Un-Matching Camille (18+)

Chapter Five| Blindfolded For Tinder-ish

||Blindfolded For Tinder-ish||

"How the fuck is this app gonna land me a Mr Perfect?" Skepticism ploughs my head, yet my finger ticks the boxes with some faith.

Tinder-ish is the dating app's name. From just the name, honestly, I have no faith.

Interests? It reads. The glaring brightness of my screen chases away most of my gloom of singlehood, as I lay on my bed filling in the sign-up form for Tinder-ish

Male, Female...A very long gender list, and at the bottom: Others. "Others? Honestly, hot, sexy, six-foot-three, biceps, cute-chuckle-sweet-smile, and nerdiness, is in a category of its own...Caleb is—oh my shit! I'm trippin' again."
Sighing softly, I clutch my jaw and click "male", following it with a thorough head shake to wade off any lingering thought of him.

Ideal male. "Cute cramberry juice in my coochie, good cooking skill-damn it!" It's getting too damn hard to keep my thoughts from spiralling. I clear my throat to mark my concentration, even though it is just I and my phone lurking deeper into this chasm of singletude filled with portraits of Caleb taped to its walls.

I think at this point, my brain voluntarily spews "Caleb" about, just to mock me.

My eyes fixes back on my screen, and I continue to mentally skim for a suitable option. Heights. "Obviously he has to be tall, then the dark and handsome will follow...a chocolate fountain."
Skin, hair, eye colour: White, black, brown, mixed. I giggle and click all the boxes. "I'm simply keeping my options open. So come unto me all ye men that are hot and hugely endowed." A sinister chuckle quakes my throat.

Nationality. "British men are a catch. Their sexy accent and gentleman poise, turns me on every goddamn time." I look through the options. "But in the faith of keeping my options open..." I tick it all again.

You can color me desperate, but why the hell should I care about what you think?

Short description of your male prospect. This seems to be the last question.
"Prince Charming that impales my lips with his kiss of life, and sweeps me off my feet once the witch's curse wears off... The hot Macho who chases me down the stairway to hand me my glass slipper. I'm that lost princess, come find me -" The word limit cuts me off. Forty-five is its limit.
I scoff in agony and hit the save option.

Photo.

"Time for this princess to make her debut."
With the selfie camera on, my hand rises above my head, I pout, drop my lids, bat my lashes and cause it to sway slightly, then place the camera high enough that the top of my cleavage is captured. It shutters and grabs my perfection imbedded with mild filters. I try not to mask it's originality.

My phone immediately buzzes, and again...and again.

I'm stunned for a moment. It hasn't even been a second! I wanna scream. Horny and some deeply desperate men. Before these men, I am but a bland ornament by the side of the road which doesn't attract attention, if I should compare desperation.

I sigh at this moment, and as though the universe hears my plea, the silent moaning of the night wind sweeps into my room, forcing me to suck it in sharply while feeling incredibly nostalgic at this moment.

I fix my attention on my phone.

My inbox is crammed with over a fifty plus messages of "Hi Beautiful", "I love your sexy lips", "wanna hookup?" Men! I growl, not masking my contempt.

"I need to deal with ten first, and land a date with four this week. That should work."

I begin scrolling through their messages and chronologically mark the first ten, and click on the "display photo" option that pulls to view their display photographs in the form of a collage at first which I click the first on the top row, swiping left to change to the next.
"Too fat!"
I swipe to the next.
"Cute guy, but he's got too much gum when he smiles... Next!"
The next pictures fixes on my screen.
"A anime character as your profile picture? Joker!"
I hiss and move to the next.