The Web: A Numbers Game … And Like Vegas,The Odds Are Against You

Now you know already that I’m a web pig. I’m on half a dozen sites, out there demeaning myself and groveling for dick and ass with pics so explicit I’d have to post shots of my colonoscopy to show anymore. Worse, being a web pig is an occupational hazard for me because I teach online and, in between grading papers or posting assignments,  I’m checking who loves me. A ring or an oink or a honk from one of the sites and I’m like Pavlov’s dog, my dick twitching in anticipation of a message from some mysterious stranger.

And like Vegas or the Florida lottery, the webmasters make it sound so sinfully easy. “56,607 men online NOW.” Or “Post your ’ I want It Now’ Ad”  or “Instant Hit-ups Board,” like getting sexual gratification was just a few keystrokes away.

But let’s step back from our collective erections and take a closer look that’s not fueled by testosterone.

First, the web has become or maybe always was a medium of, and for the moment. Trying to schedule sex which was my first naive objective I have painfully learned is like scheduling an audience with the Pope. So most of the time it comes down, just like in the bars or bathhouses, to the universe of men on when you’re on. Notice how few hits you get when you’re off line, and I don’t care if it’s 3 in the morning and you have insomnia or a Viagra residual hard-on from last night’s shenanigans. Get the sites up and suddenly the night crawlers come out of the shadows.  Flick it off and the following morning you’ve got half a dozen hotties (or notties) who posted “Wanna fuck?” at 3:17, 3:45, 4:07 – you get what I’m talking about, right?  E the ones that aren’t from Australia or South America (forgive me, my Aussie and Latin fans), guys that actually live in your town the next day and it’s like they were abducted by aliens right after they sent you that message.

OK, but let’s roll back the videotape. It’s 9 o’clock on a weekday night, you just got back from the gym feeling all pumped up and hot, and Mr. Peter says, “I want action – and I want it now!” OK, so you check who’s online and, where you can, screen your fellow on-screen junkies so only your type (“must have smelly right foot – not left foot – only right foot”) comes up.  Suddenly this Madison Square Garden throng of horny men the webmaster boasted about is whittled down to  – 26. And only 2 float your boat, and neither them respond to your touching, poetic  “hey man – wanna fuck? Free now” message.  So you go back and widen your net to a second tier of men who may not exactly be your personal best, but what the fuck? That magic number of 26 swells to an astounding 41, and whether you hit up a true beauty who belongs on the cover of Men’s Fitness but who you know wouldn’t piss on you, or a true troll with a pretty dick, maybe, maybe once or twice a week, HE enters your sorry, pathetic sex life. Til you find out he likes to “party” and is looking for you to supply him, is still resting up from a bout with the bubonic plague, or is just “looking around.”

Now, if I never got sex off the web, I would have given it up a long time ago, and, in fact, I recently deleted my profile from a few sites that were populated chiefly by Catty Cathy’s  from Michigan or Cairo,  take your pick.(“So, how was your day?”  “Fine. I ran over a few panhandlers that were blocking the intersection, think I got clap from my last trick, and had my car broken into in the supermarket lot in broad daylight. And how’s your day going or do you really think I give a fuck?”)

But every now and again, on average 2 or 3 times a week (admittedly on a very good week), I’ll connect with a guy and maybe, just maybe, one out of 3 will actually be satisfying sex.

OK, doesn’t sound too promising does it, given all the time and effort invested? But the bars are dead as cruising grounds, or certainly on DNR, most bath houses are deserted or God’s waiting room,  and Craig’s List, that some of my buds swear by, I find has more nut jobs than the bolt aisle at Home Depot.   So, unless you have succumbed to porn as your sole source for “getting off,” or are taking vows of celibacy (hey, the Church has a priest shortage – you never know), you continue to play the web like a career gambler.


Because you know that sooner or later your number will cum up.

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