It used to be if you were going on vacation where the tourist sites were secondary on your agenda and meeting local hotties first, or on a business trip where you knew your associates would be drunk early enough in the evening to allow you play time, you made damn well sure you had the latest edition of Damron’s Gay Guide. You would look up the bars and baths for the spot or city you were visiting, and hang around late one evening at work til everyone left so you could copy those pages and not have to haul the whole guide with you.
You tried to get a map of the city so you could plot out in advance where the places were (usually in the most obscure, shitty areas); or hope the hotel where you were staying or local cabbie could help. You were especially interested if the city had a bath house; this would not guarantee but at least raise your chances you would have some action and not be at the total mercy of the bars. After all, where else would you meet Mr. Right Now unless you blew the dough and bought a male “escort?” Right?
Well, we all know how that’s changed thanks to the web. But it still takes some advance planning and good organizational skills to make it happen. Sure, you can instantly find the local watering holes and whorehouses by just googling “Gay Sioux City.” But what about the men?
About a week before my fly out date, I’ll hit the hook-up sites like Manhunt, Daddyhunt, Daddydatter, Adam4Adam, and Bear411, among the many others, and search the often dozens of pages of listings for my play town. (Doing it much earlier than a week before doesn’t work since the guys forget you or have no idea if they’ll be free.) Sometimes the site allows you to narrow your search down to say “men, 35-50, with pics.” But it still takes hours to wade through listing after listing, making split second judgment calls on whether to look into a guy’s profile further. Funny animals, us humans, how we judge one another so cold and clinically, like the Nazis did at the death camps as they chose which new arrivals off the trains survived to work as slaves til they dropped and who was trotted off to the showers.
For me, the guy’s gotta have a face shot or at least a bod shot as his main profile pic (ass or dick shots are meaningless) to go the next step, which is open his profile to see when he last logged in (5 years ago is not encouraging); if we’re compatible in bed; and whether he’s out for sex or “just looking for friends” or announcing to the gay world “I’ve met the greatest guy ever … my soul mate.” If he looks enticing, I do a cold call with this direct, no frills message: “I’ll be in town x to x, if you wanna connect.” For an average site, I may shoot this out to a dozen or so men out of maybe 200 to 300. Thank God for cut and paste.
Though cold calls warrant no response, I include this in my message, “no need reply if not interested,” to ease the inevitable rejections. Hey, I’m not a bad looking guy, but out of the 30 or 40 guys I may hit up this way, I get responses from about ten, some replying “you’re hot but I’ll be out of town visiting my sick aunt in Yugoslavia,” and maybe quasi-commitments from 7 or 8. I always push my pre-qualifieds for a cell number since the hook-up sites don’t always operate in real time and relying solely on them to close the deal when you’re there is not a good idea. Getting a cell number also implies to some degree that the guy is for real and not stringing you along.
A lot of fucken work, dude, you say? Yep. And the pay-off? Out of the 7 or 8 who give you numbers, maybe three will actually come through, and two will be satisfying sex. The rest will usually e you four days after you’ve returned home to apologize, “sorry I missed you, hot man …when you gonna be around again?” What, you think I got frequent flyer miles?
So, how do you fill up the rest of your dance card? By having your lap up and running in your hotel room, silly, for the “I want it now” or “lookin?” boys.
And make sure you mapquested directs from your hotel to the local bath house just in case, huh? Remember even on pig vacations, every Plan A has gotta have a Plan B.
Tomorrow: Can We Talk? Hard Dicks are Becoming Harder To Find – Why? And Friday: Help for the Flaccid