Origin Story, Part 4: My first solo experience with my current partner's blessing. There was a Tinder profile, a guard at the front desk, and a man who made eye contact with his television the entire time.

"You should have some fun while I'm gone," he said, and winked at me from the kitchen.

I took another sip of my martini.

This was the first time since we'd moved in together that he'd be out of town for a few days. We'd talked about something like this in theory — a solo adventure, no strings attached, just for me. I loved the idea of it. In practice, I was nervous.

Swinging together came with a built-in safety net. The Tall One is exactly that — tall, and the kind of person who would handle a sketchy situation swiftly and without drama. Going it alone meant no safety net. It meant extra care about who I picked, where we met, escape routes, emergency plans. I know the women reading this get it.

But I really wanted to try it.

"Yeah, maybe I will," I said, and winked back. "Let's talk about it. Also I'm going to need another one of these" — and handed him my glass.

He handed me a fresh martini and told me, in his characteristically enthusiastic way, that he wanted me to have an amazing time. To be completely free. To find someone hot.

I blushed. I was still getting used to this — having a partner who genuinely wanted good things for me, with and without him. (More on that contrast another time.)

"Ok," I smiled. "Definitely maybe."

The next morning I made coffee and saw him off at the door. He picked me up in a hug and put me back down, kissed my forehead, and said: have fun tonight. And take pictures.

I smiled. Ok, if you insist.

It was honestly all I could think about for the rest of the day.

This was 2019. Tinder was a reliable option when we were looking for a third together, and I was also, historically, quite good at bars when I was out alone. Strangers love talking to me — I have one of those open faces that makes people want to pour out their life story over a beer. Men especially, whose stories are usually a thinly veiled attempt to see where the night goes. Honestly I don't mind. I wasn't born yesterday and I like free drinks.

But for my first solo outing, I decided Tinder was the smarter call. I could evaluate someone before meeting them, screenshot the profile, send everything to the Tall One so he'd know who to look for if something went wrong.

I poured myself a glass of wine and started swiping.

It was a mixed bag. A surprising number of men blocked me the moment I mentioned I had a boyfriend who didn't care — which I found baffling given that men who cheat seem like the exact demographic who'd find that arrangement appealing. But okay.

Finally I came across someone whose pictures were decent. Some of them were of his condo, which looked genuinely nice — a new building, upscale finishes. At least he's employed, I thought. His messages were complete sentences. Thoughtful, even. And most importantly, he was available tonight.

He sent his address. I sent his details to the Tall One. I shared my location. I got in an Uber.

There was a guard at the front desk.

I gave the name. The guard smirked a little — the smirk of a man who has seen this before. I bet he's hot, I thought, because I was still working off face pictures only.

I was buzzed up. He — we'll call him Dave — answered the door.

The condo was nice, but he must have taken the photos before he moved in. It was small. The bed was unmade. The couch looked like it had been found on Craigslist at least five years ago and had lived a full life before arriving here. Dave himself was... fine. A little cute, a little soft around the edges. One neckbeard short of a dealbreaker. Clearly not someone with a lot of experience having women over.

Sunk cost fallacy kicked in. I'd made it this far. May as well see it through.

There was a movie playing on the TV. He hadn't paused it when he answered the door. We walked in and he sat down on the couch and resumed watching it — the way you would if your best friend came over to hang out. No small talk. No drink offered. No acknowledgment of what we had agreed was happening tonight.

I sat next to him hesitantly.

"So... what-cha watching?"

"Lord of the Rings," he said, without breaking eye contact with the screen.

"Ah, I've never seen it. Do you recommend it?"

"Yeah."

"Great."

I have genuinely never felt an awkwardness so profound that I can still feel it in my bones years later. And yet.

Challenge accepted, I thought. If nothing else, this will be a great story.

I took off my shirt without saying anything.

I got a small side eye. Far from the reaction I was hoping for.

I reached across his lap to set my water glass on the table — deliberately in front of the TV — and waited. He noticed. I think it was more the glass obstructing his view than the topless woman in his apartment, but at this point I had committed to the bit.

I'll spare you the specific details, but: we did eventually get there. The sex was unremarkable. He maintained eye contact with the television the entire time. I did not finish. He did.

And then he resumed watching Lord of the Rings.

I excused myself to the bathroom. Collected myself. Got dressed.

“uh thanks? I’ll see myself out”

Made awkward eye contact with the doorman on the way out — the entire duration of the visit had not been long, my lipstick was smudged, and my hair was a statement.

This is why I now travel with a small kit in my purse at all times: makeup remover, touch-up supplies, a small brush, dry shampoo, baby wipes. Always prepared for the walk of shame — which I put in air quotes because I genuinely don't think it's shameful. I just think it's practical to leave looking like a person.

I went back to our apartment and called the Tall One.

He laughed until he couldn't breathe.

And then he told me he thought it was amazing that I'd done it. That he was proud of me. That he was going to enjoy picturing it later ;)

Lying in bed that night with the phone warm against my ear, laughing about Dave and Lord of the Rings with the person who had sent me off with a kiss on the forehead and a wink —

I realized something had shifted.

Not because the night was good. It objectively wasn't.

But because I'd gone out into the world alone, made a choice, lived through it, came home, and told my partner everything — and he celebrated it with me.

That was new. That was everything.

The adventure didn't have to be perfect to be worth having.