Time to jump on the Merry-Go-Round. Swipe, pause, swipe, nanosecond pause, and on and on it goes, until at some point, someone has that special something that catches your attention. Intuitive, perhaps. Instinct, maybe. False advertising, definitely. Look at this one, hmmm, no, next….oooh, look at that one.. I wonder why all of the pics have toilets in the background today? Last week, there were a ton of pets. What if you don’t have a pet? Swipe, swipe, swipe. The options are infinite. The descriptions and desires, feigned humor, and contrived hilarity. Filters, cliches, and fakes. Hop off the wheel, and take a break. No worries, get back on to find the same familiar faces. Sure, you’ll find a few newbies, but the veterans resurface as well; back to try their luck once again. Round and round they go.
This is why he made the executive decision to be blunt, and just get the the point. He was sick and tired of putting forth effort into crafting a profile, when in reality, he knew what he wanted. He wanted sex. Sex, sex, and more sex. That’s it. It wasn’t easy, seeing as his very public position in the city forbid him to post his face. On his day off, he spent hours creating the perfect new image. One that said everything, without saying anything. He toyed with his badge, carefully polishing it with a microfiber cloth until it sparkled. He then snapped a few pics of it leaning gently against an extra large eggplant. This just wasn’t quite right. It felt like an insult to his P.I. status. Standing in his training uniform, which still fit him like it did on day one as an officer, he glanced in the mirror. Flexing strong biceps while adjusting his broad shoulders, he practiced that intense “sexy stare”.
Next, he tried to take a photo of the badge on his upper body, but it still wasn’t right. He worried that it might even scare potential “shoppers” away. All of a sudden, the glittering golden foil package of Magnum condoms caught his eye. He kept a stack in the bathroom in a clear box on the counter. He had nothing to hide. He was a sex god. God of sex. A private investigator, sure, but his real talent was sex. He needed it, and he needed it a lot.
Removing the badge, he carefully set it on the counter. He proceeded to take off his uniform, watching himself undress in the mirror. God Damn. He still had it. After neatly folding his shirt, he laid the badge on the navy fabric, positioning one shiny gold packet next to it. Adjusting the still life, so that XL size was legible, he grabbed his phone, and snapped a couple of pics. Smiling to himself, he clicked on the dating app, uploaded the new profile pic, and walked out into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, again, he glanced sideways, admiring the silhouette of his powerful physique reflected from the mirrored closet doors. He was a God. A God Damned God. He fell back onto the bed and started to scroll through the pictures. Swipe, swipe, swipe. Pause, and click. Swipe, swipe, swipe.
Lost Art of Mystery 