Tinderland-50 Shades of Grey, in hair

The audience always applauds when they see a flexible woman squeezed into a box that's too small. They call it "virtuosity." I call it "the history of relationships with married men." At 68, having already seen everything, from the beaches of Bahia to the bars of Tel Aviv, I would expect my mind to be as fortified as a nuclear bunker. But no. Inside, a neuropsychological battle of attrition is taking place between two characters who loathe each other: The Big Bang: The Spatia

I want to share something really intimate with you. About me. About me and him. About It all started, like many things, with a little 'ping' on the screen. A Facebook conversation that started as a light flirtation and quickly turned into something... different. Deep. The kind that makes you forget you're corresponding with a person you've never met. We shared secrets, talked about fears, laughed until we cried. I felt a real, rare connection formed between us, one that melte

(* A little twist, I write a lot of short stories, not on this blog here, and I haven't published them yet, maybe someday... and in the meantime I felt the need to share them here, even though they have no connection at all to the world of Tinderland content and most of them are fantasies from my fevered mind and my drafts drawer) Bring me more of this light. And I'll bring you more of my life. August in Tel Aviv felt like a blanket too heavy for me, someone trying to suffoca

It all started the day when another alert from the "Home Front Command" mixed in with the annoying "ding" sound of the messenger. Suddenly I didn't know if I should enter a protected space or simply delete my profile from the universe. I threw away all dating apps a long time ago. I have no patience for plastic "matches." But Messenger remains the last battlefield - legions of mostly married fakes, or just generic profile faces, puzzling messages from people I've never met, a

At our age, Facebook “message requests” are usually a mix between eighty-year-old American generals stationed in Yemen looking for true love (and a credit card), and childhood friends from the group you haven’t seen since the Six-Day War who suddenly remembered you existed because they sell ketogenic supplements. So, when the blue letter suit icon flashes, my finger is already trained in the official Titanic movement: delete, block, goodbye. But then he arrived. No fake profi