Tinder Tales: "I swiped right and wound up in the most bizarre 'relationship' imaginable."

Welcome to Tinder Tales, Mamamia‘s series about disastrous dating app experiences. 

My time on Tinder was fleeting and resulted in the most baffling “relationship” of my life.

It’s borderline depressing to admit that Matt* was the first person I ever ‘swiped right’ to. The first and thankfully the last.

I still remember his profile picture – thick, shaggy, dark hair covering most of his eyes – encircled in a huddle of his less-sexy mates on a trek across South America.

“Please, please, pleeeeaaaaase let it be the cute brunette guy,” I remember thinking to myself, frantically swiping through his other photos before landing on a smiling solo selfie. “Thank JESUS.”

"Please, please, pleeeeaaaaase let it be the cute brunette guy." (Image: iStock)

When we matched, the connection was bang on. After a few flirty messages back and forth, Matt launched into jokes about our future wedding while I basically wet myself at the thought of this incredibly attractive man being tall, intelligent (he studied engineering) AND liking The Kooks. (I call this The Trifecta.)

We spoke for hours, positively enthralled with each other, and planned to meet.

Our first date was something out of a movie - lots of nervous giggling. A few cringeworthy silences. A polite kiss at the door. The works.

What followed was an entire month of cutesy, PG13 outings that would've slotted in perfectly to a Steve Martin family comedy or, as my girlfriends were all too keen to tell me over plates of smashed avo, 19 Kids and Counting.


Matt told me he loved me on Hole 15 at the local mini golf course after five weeks of Elizabethan-esque courtship, before we'd even, erm, consummated our love.

We promptly deleted our Tinder accounts, and I was blissfully horny happy.

"Matt told me he loved me on Hole 15 at the local mini golf course after five weeks of Elizabethan-esque courtship." (Image: iStock)

About six weeks in, I was finally invited to his place. On a Tuesday morning. At precisely 9.30am.


Of course, I went. After over a month of waiting, I was so sexually frustrated I basically showed up to his front door naked, rhythmically waving a condom in the air. His housemates were out, he said. We had sex, and it was pretty good once I managed to tune out the sound of my tummy gurgling through the peanut butter toast I scoffed down 30 minutes prior.

Later that week, I received the same breakfast-time invitation. Then again. And again. Every time, Matt suggested my arrival time be 9:30am, and would usher me out the door before sundown.

Before you start screaming at your computer in frustration, yes, I did think Matt only asking me over when his roommates were out was strange. In fact, he had a complete aversion to introducing me to ANYONE in his life. He couldn't stop talking about how smitten he was, and yet, I hadn't met a single friend or family member.


But, he loved me, you guys. So just put my unfathomable stupidity and ignorance aside for a sec. I was cockblinded, okay?

It wasn't until two months in that I bumped into Matt's best friend at a club (like any media savvy millennial, I'd already stalked him on Facebook about 15 times before).

LISTEN: Why dating in real life is better than online. (Post continues...)

My tongue loose with one too many G&Ts, I pulled poor, unsuspecting Callum aside and unleashed into a monologue about my unwavering love for his best mate.

He looked at me the way you look at a complete stranger who's just told you they're in a relationship with your best friend.

... Your best friend who already has a girlfriend. A high school sweetheart, in fact!

Oh, such fun. Such, such fun.

Of course, Callum stuck to the universal dude code that demands mates never spill the beans on their friends' slimebag, cheating ways. Instead of dishing the dirt, he proceeded to stammer and stumble over every word, trying to convince the deluded drunk chick at the bar (that's me!) that sure, of course he's heard of her, and Matt gushes about her allllll the tiiiiiiiiiiime.

The next time I saw Matt, it wasn't in his apartment, but in a public carpark, and it didn't take long for things to unravel.

To summarise: They'd been together for four years; no he hasn't done this before; okay maybe one other time he's done this before; yes he got caught then too; yes he loves me; yes he loves her; God he's SUCH AN IDIOT; she can't know about this because he'll lose her forever and she's his soul mate blah blah blah BLAH.

Spoiler alert: things didn't end smoothly.

I picked my dignity up off the floor and immediately deleted Matt's number. Then, like any good member of the sisterhood, I contacted his girlfriend and broke the news to her as gently as possible.

And that, my friends, was the experience that made me swear off Tinder for good.

Do you have a cringeworthy Tinder story? Send us an email at [email protected]