There should be a special place in Gay Hell, where you’re surrounded by Bible Belt Conservatives or Evangelical Christians (who are taking over the White House) spouting Leviticus unto eternity, for the Website/Phone App Mindfuckers Supremo. Those that show up on schedule for your destined web-arranged rendezvous, then feign disinterest. Like the one nerd who promised me the blow job of my life. It was a Tuesday night so, what the fuck, why not. The red flag should have gone up in my head when he asked to meet him in the parking lot of a local mall. But I was horny by now. Even as I drove over, I had visions he’d pull away just as pulled up. But no, I got out of my SUV, he got of his, and we walked in one another’s direction. He was nerdier than his pic, but a mouth is a mouth, and after all, it WAS a Tuesday. I outstretched my hand to shake his and introduce myself when he said, “Gee, I’m sorry. I don’t think this is going to work out.”
NOT WORK OUT? HUH?
Now, my pics are pretty explicit. And while I may not be God’s gift to Gaydom, I still turn heads and go to the gym 3, 4X a week. Woody Allen’s younger brother I ain’t. If he wasn’t interested, shouldn’t my pics have been enough to make a judgment call long before this?
There were some elderly shoppers nearby wheeling their cart of food to their car but I didn’t give a shit. I still went off like a lunatic.
“You hauled me over here and now you’re the one not interested, you nerdy little queen?”
With that, he ran into his car, locked the door, and swept away. Lucky for me, since in another millisecond I would have bashed his head against the door, then regretted it. And by the time I got home, he had blocked me so I couldn’t even tirade into cyberspace.
Then there was the gym-bod hottie who set up a time, called to say he was on his way, and an hour later was still online where I left him. My knee jerk reaction was to block him, but I didn’t and, believe it or not, a week later, the same fuck E’s me. “Got some time later today?” (Yes, this is all true folks!) He had to be high, had to be.
Ah, bestowed with one of those golden opportunities you often don’t get in life, I seized the moment.
“Listen, last week when you said you were on your way, then never showed, I found you were still online when you were supposed to be at my place. So, after giving you an extra half hour, I left for the local sex club where I met a hot, humpy couple from Toronto, and we fucked the night away. (I actually did meet such a dynamic duo, only not that night.) So, I guess I have you to thank for that. But please, I don’t need people who waste my time. Your credibility with me is in the sewer. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if that’s even your pic or are you really some 4’6” horn-rimmed glasses geek.”
His response to me was just two words. I’m sure you can guess what they were; but those two words spoke volumes. I had caught him at his own game. Then, I blocked the fuck.
The bigger question is what motivates people to play these games. Are they insecure with their own sexual desirability? Or are they so shit on in their real lives and no-nothing jobs (I can see that buxom boss towering over them at the jewelry counter at Macy’s), that this is their only way to exert power over others? Or are they just perpetually stoned?
Then there are those who waste your time and theirs because they failed third grade reading.
There was a guy in town from North Carolina this past Thanksgiving weekend who hit me up on bear411 a month ago. He was a nice enough looking, not very hairy which is my fetish, but I agreed to hook-up when he got here. There were enough texts and pics exchanged between us to eat up my data usage for the month. He even expressed gratitude that such a hot guy like myself would pick him. (Okay, enough.)
Comes time to connect, it just so happens we were both going to the Alibi, Lauderdale’s iconic gay bar, the previous night and agreed to at least meet there. I combed the bar more intensely than my tongue does a hard cock but couldn’t find him or his buddy when, just about to leave, I spotted them chatting with some other guys. The two of them, who looked more like partners than buddies, were tall, gray-haired, and plainly dressed, and frankly “Howie” was a bit on the scrawny side, not sporting the lightly muscular frame of his pics.
That night I texted him, said had he seen me and asked if he was the guy I just described. His response: “Yes, I saw you but you’re not what I thought you were. I don’t think we’re a match.” Now since all my pics are current, the only thing I could think was he was expecting some six foot brute not a 5’6″ in-shape guy. I texted him back and said first, it didn’t matter to me if we connected, I was the one making the concessions and could it be that he assumed I was tall. Who’s fault? His. It’s right in my profile and, in fact, most times, but I guess not this time, I even point it out to some super tall guy who comes on to me ( I rarely go for skyscrapers since I prefer guys I can look directly in the eye) before we do the nasty who either says he prefers short guys or doesn’t care.
Needless to say I didn’t get a response because I think he realized he’s the one who had fucked up. If height is so important to you, isn’t that the first thing you’d check? But the big reason I was pissed was that a lot of time and messaging had been wasted over weeks for ZILCH.
My ego was deflated for about thirty seconds. I ended up having back-to-back all nighters with two of my fuck buddies, both old enough to be my sons.
So to scrawny “Howie,” I have just this to say: