The thing about making new friends is that sometimes they want to see you again.
Really what I want these days is good conversation and someone to end the night with. In my fantasy, that would be the same person consistently.
The second meeting. A little awkward, trying to decide where he rates on the Asshat-O-Meter. Oh, there are little cues. Like the only profile pick being for an escort service. I don’t judge. Much. And for me this is where it usually ends, the second non-date. Most men will spend one innocent evening dancing and making small talk, with the mistaken assumption that on night two they’ll get lucky. I can almost predict the moment he’ll dash suddenly offline to relog as a different av and go on a Bimbo Cheerleader hunt at Hillcrest College. That would be right … about … now.
Then there is the other kind of callback. Failing to realize that telling a girl she’s a diversion while the girlfriend is away might be a bit of an insult, these persistent pervs will try to establish themselves as IM friends with benefits. Don’t tell anyone, but I make sport of these guys. They try to shock me with an illicit sexual fantasy to see if I’ll take the bait. I laugh to myself and call their bluff in between plurks … just long enough to leave them blushing and harder than stale peanut brittle. Then I go shopping.