messages, you agreed to meet him for a drink on a Saturday evening. He was extremely handsome, just plastically handsome. On his website, there was a description of his work and one sentence: lives with his family. You connected with him on Facebook, he had almost 5000 “friends”. You browsed through his friends for less than 10 seconds. Most of them are gorgeous women.

Saturday 6pm, you agreed to meet him at one finest bar in your city. You came to the bar 5 minutes earlier. The bar was full of eastern sophisticated girls in fur. He arrived 10 minutes late. He made you nervous by arriving late. He was just as gorgeous as all his pictures on the website and on Facebook. Self-confident, warm. Over self-confident. The way he smiled to you. He already knew you would never walk out of this bar alone, without him tonight, you would go with him to wherever he wanted to go. The smile of his could put any rational thought of yours upside down. He was totally your style. Totally. Totally. Totally. Copy paste this word Totally 1000 times, that would still be true. You asked the first question after 5 minutes. Are you married or separated. He answered: oh too soon to ask this question. It is complicated. You knew right at that moment that Mr. Totally My Style would just be an affair;  best case scenario you would become a mistress; worse case scenario a one-night stand. But you looked at him and you said to yourself: Who cares. You would protect yourself deeply because he was totally your style but not a boyfriend or partner material. This, if you could do it, you stay. And that was what you did. You stayed.

You went from this bar to the best restaurant in town. Best one and also the most expensive. Over self-confident man, he greeted everyone in the restaurant. He seemed to know everyone. The bar was dark so you could not see his eyes properly. In the restaurant, the light was bright enough for you to see his blue eyes. His eyes were wonderful. He was perfect. What he said. The way he held your hands in the middle of the meal. The way he laughed. He was witty and smart and charming. All the subjects were put out there on the table for discussion but you were delicate enough to never ask about his family situation again. You respected him. It was none of your business. You would not want to contradict these blue eyes, this smile and this tanned skin of him after some weeks in Bali. You would not want to confront him. You would never ever confront him. Not that evening and not the other evenings either. After the dinner, he suggested to go to a piano bar where you have never been. The piano bar was cool. People dancing, singing. Old, young, cool mix. After the first vodka tonic, he kissed you. He kissed you again. And again. You felt like a teenage. You enjoyed the kisses. They were cool, normally cool. He was shocked when you qualified them as normal. The kisses were normal because it was a normal denouement of such an evening. You would kiss him for sure. Again and again for sure. He would have his hands caressing your body, your legs or your neck. Normal process. Two wolves out there kissing each other. Craving sex, tenderness or even affection. Who knows? Even love. But you were clever enough to not throw your heart to anyone just because of the kisses. The evening was perfect like him. When you two left the bar, there were some cabs in front, he asked if you would like to go home or come to his place. You waited 5 seconds and went inside the cab with him.

You went back to his place. He just moved in the building he built the week before you met. Boxes, empty place. Dark concrete but beautiful. The idea of the window that opens completely and becomes the balcony was brilliant. The best place you could imagine to have sex with a stranger. The sex was good. You have got better. But it was honorable enough for the first time. You asked him in the night if you should take a cab to leave like the other women. He said you could stay. And added: Usually they leave earlier. Over self-confident again. You woke up several times in the night. His body looking for yours. The kisses in the dark. The smell, his and yours. Delicious and usual smell of sex and of sweating bodies. In the morning, you did not feel awkward. You told him you had to leave. He said that a coffee and short brunch would be fine.

It was a rainy Sunday. You picked a trendy place of brunch. He was nice and gentle. He looked you into the eyes. That could make you melt if you were amnesia and if you could forget about his complicated family situation. He could look at you deeply, you still would not forget that. You like the smile and the gazes. Yet you knew you would represent not much for him. He left you at the tram stop, kissing you over and over again. His kisses smelled like the rain. He got hard. The kisses were soft. It was cold. Leaving him was normal process and ending.

The few days after that, you exchanged with him some short words, mostly to say hello and sending each other a normal kiss. He was again nice. You would totally fall for him if you were 25 years old. How could you resist a man like that? You could not. Then you agreed to meet him again for another dinner a week after that. You came back to his place. Same beautiful building. Same open balcony. Same light from the street and from the soccer court downstairs. Magical place. Sexual meaningless relationship. You had sex. Good sex. For the second time. As two consenting adults enjoying each other a lot. You came more than twice. He came more than twice. Then he gave you a t-shirt. It means you could stay and sleep over. The next day at 7 am you woke up, called a cab and went to work. His kiss goodbye was nothing special. A polite kiss in the morning.

You got out of his apartment. You were relieved. You thanked him for being just so beautiful, so gorgeous, so perfectly perfect. He had given you just sex. You could have fallen for him so deep if he did put some efforts in disguising just a bit your relationship into something more romantic and less sexual. But he did not. You thanked him for being honest and so self-confident to not even want to show you something else than just sex.

As you have predicted, his text messages got shorter and shorter. Just to make plan to hook up. The third time you met him at his place, he cooked for you some pasta. He asked more questions about your life. But somehow you felt like he was just being polite. Even though you two watched TV hands in hands, the air was empty of emotions. You did not judge him. He has his life and choices. You have yours. He gave you the same t-shirt. You slept over. Same routine. You took a cab the next day and left at 7am.

You enjoyed every moment with him. The politeness. The indifference. The distance. The short conversations. You would like to have less distance and coldness though. A more friendly touch, a slight gesture of intimacy, not only the physical one. A small something that will elevate your relationship beyond the trivial sexual needs. Not too much to get attached, but just enough to feel that the sex exchange was not just a transaction. Consenting adults should not be afraid of warmth after sex. He would be always safe even if he gave you a kiss goodnight. He would always be safe even if he hugged you goodbye in the morning. You two had an agreement. An affair agreement.

Ultimately your heart, you would save it for someone else. If you were 25, you would miss him inside the bedroom and outside the bedroom. Now that you are 45, you were wiser. In the end, you want love. You know that. And thanks to this gorgeous man. You know that you were not cynical enough to put sex above love. You know that you would never want to be that cynical. Eventually you would go on for a while. You did like what happened between him and you. Eventually he would keep you for a while. Eventually the agreement would last. But you would always want love to prevail sex. At 25, or 45 or 65 years old.

The air coming from outside of the cab window was fresh. You smiled and looked back at the building he has designed. Concrete. Grey. Luminous. Imposing. Just like the day you were about to embrace.



She wakes up this morning knowing she will be happy. There is a space inside of her and beyond her where an infinity of possibilities just dancing in front of her eyes.

There was that moment when she left him the other day in the morning. That precise moment very short, very furtive when she knew. What she knew, what she felt was common to her a long time ago, the time when she was in love. When she left his apartment, when they kissed goodbye, when he held her in his arms, she knew that love has hit her. Gently, softly but very clearly. And that was just it. Like an evidence. Not a surprise. She did not think of what could happen after that feeling. Would it work out between them ? Would they be available for each other ? Would he love her back ? These questions were not relevant as the present moment, the moment of this new-born love, was more important. She was honest to herself. She accepted to be in love. With him and with them and with their story. In this space where they are and where they were, anything can be possible. They are who they are, and they can be no one, and anything could happen to them, as long as there is this connection and intimacy. Because to be anything else, first there should be a connection.

Even knowing that she could get hurt or she could suffer, the suffering is still part of this infinity of possibilities. They have found each other. Somehow, somewhere in their lost souls and extreme loneliness, they have met and they have made space for each other. Short moments, long moments, intense moments they gave to each other. The kisses. The talks. The gazes. The naked bodies. What they offered to each other was never insignificant. Their lives so apart and yet so close, close in the search for another soulmate, or simply for a beautiful connection.

She wakes up this morning, accepting that kind of destiny. The kind of destiny that includes the love for him or the beginning of the love for him. Her heart is full. That is how she starts her day. In a space of infinite possibilities and he is one of them.

Should we criminalize Tinder for killing love? (a log book of 10 weeks on the apps)

One evening during a dinner with some young male friends, you realized they did not listen to you anymore, but were all concentrating on their smartphone, doing something apparently more interesting than listening to you. You asked them: Hey guys, I am talking alone here. What is so cool on your phones? We are swiping on Tinder. Show me. Oh she is cute, ok then I swipe left. Don’t you have Tinder ? Nope, what’s that? And in one second, they installed the apps for you. That seemed to be a fun idea. You broke up three months ago. You were free. You were ready to date again. The last break up left you with no particular feelings or emotions. He was15 years old younger than you. He was a rebound. Then the whole eight months after that you just asked yourself how to stop the relationship without hurting him. Mainly because he was jobless. At least you did not meet him on Tinder.

Your friends started to swipe left a lot right after they installed for you an account on Tinder. They said it is good to give everyone a chance. The next day you received about 50 messages. Mostly a short “Hi, thanks for the like”. You did not answer. None of them was your style. The next day you received about 50 messages, a bit in an angrier tone “why did you like me and then you don’t answer” or “answer me! Now!”. You did not answer, frightened. They were still not your style. After that, most of them unmatched you. You were glad they simply disappeared without you doing anything.

Then you started to check for yourself. First minute you got bored. You only swiped right. No one was your style. You were on the train, commuting. You could not even know for sure their location as you were moving yourself from different locations. There were so many men out there. Just not your style. You remember your friends telling you about this: “that is because you are ugly yourself, so they only give you ugly men…this is your level of possibility”…Thanks guys, always good to be your friends.

Then came some first matches.

“Hi, how are you ? Are you in S & M sex ?


Bye then”


“Hi, how are you ? I saw that you live far. I am married. Want an affair. You are too far for that. Bye then.”


“You don’t want one night stand? Come on, everyone wants ONS and open relationship. You are so naïve. I have an open relationship with my wife. I tell her about my ONS, she is very happy about that. You are so naïve. I am sad for you.”


After a few matches like that, you decided to put more precisions on your profile. You do not want just a hook up plan or an ONS, you want a serious relationship with trust and respect and love. All of that, you put on your profile. You hope it would do the job and pre-select for you at least some matching profiles.

Then came more and more matches. Almost daily. When you got enough time to get into the apps.

You put the range of age +48, you hoped you would meet some more mature men. You still remember how painful it was the last time you dated a young man. Even though you were pretty sure it was not because of his young age that he was not able to think or articulate his thoughts. One bad experience with the young age should not discourage you that much. But for the safe side, you decided to only choose mature men this time.

You tried to remember them chronologically, hence the structured and numbered description from here on:

1)       He is German, 60 years old, living in the south of France. His messages were very quickly too flirty. He got married twice. The first one lasted one day. Good to know. Thanks for your honesty. Two grown up daughters. He wrote to you daily. More and more flirty. But in the old style. Never sexual. He called you one evening. He called you but had nothing to say. Mainly you had to lead the conversation. You just wondered during the whole phone call why he has decided to call you if he had nothing to say to you. You did not understand what he told you anyway. He was trying to live in a house with some friends and tried to renovate his part or his room. He was so strange that you finally asked him if he were in a kind of religious sect. Why not living alone at 60 years old? Every day after that phone call, he said that he would call you in the evening but never called again. Then he wanted to come to visit you, 800 km apart and he was willing to make this trip. You said no. He insisted and then one day he officially asked you to marry him. Because he was so convinced you were the right woman for him. You said no. He insisted. You said no again. Then he disappeared for a week and came back sending you a picture of his mother on a dead bed. She was white. Like a corpse. You freaked out seriously. He said : “My mom is dying. It just feels so right to send you this picture because you would be the daughter-in-law whom she would love to have.” You never answered. One week after that he left you a voice message saying that his mother passed away. It was the last time he ever contacted you. You ended up deleting the picture of his dead mom. It was gross.

2)       He is Swiss. 49 years old. After one day of chatting, you decided to have dinner with him. He lives in the same city where you work. It is always good to shorten the chatting and rapidly meet the person. You waste less time. You thought it was a good way to do. It still is. The dinner was fine until the moment he started to tell you an “incredible” story about him. The first hour of the dinner, he told you about his very important job and position in a big well-known Swiss firm. He told you which strategies he adopted to manage a team of 25 persons. How he used teamwork, the synergy of dynamic at the workplace. His unbelievable story was about him having a metastasis cancer 15 years ago and he survived it thanks to a piece of stone given to him by a Filipinos guru met in Philippines. When he rubbed this stone, he could heal and bear all the chemotherapy sessions. Since then he became a healer, he works for the hospitals. He told you he could even talk to the dead people. Four hours of dinner. He told you everything existing in the world about healing, sickness, yoga, meditation, philosophy of life of Hawaii people, of Vanatu people, of anything. Four hours all about him. He has four kids with four different women. At least having a last stage of cancer did not stop him from having sex very frequently. You got out of the restaurant that evening knowing you would never see him again. You could not even communicate with living men, would you be insane enough to start dating a man who talks to dead people. Everything he pulled out was the first sentence of Wikipedia. You declined twice drinks with him again. After New Year’s Eve, he wrote you a text message telling you that he wants to be friend with you and he has met THE WOMAN OF HIS LIFE the day before New Year’s Eve. 49 years old. Four kids with four women and the guy still believed in “WOMAN OF HIS LIFE”. He was not a healer. He was a miracle.

3)       He is Argentinian, 55 years old. Divorced. Two grown-up kids. Good-looking man. After some exchanges, you told him that you have been living in Argentina. He was extremely happy about that. You were too. You told him you could even come to his town (which is also your hometown) to have a coffee that following weekend. What bothered you during the chats was that he asked you so many questions but when you asked him back a few questions, somehow he always managed to not answer them. And when you delicately asked him again, he always answered: which question? So you ended up very quickly stop asking questions. You were about to organize your weekend to visit him, when, in the evening, Facebook suggested you to connect him as friend. You saw his last name. Fuck ! The first thing you scream out of your mouth. This family in your hometown well-known for some medical scandals and big scams. They were three brothers, known for being playboys and for having slept with all the escort girls of the city. They got bankrupt after having rent a huge sumptuous building by the lake and being sued for malpractice. In your hometown, usually when you hear their names, you run away, you do not want to have anything to do with them. They literally got thrown out of the city and had to run to the French border to buy another property, once again by the lake. They might have liked the view on the lake or maybe just because these kinds of property attract more girls or to be precise more gold diggers. They still threw parties after the bankruptcy. So, that evening, you asked your Tinder Argentinian good-looking match, is XXX your family ? Is he your brother ? First he ignored your question by asking you a 1000 of questions about your past. As usual, you insisted and asked again your question: hey is XXX your brother? No, we are a big family you know ? You asked again: So XXX is not your brother? No. Really ? No. (You thought: Jesus, your pictures with your brother were all over the web. And you still lied.). You did not say anything. You just never talked to him again. And he either. It is called: unmasking someone. Short operation. Too bad, he was good-looking.

4)       He is Swiss, 49 years old. He is a high-school teacher in economy and art. He looks like a well-known French actor but much shorter and skinnier. You spoke French to him. You both come from the same city. He was educated. You both shared the same French culture. You had the same jokes, same references of books, arts, TV shows, movies. You liked him. Really. This was someone you deeply cared about. He was leftist. You hated that. He was ecologist. Of course. Like all teachers in high-school. Leftist and ecologist. At this stage of the “relationship” you would not mind. There were subjects that you would never talk about with him. Other than that, he was more than fine. You saw him three times in one week. You never wanted to kiss him. You did not even know why you never wanted to kiss him. There was nothing wrong about him. Except maybe, after the first date, you went back to his place, it was on the 25th of December. He told you that he had baked two cakes and he forgot to bring them to the Xmas dinner. The next day he had to go skiing so it would be a pity to throw away the cakes. You accepted the cakes with pleasure but you had to go back with him to his place for that. It was a studio. With ugly furniture or with things that you use as furniture when you were a student. He had books. Which saved you from running away immediately. Everything else was ugly. You knew that you would never want to be back here every now and then to be with him during the weekends. You called yourself superficial or a bitch, it is just the way it is. You are too old to hang out with guys who sit on a piece of wood pretending it was a chair. The salary of a teacher in your city could allow him easily to furnish his apartment decently. You saw him again twice. Every time after the dates, he asked you why you did not kiss him and hesitate that much. You could not tell him that you could never sleep with him in that studio. His life did not make you dream. You wrote to him a long message telling him that you would not go further. He said he was sad but felt that you were too egocentric and selfish to be able to share with him his personal issues. His almost burn-out, his father’s illness, his brother’s breakup, his kids’ issues at school. He said it would be difficult knowing that you would never move back to that city for him. All of that was so true. You would never do that. You would never share any of his issues, not at this stage of your life, not at this stage of your relationship. No kiss was given. However, you kept an excellent memory of him. A kind of sweetness taste of your three meetings.

5)       He is Swiss. 56 years old. More than good-looking. He had a face of someone who is intelligent, who has lived interesting experiences in life, positive and negative, every wrinkle on his face seemed to be at the right place. He was perfectly good-looking. He spoke a bad English. He looked more like a farmer than a professor. But at this point, who really cares. He had such an expression on his face that you could forgive him anything. Almost anything.

You met him for a first coffee on a rainy Sunday, pouring rain outside. The coffee session was not very interesting. But again, his face. What a beauty. After one hour of coffee, he asked you to change place and go for another coffee. You agreed and the two of you walked across the city under a heavy rain of January. One umbrella. He walked very close. You could feel his arms and body. You arrived at another café. The conversation was no more interesting than the first one. He told you he owns a bar in a trendy neighborhood of the city and has a share in another very trendy restaurant. He was never married; his longest relationship was four years. He has never lived with a woman. You saw red flags pulling out over your head by a dozen. 56 years old. Yet, you listened to him, or no, you looked at his pretty face with all the wrinkles falling under their perfect places. After another hour of coffee, it was 7pm, he asked if you had another plan and if you would like to have dinner with him. As it was not particularly interesting and in spite of his beautiful face, you declined by saying that you would like to go for groceries. He was quite surprised with your answer, yet, he proposed to bring you to the shopping mall. When you said goodbye, he insisted to meet you again. You said yes. At this point, who could resist such a beautiful face.

Ten days after the coffee, you agreed to meet him again for a dinner. He waited for you in front of a ramen restaurant but you ended up going to another restaurant. The dinner was nicer than the coffee though not more interesting either. Mainly, you talked about travelling. You told him that you want a serious, exclusive relationship. The fact that he has a bar and is handsome could be a problem for you. He told you that he is now old and he is not interested in sleeping around. He also wanted a serious, exclusive relationship. The only thing he asked you to understand him was that he did a lot of kitesurfing and he had to travel a few months a year in places with strong winds to practice that. You told him that it would not be a problem as long as there is enough trust. He talked a lot about trust and relationships with trust are essential to him. Freedom and space would not be a problem for both of you. He agreed with you like a student agree with his teacher. After the dinner, he took you to his bar. He was proud of his bar, which was a very cool place. You liked it. You told him about it. The evening got good vibes. The two of you left in an enjoyable mood. He brought you to the station where you should take your train home. You avoided kissing him on the lips though you thought you could. But, then you did not and instead kissed very close to his lips but yet not on his lips. It was a promising kiss for both of you.

Days after that, he wrote to you good morning and good night daily. Sometimes even more, he always wrote to you a lot. He seemed perfect to be with or at least to try. During the first dinner, he mentioned to you he lived in a big house quite far from the city because he has done drugs in the past and he had to move far away from temptations of the city. He also mentioned that he rented a small room to a woman 50 years old, divorced, jobless, depressed and lost custody of her kids. He said that he could not ask her to leave his house because she was too depressed and helpless. He pitied her. He mentioned her name and called her “roommate”. You listened to the story without paying really attention.

The third time you saw him, you went to see a movie. You liked him. That you knew. You picked a romantic movie but you entered the wrong room. You ended up seeing with him a historical movie about the queen of Scotland where there was no sex scenes but just dry scenes of battle of war. He enjoyed it without complaining. During the movie, he made lots of comments in-between, which usually annoys you a lot. That time you tolerated but you knew that in a few months, you would be horrified by the idea of going to the movie with him. He had a pretty face so even the annoying noises he made during the movie seemed acceptable. After the movie, you went for dinner. In a nice place. Everything went perfectly fine. You went for another drink. He was fun. He repeated again that he wanted something serious with you. You agreed. When you entered his car on the way back to the station, you noticed on the screen of his car the most dialed phone number was the one with the name of his roommate. Another red flag above your head. He kissed you to say goodbye. The kiss was natural as if you were already together. The kiss was like a natural outcome of the evening. No more no less. It was not passionate. It was just fine. It was a Friday evening. He asked to see you the next day. You said you could not as you had two birthdays. He said that he would be very happy if you could make time for him even if it was just for a short coffee in between your parties. You said yes. You liked him. Then he said that he would meet you on Sunday too if it was possible. At 3pm, we just needed to fix the place where to meet. You went home, got his thank you message. Thanking you for being you, for being there with him, etc. and etc. Promising, you said to yourself and fell asleep.

The next day, you received a message of him, all nice as usual saying that it would be better to meet on Sunday at 3pm for a coffee than on Saturday as he was very busy with the bar. You answered him that there would be no problem. He thanked you for being so understanding and kind to him. That Saturday was the first time you did not hear from him anymore. No more news. No more good night messages. First time ever. You went home exhausted after your two parties. You were not friend with him on Facebook but you could see his pictures. For some reasons, all the red flags were flying in front of your face. You decided to check his Facebook profile. All of his pictures were “loved” by this woman whose name was the same as his roommate. Red flag. Another one. You decided to go on the page of this woman. Lucky you. She had a public profile. Semi-artist, semi-photographer. She let everything open for everyone. You knew that it was her the roommate he mentioned as the picture of the house was his house. You saw some short videos in black and white she made and called “our home”. You even saw a short video filmed from a car called “A day with D. “…The reason he did not text you the whole day. He was out of town. You were even luckier when you saw that she works in the same company as your best friend. Bingo.

Sunday, you woke up and called your best friend. You asked her about this woman. Lucky you once again. Your best friend knew everything about her. But the most important thing was that she lives with a guy who owns a bar. This guy was so in love with her that he offered her five years ago his home, his heart and everything else. She was/is a drug addict and accepted the offer. They were/are together and she got fired from the company a few years ago because of the drugs problems. Bingo. The guy who wanted to be clean from drugs still lives with a drug-addict. You did not even feel hurt. Somehow you have predicted it. You had left him with so many opportunities to tell you that she was not just a roommate. You have decided differently. Maybe just sleep with him with no expectations. He had a pretty face, remember ?  But hiding the whole story. We were still on Sunday and by 3pm, you still did not hear from him. You knew that there would be no coffee. At 10 pm he wrote you a message saying that he had a big long story to tell you very soon and he needed to go to sleep as he was exhausted. Not a “sorry” about the coffee at 3pm. You wrote to him a message telling him that for some reason you got to know about his roommate and it was over not because of him but because of you, you would be too weak to be with a man with a bar, and a woman at home, and absent four months a year for kitesurfing. The next day he sent you a text message with a rose saying that he would tell you the whole truth when he got some inspiration. You laughed about that. He really needs some good inspirations to sell another lie. He had a fucking pretty face but it was not enough.

6)       He is Swiss, 53 years old. Two daughters of 12 and 13. Excellent exchanges of mails. A good decent man. You live 34km away from him. In the 3rd mail he asked you if you would move in with him right away as he had to take care of his kids a lot and you live a bit too far away. You never answered. 34km apart  had cost you this good decent man. You wish him to find quickly someone in the same town, or even better in the same building.

7)       He is half German, half Swiss. 50 years old. One daughter, young. He wrote to you more than you wrote to him. He never gave up. He wrote even when you did not answer for weeks because you were busy dating other persons. His messages were always polite and very decent. Always a touch of someone who is not stupid, who is intelligent enough to not make a fuss out of silence. So, one time, knowing that he was back from a business trip and would transit the airport of your city, you told him that you would be pleased to meet him at the arrival and have a quick coffee with him before he headed back to his home. It sounds romantic and a cool idea. You went to pick up at the arrival. Not nervous. He was fat. None of his pictures showed how he could be that fat. You sat down for a coffee. He was interesting. The conversation flew. He asked you to go for a dinner right after the coffee. You declined. He asked you if you would see him again, but then told you not to answer him right away. You knew by then you would never see him again. Just because he was fat. Tough life of dating for those who are fat. What could one do? You said goodbye, he wrote you a text message asking how you felt about meeting him again. It took you six hours to write a draft message to answer him. He was a good guy and very interesting person. You would not want to hurt him. You would not want him to think that the meeting was not cool. Yet, you still need to tell him the truth and the truth is that you was not attracted to him at all. After your message, you did not hear from him again. But two weeks after that, he wrote to you a message on Tinder, telling you that he was sad. He had your Whatsapp. He wrote to you on Tinder as if he wanted to start all over again and you would forget by now, after two weeks, how he looks.

8)       He is Swiss. Unknown age. You guess around 48 to 50. The first time you started to chat, you asked him if he were divorced or separated. There was a long silence. You lost him there. You thought he would un-match you right away with this question. He came back saying that he is married but he would totally understand if you want to stop chatting with him. You said: why stopping? There is no commitment so far. It will be just a chat and a discovery. Let’s see. You very quickly connected in a great way with him. You could share and discuss with him about everything. It was like you have known him for ever since. He was like a good friend, an old friend. He is handsome, polite and gentleman. When you started to write to each other, his wife was looking for an apartment and was about to move out of the house. He would be the one who stays and takes care of the kids. All grown up too. His wife works with him in the same dental practice. You two wrote to each other not only every day but for hours. For two months. He told you most of the time that it would be a shame to start with you a relationship after 18 years of marriage and then it would not work out between the two of you because he would not know what he really wants. He never once called you to hear your voice. He was not curious about that. He did not even envisage coming to visit you even when his wife actually moved out and had a boyfriend on her side. You suggested to him several times. Every time you hear the same answer from him. After two months, your relationship started to lose its momentum. You could feel that he was tired to listen to your stories and you were tired to listen to his excuses. You did not know what to expect anymore. You just wanted to meet him because you felt so close to him and it was the moment that putting a face or a voice on words could help. But there was nothing. He knew you were dating other persons. He warned when someone sucks. He behaved like a good old friend. But you felt that you both made the first error. The friend zone was now larger than the seduction. You know he was still looking around. You know he might have kept on talking to you because he could not find better matches on the apps and because you worth more than the other profiles, mostly escort girls or Eastern women looking for a husband and a residence permit. When you told him that he was handsome, you felt like he was scared that you would ask him to date you right away. You felt that he was scared to own you an explanation of what he might want for himself right now or in the future. You felt that you were going nowhere with him. Your mom could say several times that he was the best one and he is a keeper and he is decent. His recent separation from his wife is a no-go. You wish you could keep him as a friend. He explained to you the notion of sex friend that is totally not yours. You wish you could see him in flesh and bone one day. As a friend.

So, should we criminalize Tinder for killing love? For sure, no. For hell, no. Let people live, let people love, the way they want, the way they decide, the way they feel. Sometimes they will be disappointed, sometimes they will be sad. And then sometimes they will be happy, finding a match, the one, if the one exists. In the end, it is just life with all the inconveniences and the beauties.




You held my hands…

I have been unable to write after this concert with you.

You love the sound of guitar so I chose this concert for you. It was in the Catedral of our city. Saturday night.

You held my hands during the whole concert. When this piece of Piazzolla was played, my hands were in yours. The music of Piazzolla is one of my favorites. I have always loved tango music. It makes me feel melancholic. Sometimes even sad. I have never wished to listen to Piazzolla and my favorite piece “Milonga del Angel” with you by my side. I wanted to post on my blog right after the concert to describe how I felt. Then I could not so I just kept it to myself.

I wish everyone in this world could have the same moment. The Catedral was magical that evening. You touched my hands right after the first piece. And you did not let them go. During the break, you kissed me lightly on my right cheek, then on my hair and my forehead. I posed my head on your left shoulder. You kissed my hands. The two hands. Indifferently, left then right.

You kept my hands after the break. Now they played Bach. The same magic. Or even more. You moved closer to me. Even.

You held my hands that night, the whole night. You did not let me go. We could sleep in a single bed and still had enough space.

I fell asleep in your arms. My hands in yours. I could still hear Piazzolla and Bach. And also your breathe.

I did it…

I calculate how long it would take to cover your body with kisses.

I would pose my lips on each millimeter of your skin.

Each kiss would last one second.

It would take six hours. At least.

I would not leave out any part of your body.

I would take pleasure in doing it.

I would look at you in the eyes from time to time.

I would smile at you from time to time.

You would let me do it.

You would smile at me.

You would smile at me with your eyes.

You would kiss my hands.

You would return some of my kisses

By kissing me even longer and softer.

This would not be a dream.


I did it.

Eight hours.

Between talks.


And love.

I did cover your body with kisses.

Every inch.

You did return my kisses, each of them.

This was not a dream.

In between I remembered saying: I love…

Just “I love…” and no more words

I remembered you saying: “do you…”

And no more words.

This was not a dream.

Birthday’s preparation

“Nobody understands me, except you.”

You wrote me this at 7am this morning. I grabbed my phone at 9am, my eyes half closed and that was the first message of my day. “I totally understand you. And yes, only me”. You said hi to me and you sent me the first song of Charles X “Distracted”. I listened to it and selected another song for you. You commented on it. I commented it back. We chatted for one hour.

Suddenly I felt like saying something more explicit, something like “I miss you”, “I would love to have you in my arms”, or even “I miss your naked body”. We almost never exchanged kinky messages, or very rarely. Most of the time I do not feel especially the need to do it either. I remember you told me once that it was useless to send messages like this when we are apart. Either we can be together and then we do not need these messages, you don’t see the point of sending these messages and get all aroused for nothing. I understand you. Somehow we send the songs and the lyrics mean something to us. The title of the song as well. We carefully choose the songs that we know the other would like. Your style. My style. The lyrics.

Then around noon I received a mail from a friend in Boston. He said that my package arrived yesterday evening. My package is actually your package. Inside the package there are 50 Chinese cookies fortune with 12 personalized messages for your birthday in April. I ordered it from the US and the company did not deliver it in Europe so I asked my friend in Boston to receive it for me and then he will send to me by tomorrow. One of the messages was: “Nobody understands you, except me”. I usually start to think about your birthday present around January. It is always a big deal for me even though you always say that you do not care, it will be just like another normal day. But I always prepared something. The other day you told me that you love the sound of guitar and guitar is the instrument you like most. Then I started to think that I could learn how to play guitar now so that I can play something for you and record it for the next birthday. Yes, it could be a good idea.

My day was nothing exceptional as I still have a lot of back pain so in spite of the beautiful weather I stayed mostly inside and read and thought of you. You wrote to me almost every hour. You had to prepare for the next fight and coach two free fighters. In two days we will be together for a few days. You told me that you will take all the music I like for the trip and we do not need to write to each other that much as we will be completely together.

I don’t need to say out loud “I love you” or “I miss you”. You know it. Every second of your day, your life, you know it. That was why at 7am in the morning you wrote to me, simply “Nobody understands me, except you.”


Sunday walking through a park

Sunday early evening. You walk with him through a quiet park. It is icy cold. The air is pure and fresh. The park is desert. He was born in this neighborhood. He says that he knows every single house and building near this park. As a kid he used to distribute advertising and newspaper in exchange of some pocket money. He tells you that. “Are you cold?” he asks. “Yes, a bit”, you answer. “Come closer to me”. You take his arms. “May I?” you ask. “So this is where you grew up…”. You feel like you had known him since lives, before you were even born. He walks you through his neighborhood. The bus stop where he waited for the bus to come as a kid. The hospital where he was born.

Sunday noon. You arrive at his parent’s. You are invited for lunch. You are sharp on time. You kiss his mom and dad. You are in the kitchen with his mom. He arrives with ten minutes late. He kisses you greetings. He says that he likes your dress. “Is it new?” He smiles at you. The lunch lasts for five hours. He has a healthy relationship with his parents. They laugh a lot. He teases you most of the time. Conversations split into two camps: you and his mom, him and his dad. Everyone teases everyone. You defends his mom. He teases you and defends his dad. The basic jokes on women and men’ differences. His mom shows you his pictures when he was a baby, then a kid, then an adolescent. Sometimes he caresses your cheeks. You blush as you are in front of his parents.

Sunday early evening. You say thank you and goodbye to his parents. They give you cake and food from Italy to bring home. Each time is the same. You never go home empty hand. He kisses them goodbye. You two leave the house together. There he shows you the park and his neighborhood.

It is icy cold. Your heart is warm. His hands are warm. His arms are warm. You wait for the bus with him. You can feel his breathe close to your cheeks. You cannot look at him into the eyes. He kisses you a thousands of times goodbye. He looks for your eyes. And lips. Your bus arrives first. You bite his lips gently and say bye. You walk toward the bus and still feel his eyes behind your back. You imagine you are twelve years old and him too. You imagine him exactly like on the pictures of his album. You are already with him by then. Your love has lasted the years of childhood and until now. And this Sunday is not the only one as there has been tons of those Sundays before this one. He is beyond time as so is your love for him.

Will you still love me tomorrow ?

Tonight you’re mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow?

Is this a lasting treasure
Or just a moment’s pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Tonight with words unspoken
You say that I’m the only one
But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning sun?

I’d like to know that your love
Is love I can be sure of
So tell me now, and I won’t ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?


He thought he did not deserve you. He stepped back so someone else could take his place. For a moment he thought you would be happier like this. He thought you would be better without him and you could build a nice life with someone else. Whatever decision you had made and told him, he accepted without being mad or angry at you. As your best friend, he accepted that you walked away from him.

You have been waiting for him during his trip away from home. He could not offer a conventional couple to you. Even though you did not ask for it. He thought he could not and you could not deal with it. All of these “you thought that I thought”.

He was waiting for you and left you with space. He lets you take him back when you are ready. You had tried with someone else. It did not work out. You have one love and it is HIM. You do not need to explain.

He is there, waiting for you. You open the door and he falls in your arms. He does not say anything and neither do you. You know that in whatever form or shape, you and him would be together this time forever. You are born again. And so is he. You stay in his arms for a long twenty minutes. His head on your shoulder. He squeezes your tiny body with his strong arms. He is beautiful. He smells good. He feels strong. He is strong. You do not look into his eyes. Your legs feel weak. If you look into his eyes, you will faint. Then comes the kiss. The one that defines love. Only by him and you. You feel his lips. You have never been kissed before. You are a virgin. He is your first. This is your first kiss ever. He makes you forget all men who were there before him. Five years ago, you had kissed him for the first time. Each time when your lips touch his, it feels like the first time. He kisses you as if you were his oxygen. Then comes his voice: “It was too long. It was too long. I have waited. I have waited. You can have everything from me, you know that, just ask me.”

And now you look at him. You cannot believe. You think you are dreaming. You look at him. Your love for him is powerful. Your knees are shaking. You fall. He catches you.

“I am poor. I have nothing. I cannot give you much. You know that. If you are with someone else, you  can have a good life. I can wait longer.”

You do not answer right away. You cannot breathe. You fully understand for once the meaning of true love. It is his love for you and yours for him.

“You don’t need to wait. I am here.”

Five years when absence meant nothing to you, challenges were easy, obstacles were insignificant. Five years you have loved him. As a friend. As a best friend. As a lover. As everything you can be. And apparently him too. True love is absolutely beautiful and strange. You can be apart but never separated. In your mind you die with him and your love. You grow old with him. You can live apart or together. This is the most powerful thing you have ever experienced in love.

This morning when you listened to Bryan Ferry’s version of “Will you still love me tomorrow?” , the most beautiful version of this song, you feel cocky because of course he will still love you tomorrow and the day after, and the day after and the day after and in a century time. Like he did these last five years. When you were with him or with someone else.

This morning you stayed longer in bed. You felt warm. Of him inside you. He gives the new meaning to the “making love” words. It all makes sense. You are his virgin. You have never made love with another man before him. There was no men before him and after him. You asked for more. Of him inside you. “You can have everything from me, you know that, just ask me”. He said it once again. You feel your naked body under his strong body. “Say it again please. I want more. I want everything.” He obeyed. You came together. He cried. He is your redemption. You always know that.

Happy New Year to you !

My love,

Your words came in the night while I was asleep.

The start into 2015 seems peaceful. I am convinced that one day we will be together.

I wrote to you at 00:00 that I would bribe God to give you the best of the best.

You wrote to me that nothing should need to be said as we know we are here for each other.

I am in a couple with a man who leaves me alone yesterday evening because his child decided not to come to my place. They were up in the mountains with friends and he agreed to that. I was supposed to join them but my lumbago did not allow me to. I was surprised they did not even think to take the train 2 hours to get back to the city to be with me on the 31st. I am still with this man. I have tried and put all the efforts to make it work. I have even forgotten you to make it work. Symbolically when I am sick I cannot count on him. I don’t mind spending yesterday evening thinking of you. I only mind that I am not free and somehow I am not completely yours in this way.

I love you. I love you with everything I have, with all my heart. You have been my inspiration for the blog. You are in my mind every single day. I was such a fool to think that I could forget you and move on. You are the kind of man who prefers to see me happy with another man. You are scared not to be able to give me a stable life, a normal life. You think you are poor and cannot afford a decent life for me. But you give me everything else. You are the air that I breathe.

January the 1st. I need to get out of my relationship. Not because of you. I want to be free. Not because of you. There is no connection whatsoever between the failure of my relationship and you. Not because of you. Because of the love I have for you since years. The love which impedes me to love someone else though I tried.

You are apart. You are royal. You are everything I like, love and treasure. Everything. I can’t say enough. Everything. I can’t find anything I dislike in you. Most of all because you are free, not judgmental, generous.

I can’t write always the same thing. I love you. And as of this 1st January I will grow old with you. I have to.