in defence of casual intimacy

After a period of seven years of celibacy, I tread into the murky waters of one night stands and casual intimacy, all while telling myself, “Remember to protect your heart at all costs”.

My soft heart is my greatest strength, but it also leaves me vulnerable to being hurt. Still, desire called — and this time, I chose to listen. I stepped out of my shell and into the world of Grindr, inevitably presenting my body as an object of desire, opening myself to proposals for exchanges of pleasure, but also to many different kinds of energies, most of which are neither kind nor considerate. It almost feels like stepping onto a battlefield.

I chose the word soft as my username to honor this sentiment and to, hopefully, attract those who would appreciate my softness.

Most messages here begin with albums containing pictures of their dicks. Just that. Sometimes there’s a single word of greeting. Or even just a single letter. H means Hello!

I tell them:

“Show me your face. I need to see your eyes, the hair on your chest. Your arms. Your thighs. Your waist.
I need to be able to imagine what it would feel like to lie next to you. How your eyes will graze across my body, how your hands will feel on my skin.”

I have a slide in my profile with bullet points — rules or guidelines — for messaging me, if they wish to receive a response. It’s my way of filtering out people who don’t align with my needs and values. When I joined the app, I was receiving an average of 150 messages per day. So I could anyway only respond to those who I was interested in.

My photos on Grindr are very basic. I actually share more sensual images of myself on Instagram. But this is intentional — a way of attracting people who are drawn not just to my body, but to my entire vibe. I do have a private album with more flirtatious images, which I only share with men who approach with kindness and curiosity.

I had joined Grindr in the past, but always found myself overwhelmed — by the sheer number of people ready to sleep with each other ‘right now’, and by the style of communication, which felt fast, transactional and very impersonal. I would try, nothing would happen, and within a week, I’d delete the app, telling myself: this is not for me.

But this time, something has shifted. The app hasn’t changed — the grid of torsos, blank profiles and one word messages is still the same — so maybe the shift is inside me. I’m more open to possibilities. I’ve let go of the need to control the outcome.

I’m no longer looking at my body through the lens of fear — that it is too tender, too sacred, to be shared. I think I’m finally able to separate my self from my body, and to explore what it means to share it. I want to expand into my own sensuality — to let it meet others, interact and respond. To see what becomes of my sensuality… and of me.

This experience has allowed me to be engulfed in moments of desire that are mutual, present and shared between two people. Desire is no longer a one-sided reaching.

I am watching desire grow — like a plant being watered by two — and it feels beautiful to be in those moments.

There have been moments when I am made to feel less than and it’s worth talking about that as well. This might feel like an exposé but I am really not interested in anything anyone else is doing unless it affects me.

There seem to be many men on Grindr who are straight and they are looking for females (?!). Because of how my body is and my feminine presentation, I attract a lot of these men. And they are just not nice to talk to. They are not upfront about being straight, call themselves tops, but won’t kiss you or caress you and only want to f*ck you. I always ask people what they like in bed and the things they wish to explore with me, their desires and boundaries. And when i am talking to these men, the fact that they are straight comes to light in just 2-3 messages.

A lot of these men make remarks on my facial hair, they tell me that I should shave it, or that i should cross-dress, etc. and these are not suggestions but more like demands. Of course, once the conversation reaches this point where i realise that we are not a match, i put an end to it. People say mean things, but i know that any insult hurled at me is actually a defense, a hidden wound. So i forgive them, forget about those experiences and move on.

When I come across someone who is on the same page as me, I call them to my home, so i have the comfort and emotional support of my own space, my bed. The playlist is mine. So while i am trying to expand my horizons, I am also making sure I feel safe to do so. That’s very important for you to have fun.

We begin with the awkward undressing and step into the shower, water binding us together in this moment of discovering each other’s body in a more non-sexual, cleansing, ritualistic setting.

We then come to bed. I remind them of my likes and boundaries, ask them about theirs and let things unfold from there.

All my experiences have been so different. One started critiquing my art, because he saw them lying around in my room. It was interesting to listen to his perspective.

I did a 5 minute guided meditation with one guy, in the middle of our make-out session. He gave me a hair pin from Tibet before he left. That was truly a surprise and so sweet.

One gets hungry quite often so now I have to order food and stock in advance. He likes fruits so that’s nice. We eat and savour fruits together after our love making.

While most experiences have been great so far, I want to share my best and my worst experience.

Let’s start with the worst. I met this man and the very first thing I told him, like I tell everyone, is “no hickeys”. We spend some amazing time together, he leaves. The morning after when I look at the mirror, my body is covered with hickeys. One of them was so bad, i thought my skin will break and bleed if i touch it. I actually had no idea that him kissing/licking my body will give me hickeys since I have never had them before.

I felt so violated, because it was without my consent. And I think he knew what he was doing. This made me very upset, I felt alienated from my own body and I cried a lot. I messaged him to let him know that I wasn’t happy with this, but he insisted that the hickeys are ‘good’. He said that twice. I blocked him.

An experience that surprised me, an encounter of unexpected tenderness that just left me thinking — how can two people who are not in love, two people who are absolute strangers to be precise — make such sweet love and connect on this level of profound intimacy, our frequencies aligning ever so perfectly.

I really was a believer that sex is special only when you love the person. Which is why until now, I had had sex with just one person and that was my lover from the past. I don’t believe that anymore.

I think two complete strangers can in fact understand each other’s bodies and dare i say, even desires of the heart, intuitively. But it’s so rare and I am so lucky to have experienced this with a man. And then with another.

It subtly undoes the idea that sex must be transactional or emotionally void outside of love — instead, it shows how presence, care and synchronicity can happen between strangers.

I began this whole journey with the intention of having ‘meaningless sex’, and I am left wondering if anything ever really is ‘meaningless’.

I don’t know what all of this means yet. I don’t want to draw any conclusions about whether or not casual intimacy is good or if it’s for everyone.

But I do know that for me, personally, it has helped me in overcoming my fears, standing up for myself, setting boundaries and saying yes to pleasure while staying soft in a ruthless place like Grindr.