There should be a special place in Gay Hell, where you’re surrounded by Bible Belt Conservative Trumpees spouting Leviticus and Sir Donald tweets unto eternity, for the Website 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 and officially a senior citizen, (70 is the new 50 just like my 43 year old “boy” is the new 20) I still turn some heads. 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 methed up, 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 sexuality? 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?
Well, playing amateur psychiatrist ain’t going to help my sex life. From now on, if someone says they’re on their way, they’re not getting my exact street address until I see their car parked in front of my neighbor’s house. Then let ’em call me on their cell and I’ll give ’em the right address.
After all, 50 mg. of Viagra is a terrible thing to waste.