I’d been swimming in the sea of singledom for a year, feeling like a ship lost at sea. Then, I met Steven on Tinder. He was a breath of fresh air – witty, engaging, and a far cry from the usual ‘what’s up?’ texters. Our first date at a wine bar went swimmingly. He was everything his pictures promised: good-looking, with a charming smile and a well-coiffed mane. But there was one detail that caught my eye – his unbelievably high-waisted trousers, a style that seemed to scream ‘Simon Cowell.’ It was something my housemate even commented on, but I was smitten.
Our second date was on a rooftop bar. It started with a sense of unease. Steven was nervous, his eyes darting to his phone, and beads of sweat pooling on his moustache. The conversation felt strained, and I started to question if I was the problem. To drown my self-doubt, I downed mojitos until my vision blurred.
Then, the moment that changed everything. Steven’s phone pinged, and he quickly finished his drink, claiming he needed cash. A silver car pulled up, and we got in. I thought it was an Uber, and I chattered away to the driver, oblivious to what was happening.
Suddenly, I saw Steven pull out a fistful of £20 notes and exchange them for two small bags of white powder. It was a drug deal. My mind went blank. I was sobered up in an instant. He nonchalantly explained it was for a night out, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. ‘Aren’t you a lawyer?’ I asked, incredulous. He shrugged, casually putting the bags in his wallet.
I was not a snitch, but I was disgusted. His swagger afterwards was ridiculous, as if he’d invented penicillin instead of buying drugs from someone in a Fiat Punto. He went on to my apartment, and after perfunctory sex, left without even saying goodbye, leaving his baggies behind.
I was left shaken and questioning everything. My friends, some seasoned partygoers, even asked if they could have the drugs. I refused, clinging to the illusion that Steven might reach out. He was undeniably good-looking, high-waisted trousers notwithstanding.
The MDMA remained untouched in my room until I moved in with my new boyfriend. It was flushed down the toilet. I never heard from Steven again, but our encounter became an urban legend among my friends.
Years later, I saw him again on Hinge. Still wearing high-waisted trousers, still a lawyer, and still single. His profile stated he was looking for a ‘girl with a sense of adventure.’
I was tempted to swipe right, remembering his charm, his smile, but then I remembered the sweat, the swagger, the drug deal, and swiped him away.
This encounter was a harsh lesson. It reminded me that appearances can be deceiving, and online dating is a risky game. Always prioritize your safety and trust your instincts. Because sometimes, the most charming facade hides the darkest truths.
