So, padding out the profile. Husband away on business, looking for occasional company to while away long afternoons or evenings. Highly sexed for the right person. More along that vein. A photo snipped from the internet of a mediumly attractive woman, face blurred with an oval smudge.
That was yesterday. Logging in today. Phew. One hundred and nineteen emails seeking my hand in illicit affairdom.
As a female, pay nothing, slap together some junk, don’t bother to email anyone, wait a day, get more than a hundred earnest solicitations.
So much for equality of sexes, female emancipation, so on. I guess the drives and drivers are the same as they always must have been.
Scanning through the responses, mentally categorizing them. About half, trivial or fatuous, online winks and the like. Speaking as a newly created female, not very impressive, why would I bother with those.
The other half, more detailed. Protestations of romantic passion. Claims of sincerity, these from men whose stated purpose in being there is to cheat. The tone, testosterone laden narcissism proffering a token bunch of roses. A clear impression of having been copied and pasted into romantic emails many times.
Only a couple, thoughtful, saying, your profile doesn’t set out any interests, would you like to share more, things like that.
Well, interesting being a female for a day. Must be terrible, show the slightest glimpse of sexual availability, feel like you’ve just thrown bleeding entrails into shark-infested seas, watch the thrashing waters in trepidation.
Closing down my female membership. Don’t think I can stand the glutinous attention of males any further.
