Another Friday night in Dublin and I'm staring at lines of JavaScript instead of making eye contact with anyone at the pub. My social anxiety isn't just a barrier. It's a full-on firewall blocking any potential connection.
I first met Sarah through an agency recommendation. She understands tech guys like me who can debug complex algorithms but freeze up during small talk. Our first encounter wasn't just physical. It was like finding someone who speaks my language without judgment.
This time we met at a discreet hotel near Temple Bar. She knows I'm not just looking for sex. I'm seeking something closer to human warmth. We talked about my latest project, her university studies. She listened without the awkward pity I get from colleagues when I mention struggling to date.
Physical intimacy with Sarah feels different from the anonymous encounters some might imagine. There's genuine care. She touches me like I'm actually present, not just another transaction. For someone who spends most days behind a screen, that human connection matters more than most people realize.
I know some would judge. But they haven't felt the crushing weight of never being touched, never being seen. In the tech world, we're supposed to be machines. But we're not. We're human. Messy. Complicated.