The whole concept of ‘sliding into the DMs’ cringes me out a bit. I’ve never done it myself but have received a fair few messages from spam accounts inviting me to follow X-rated profiles or the odd message from a middle-aged Asian bloke propositioning me with running away together to Hawaii to live on the fruits of the land and make sweet love under the stars every day. Seriously, I got sent that. So, it’s no surprise that most messages that crop up in my Instagram’s ‘requested messages’ folder tend to go ignored.
February 2019. After my two-month social media and dating app hiatus, I eventually reactivated my Instagram and re-downloaded Hinge. After allowing myself the Christmas period to heal after all the Fuckboy drama at the end of last year, I was ready to try dating again. After a couple weeks back on Hinge, Cameron slid into my DMs. One scroll through his profile showed me that he was very good-looking and appeared normal enough. Apparently, he had come across my Hinge profile then decided to look me up on Instagram. We exchanged messages over a couple of days and I soon found out that he lived in Surrey but occasionally came into London for work, and even had a cat, of which he sent several photos. He asked if I wanted to meet for a drink and we arranged a date for the following Saturday evening.
Saturday morning came and Cameron messaged asking if we were still on for our date. I replied saying yes and asked where we should meet. By 5pm Cameron still hadn’t replied. I text again, asking if we were still on as I would need to know what time to arrive and plan my evening around that. Cameron eventually replied with an apology, explaining something had come up with friends who had surprised him with a visit, and asking if we could reschedule for another day. I frowned, why did it take for me to message, for him to tell me that? “Sure. Just let me know if you want to meet another time,” I replied, unconvinced.
“I definitely do! What days are you free this week?” he text.
I listed the days I was free. Cameron read the message but didn’t reply.
Five days passed and I didn’t hear anything else from Cameron, so I resolved that that was that. Just another guy who was all talk and couldn’t even commit to a drink. Then, unexpectedly on the Thursday morning (Valentine’s Day), whilst at work, my phone screen flashed up with a message. Cameron. He apologised for going off the radar, saying that he had been super busy with work but he was in London and was I by any chance free that evening for a drink? What? A first date on Valentine’s Day?! Maybe he hadn’t realised what day it was. I myself was fully aware of said day, being my first Valentine’s Day in years where I found myself single with close to zero romantic interest.
I was surprised to hear from Cameron. I honestly thought that I had been ghosted and had already made my peace with that. My initial reaction was to ignore the message, but after screenshotting the text and sending it to my flatmates asking for their opinion, they said I should just go for it as it wasn’t like I had any other plans (brutal, but true). So that evening, I headed to The Northcote in Battersea to meet Cameron.
I walked through the pub door with the usual hum of nerves in my stomach, in the anticipation of meeting someone for the first time and knowing within the first three seconds whether I fancied them or not. I spotted Cameron casually sat on a barstool. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to face me. Ding fucking Dong. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sandy hair and a gorgeous smile, Cameron was hot.
We spent the next three hours chatting, drinking and flirting. At 10pm we decided to move down the road to another bar. The bar was dark and full of couples out celebrating Valentine’s Day. We found a table in a corner with a pile of stickers. I looked round the room to see people playing the ‘traffic light’ game. Red sticker for in a relationship, amber sticker for open (or willing to cheat, I guess) and green sticker for single. Cameron and I drunkenly started planting stickers on each other, on the back of our heads, across our mouths and even playfully on to each other’s crotches. I pulled a sticker off Cameron’s mouth and leaned in to kiss him.
We continued to drink, kiss and dance until 1am when the bar lights came on, signalling the end of the night. We stumbled out on to the street and Cameron checked his phone. “Ah shit, I’ve missed my last train home,” he said, although seemingly completely unfazed.
“Oh.” I replied.
“Shall we pick up a bottle of wine and head back to yours?” Cameron suggested nonchalantly.
I frowned. This wasn’t the way this date was meant to go. My last date was back at the end of November when arsehole, Aaron had done a runner five minutes after we’d had sex. It had knocked my confidence in men so much that I had promised myself once I started dating again I wouldn’t sleep with a guy on a first date.
“Ok, but just to manage your expectations now, we are not doing anything. You can sleep on my sofa.” I said.
“Sure,” replied Cameron, grinning.
No, seriously I’m not having sex with you tonight. I’ve had a good time but if that’s what you’re after then I suggest you start walking back to Surrey now.” I said, crossing my arms.
Cameron, sensing that I wasn’t joking, hastily nodded and said, “Of course! I just want to hang out with you a bit longer, is all.”
We took an Uber back to my flat, to find my two flatmates, Jasmine and Tanya still up in the living room. Ah, he wouldn’t be able to sleep on the sofa then. After spending a few minutes chatting with the girls, Cameron and I headed upstairs. We kissed and had a bit of a fumble in bed, but I was adamant we were not going to have sex. Cameron tried, several times. Red flags all over the place of course, which I wilfully ignored.
I was tempted to sleep with him but the thought of what happened only a couple months prior with Aaron was enough to deter me, and my knickers remained firmly on. We stayed up cuddling and chatting for most the night, with Cameron telling me how I should come round to his house in Surrey for a ‘Come Dine with Me’ style evening, and how I could stay over and play with Bat Mouse (the name of his cat, not an euphemism.)
The morning came and so did a new wave of persistence from Cameron. “Oh, c’mon baby, it’s basically like our second date now,” cooed Cameron in my ear, whilst stoking my inner thigh.” Pah ha! Honestly, the lines some of these guys come up with.
“No, it’s not, but I am looking forward to an actual second date with you,” I replied, pushing his hand aside and getting up to shower. I got ready for work and showed Cameron out. Despite feeling tired and hungover, I felt a glow kissing Cameron goodbye; we’d had a fun first date and I was looking forward to seeing him again.
Over the course of the day Cameron and I exchanged flirty messages, until I mentioned meeting up again. Cameron read the message but didn’t reply. I tried not to overthink it, reminding myself that it was a Friday night and he was probably busy out with friends. Saturday morning came and went and my gut feeling kicked in. It was Saturday evening before I heard from Cameron again. He mentioned that he’d been busy and made a light-hearted joke about his cat but he ignored my question about seeing each other again. This didn’t bode well. It wasn’t until the Sunday afternoon that everything clicked into place and made sense. I was mindlessly scrolling through my Instagram when I clicked on to a story Cameron had posted. Motherfucker. It was a picture of him at brunch sat opposite a girl, quite clearly on a date. The picture only showed the girl’s hands, but some quick detective work and I realised who the girl was.
Never underestimate a woman’s detective skills when it comes to social media. A mission usually begins with a gut feeling (which is almost always on the mark), taking onboard any previous comments the man has made, even if they seemed like the smallest of throw away comments at the time – a woman will mentally note these. She will then commence investigating. Starting with photos, then tagged photos, then profiles of other people also tagged in those photos, then profiles of their tagged friends, followed by photos of the tagged friend of a friend’s family members. Next thing you know you’re on the profile of the aunt of the primary school teacher to the cousin of the best friend of the girl who was tagged in one photo with the guy in question on a holiday to Zante back in 2009. Anyway, you get the gist, there are no limits to a woman’s investigatory skills; especially a woman scorned.
So, it was no surprise that it only took me a short while to find the girl from Cameron’s Instagram story. It was the same girl he’d mentioned in passing on our date. Apparently, someone he’d only been on three dates with, who had got upset because he wouldn’t go on holiday to Canada with her, so he called it off because “she’d gotten way too intense”. He had also made it seem like he’d had nothing more to do with the girl; simply a past romantic fling. Lies. Cameron was on date with this girl and had quite clearly been seeing her for some time. Typical. He obviously, like so many Fuckboys, wanted his cake and to eat it too, and I had just been his side serving of apple pie. Just a joyful convenience that he was in London on Valentines Day and wanted to make the most of his excursion out of Surrey. Thank God, I didn’t have sex with this prick.
Despite feeling disappointed and angry, I was thankful that I’d found this out now before I’d slept with him or developed any feelings. I unfollowed Cameron, deleted his number and have had no further contact with him since that day. I’m just sorry that I didn’t get to meet his cat. Cameron, however, continues to watch all my Instagram stories and occasionally likes my posts. Men never cease to baffle me.
I recently heard about the term ‘orbiting.’ This is used to describe how someone who has usually ‘ghosted’ you (although not always) but will continue to watch all your social media stories and/or like your posts but will never respond to your text or engage with you in any other way. Basically, they don’t want to date or talk to you but aren’t prepared to completely delete you out of their life. Personally, I think orbiting is a very male thing to do. I don’t know many women who have a desire to follow the every move of a man she has previously decided she is no longer interested in. Women tend to take the ‘two-fingers up and block’ approach. Seems far healthier and you get a better sense of closure. It’s funny how most of the Fuckboys I’ve dated have ghosted me and yet they are always the first to watch an Instagram story I post. Yeah, I don’t get it either.
In all honesty I think I was upset for the grand total of an hour after seeing Cameron’s story with the other girl. A few years ago, seeing something like that on social media would have floored me and left me devastated for days (or at least until I was interested in another boy). Nowadays it doesn’t surprise me, or it’s happened so often over the years that I’ve built up a kind of immunity to it. I mean you have to. I can’t just fall apart every time a guy I went on one date with decides to be a dick. Let’s be honest, I’d spend more time in pieces than I would actually being happy.
Nope, these days I simply do not have the time or the energy to waste dwelling on the transgressions of Fuckboys, commitment-phobes and the emotionally unavailable. I spent so much time through my twenties worrying about if I was good enough, smart enough, cool enough to be with the guy in question at the time and never questioning if they were actually worth my time! I was always the one to ask the ‘so what are we?’ question and be acutely aware of not ‘putting pressure’ on the guy. So much so, that I once dated a guy for a year, A WHOLE YEAR before he ‘allowed’ me to be his girlfriend! I later found out that this was just him trying to justify cheating on me the whole time we were together. A charming bloke.
I don’t claim to be a perfect girlfriend, but I am loyal, kind and caring and would do almost anything for the man I love. It took years of men taking advantage of this and making me self-doubt, but I now know my worth, and any guy I choose to date should know it too. So, to all the men who ghosted me, cheated on me, or could never fully commit to me; it really is your loss – happy orbiting.