After swapping a handful of messages via OkCupid, Ted*, 31, and I met for a drink on the string light-lit back patio of a cocktail bar in East Austin. He was a tall, well-dressed software developer who'd taught himself to code after dropping architect school. Despite his blue-collar, conservative upbringing in Fort Worth, Texas, he voted Democrat and listened to Lord Huron and Neon Indian and Cardi B. Even though he made it a point to not pay for my drinks, I agreed to go on a second date (to see the movie "Max Max: Fury Road," a ticket he also did not pay for) and had sex with him on the requisite third date (when we had a Cinco de Mayo dinner and margaritas, and split the check).

In the following weeks, Ted and I would continue to hang out and have sex. Things were going pretty okay. Sure, we hung out sparingly, and when we did he monopolized the conversation and kept inviting me to bars I couldn't afford. But he was reasonably fun and intelligent (and did I mention tall?), and he made me feel hot because, sometimes, during sex, he would exclaim, "You are so hot!"

He was cool, I was cool, we were just a couple of cool people having cool-people sex. I was busy, too, after all, far too busy for a committed