You Match

It’s late afternoon when the match pops up. You swipe without thinking too hard, but the chat takes off quickly, short, sharp messages, a bit of banter, no small talk about hobbies or families. You can tell straight away there’s no pretence here.

By the third message, it’s clear why you’re both talking. There’s no romance in it, no coy pretending. You both know exactly what this is.

You tell Tom that evening, while you’re loading the dishwasher. “Matched with someone. I’m meeting him tomorrow.”

He doesn’t flinch, just wipes his hands on the tea towel and nods. “Where?”

“Wethersp*ons. Town centre,” you say. “Public. Easy. And I’ll message you when I leave.”

He meets your eyes for a moment. “And that’s all this is? Just sex?”

You give him a small, steady nod. “Just sex. I’m not there for drinks and deep chats. I know what I’m going for this time.”

Tom takes that in, then gives the smallest half-smile, not happy, but accepting. “Alright. Just… keep me updated. No disappearing.”

“You’ll know where I am the whole time,” you promise.

The next day, you’re already running through the plan in your head as you get ready. It’s not about dressing to impress for hours of talking; it’s about feeling good in your own skin, knowing exactly what’s likely to happen.