The Daily Grindr

So.

Where we left off. The middle of New York. The time spent together was amazing, but at the same time I knew eventually i’d have to address the blog. At this point I had begun fabricating the basis of a one act play, inspired heavily by the blog.

Ethically speaking, it was clear I had to tell John exactly what he had been a part of. Beyond that, however, I believe the tipping point was my ego. Would I like to think that I’d have told him irregardless of what happened? Sure. But the fact of the matter is I was proud of my work, in a strange way. There was barely any content, but I had enjoyed creating it. During a night time pedicab ride through Central Park, I told him.

John was completely taken aback. Though I couldn’t blame him, I was caught off guard. Up until that point, John had been so accepting, and it was made rather clear that it was not the first time on Grindr for either of us. In most relationships, there’s this unspoken rule about making it clear you’ve messed around, yet not talking about it. It’s a balance between “Yes, I’m sexually experienced, sexual, sexy. No, I’m not a whore, you are someone special to me, you’re the only one on my mind, no one else means anything blah blah blah.”

Let’s talk about the truth. Even in the deepest throes of love, you don’t have some sort of sexual amnesia. It’s a bullshit facade to pretend I don’t remember the first time I was with a guy; that I’ve somehow forgotten what the ocean sounds like on the top of a cruise ship off the coast of Panama as I got my dick sucked.

Hell, I can still tell you my outfit. A blue Lacoste polo, size 2, a pair of white Ralph Lauren jeans, brown Lacoste shoes, and a pair of glow-in-the-dark American Eagle boxer briefs, size small adorned with the ridiculous phrase “big banana” and accompanying fruit. None of that went out the window, and why should it? My ability to access memories like that have nothing to do with my current situation.

Tangent done. While usually the problem, John was primarily concerned about his sexual safety.While I had been as cautious as possible, the truth is I could have jeopardized both my health and the health of others. That feeling sucks. The ride became awkward, I tried to hold back the tears as a Burkina Fasoian (who loved me for knowing of Ouagadougou) spouted off facts about movies that had been filmed throughout the park.

We stopped at a terrace over some fountain, at which point I begged to get off. I wanted the ride of stop, literally, metaphorically. I didn’t want to distance myself from John, but I wanted to run away, to somewhere where I could make things better.

I can’t really tell you what I said that night, by the fountain. John has a much more accurate memory, and claims I recited a giant monologue that he’d title “All for the story.”  That single phrase has defined so much of what I do in life. Many people have been made expendable to advance the story, but John wasn’t supposed to be expendable. 

I told him that I could take a knife, if he wanted to give it to me. I’d be okay. I’d understand. I can seduce anyone, but I dump post people before they get close. Not because of some sort of self-esteem issues, I’m cool with who I am, but at the same time, letting someone get close to me would be allowing them to see that I have a dark side.

Who doesn’t? Underneath my boyish giggles and unreserved nature has always been a colder man, though. That’s who I don’t like to let out. I’m not a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I’m a wolf in a puppy’s clothing.

But at the time, none of those concerns really mattered. The Hannibal Lecter within could live to destroy another day. It wasn’t a night of adharma. We hugged, he told me everything would be all right…and it was.

Until the journey home.

What’s it been? A month? Two? I wrote this blog for many reasons, and it’s kind of naturally concluded as a story arc. I need to pen that ending, and expect to in the upcoming weeks. Hopefully, hindsight won’t impact the story too much, but it’s impossible for it not to.

Alright. Back to blogging. I would recap what you’ve missed during my Asian travels, but the reality is not much. I went clubbing, messed around with a few girls, but was generally innocent. Things have changed.

This one might be quick because I’m sitting in a $700 hotel room in New York City, waiting for John to bring back a bagel.

Yes, this is real life. I’m technically in a monogamous relationship started with a guy 12 years my senior I met on Grindr. I am totally aware of how preposterous the situation is, but this bed has enough pillows to swallow up any major worries I have at the moment. I’m having fun, and I’m in the center of the universe. I actually feel like the center of the universe right now, too. What I’ve done to get the karmatic equivalent of two gumballs from the machine, I’m not sure, but I’ll definitely go with it.

John and I have been iMessaging since I left the states (note to anyone who has an iPhone and has not upgraded to iOS 5…get fucked. iMessaging is a total godsend.) Thailand is pretty damn Panem about their internet access, so it’s ridiculously hard to keep in touch, but I managed to talk to him at least once a day. Seriously, if you ever want a country with easy communication in Asia, THAILAND IS NOT IT. You have to register with your passport number at malls just to get “free” internet. 

While on the subject, if you ever see a movie in Thailand, it will include a ridiculous montage from the Ministry of Energy that feels like it should be followed directly a reaping. Bangkok is the capitol.

Anyways, John has been working at getting his ex to move out.

I talked about him already, right? If not I will later. No time now, generally people don’t like to discover they’re the subject of a sex blog.

Cancelled insurance etc etc etc. Originally we had talked about him just visiting whilst I was in Bangkok, but with a long layover in New York we realized this is the more sensible option. So yesterday, I landed at JFK and we drove into the city to check into the hotel. Two orgasms later, we showered and got steaks before walking Central Park.

Sidenote: I love New York. I’ve done Paris, London, Tel Aviv, Bangkok, Frankfurt, Miami…there is nothing like this damn city. The place has a pulse. A throb, even?

I think I’m just thinking of my dick now.

After walking around, a couple more orgasms, a nap. Woke up, went to see a comedy show and walk around Times Square, and then settled in for another sex session. I woke up this morning still fucking horny. Sadly, no release this morning. He popped two addy and we’re off.

He’s back. Later.

My laptop died, but as of last night I have been able to miraculously revive it. Expect more soon :)

Breasts are not like fruit. Melons, peaches, grapefruits.

Breasts are not like sandbags.

Breasts are not like hills, mountains, islands, or any other geographical feature.

Breasts are not like twin deer. Sorry bible.

Breasts are not like puppies.

Breasts are not like bongos.

I’m drunk.

Reason three. John.

John is my gym partner. The girl I’m seeing late at nights. My cousin Brian. A thousand lies have all been cultivated, and the reality is that they are a singular man. John.

John John John.

John.

You’re not supposed to get attached to a guy on Grindr… is what I thought initially.  It’s practically a breach of rule number one. It’s insanity. But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I haven’t had any casual sex on Grindr, so if that concept why not find something genuine? Casual sex was offered to me, but I didn’t take it. Maybe this is what I wanted all along; what I was actually looking for.

What is it that makes relationships so much harder to write about than sex? Is it the fact that unlike a simple fuck, sex involves intimacy? To truthfully write about any relationship means that you’re writing about a particularly vulnerable part of not only the other person, but yourself.

 It’s easy for me to sit here and anonymously critique someone’s weight and rim job techniques, particularly when I myself barely know anything factual about the person. It’s another thing entirely to begin to go beyond the surface and talk about the value of a person.

Enough philosophical babble, though. Life is about actions, relationships and consequences, not what could be, but what is.

When John initially messaged I nearly brushed him off as another unremarkable guy. He left such little of an impression that I can’t even really remember our early conversations, though I believe there was a back and forth for a couple of days. About 20 guys hit me up any given day, so I can afford to be picky. I’m sure the same can be said of anyone with a decent torso pic in a populated area. The messaging is tedious.

We talked about his need to switch gyms. I recommended mine. He said something about not having many gay friends, to which I responded that I wasn’t exactly the typical gay guy, identifying myself as bi if anything. He too has had a past with women, so we did the usual exes story swapping. He used to be a marine. Yeah. That’s all I can really remember from the grindr chats.

A couple nights later I ran into him at my gym. I wasn’t surprised, I knew he had been there but I thought he had left by the time of my arrival. We both did the tread rock wall and exchanged brief niceties. I asked him about being a volunteer EMT, told him about how I sweat carbs. That was my exit strategy, claiming I had a low endurance. He followed me into the locker room.

He was cute, definitely, but I still wasn’t sold. His ears are pierced, which threw me off. He used to be a military guy and now works for the government, so that threw me for a bit of a loop. I was expecting a little more of a rough and tumble type, even in this day of DADT not officially being a thing. Again, when hooking up it’s the little things you latch onto as make or break items. For some reason the earrings were a dealbreaker. So I left.

This is the night I went to see Jordan the second time., I drove directly from the gym to his house But while at Jordan’s, John kept messaging me. Eventually, I caved, figuring if he were that into me we would have some fun. I gave Jordan an excuse as to why I had to leave, and John another as to why I had to make him wait before coming to the house, which was located less than 10 minutes from the gym.

When John and I arrived back at the house, we just sat and had a conversation for a while. On his profile it had listed that he was just looking for friends and was in a committed relationship. I tried to do the cuddle lean early on, but he didn’t seem into it so I decided to respect that. Still, the conversation came much easier than it did with Jordan. Or Josh. Or Gage.

Fast forward a couple hours, I’m naked and on top of him. We didn’t have sex (he hasn’t since November), but we did have passion. Two very long hours of passion that proved time is indeed relative.

I’m not sure I’ve talked about it yet, but my endurance is insane. It takes a lot, and I mean a herculean amount to get me off. I told him he didn’t have to worry about it, but he insisted. I appreciate when a guy does that, you know? During a hookup, I’m not always considerate about my partner; it’s something else I really need to work on but haven’t. This entire process is bringing a few important things to light. Again, it’s about action over words, though. We’ll see if I can actually address the things I need to.

As he left, a good of things were churning in the tsunami of my mind. First and foremost, I had just become an official homewrecker. I have been the other guy in the past, but John lived with his boyfriend. Their domesticity is disintegrating, and I’m a part of it. If I had declined, in all likelihood it’d have been another torso in my place, but still the concept is enough to throw anyone just a little bit.

Beyond that, I realized I didn’t mind that we didn’t have sex. Unlike the other guys, I found that I had something more than sexual chemistry. John is literate, quick, and snarky. It’s like a match made by Chelsea Handler. Taking it slow is okay with me.

Where did we go from there? I went to bed, while John washed the cum and lube out of his hair using his hose.  That didn’t deter us from seeing each other again the very next day. And the next. And every day after that until I left. 

In many ways, this relationship feels juvenile, innocent even. The clandestine meetings, the sheer speed of the “emotional connection.” Sneaking around town, the lies, feeling guilty about a simple kiss; the there’s a layer of adrenaline added. It feels refreshing, and maybe this exactly what I’ve been looking for all along. I said I wanted to have fun this summer, and that’s exactly what I’ve found.

 Whether or not everything that is currently being felt will still be swirling around in three weeks remains to be seen. Clearly, that’s another epic for another day. I have a feeling when it comes to John, though, we’re just getting started.

I’ve done it. I’ve broken the cardinal rule of blogging, I haven’t been updating regularly. I have a good excuse, though! Three, actually. The simplest is that life got in the way. Sure, that’s the very essence of literally every excuse ever, but my life is awesome so it should actually count for something.

I’m currently on a monster of a Korean Air flight, en route to be a Brokebackpacker for the next three weeks.  After 20 hours in the air, I’ll be landing in Bali, and making my way through the country before heading to Bangkok.

The second big reason I haven’t really blogged is the lack of sex on my sex adventure. When I started out, I expecedt to cycle through innumerous strangers, experiencing one wild night after another. What I got was quite a different story.

The night I posted my first blog about Gage I insisted he wasn’t coming back over. Considering the entire idea is based off a complete lack of impulse control, I should’ve known where this was going. He came, but I came harder. He gave an excellent blowjob. I squeaked a bit, actually. It was an emasculating, toe curling orgasm that cringe from equal parts euphoria and embarrassment.

It was an excellent rim job and B.J. Seriously, considering his incredible ability to suck asshole I’m surprised he’s still cleaning the toilets at a Hardee’s. You think he’d at least land a better gig. Kentaco Hut, Chipotle, maybe even a Panera. I have to give credit to a man who is willing to go farther than I generally would.

 Still, it wasn’t sex. Is there some sort of Grindr rule that no one attractive actually fucks? Maybe I’m too good at kissing. Of the three guys I’ve seen, two have have told me I’m the “best kisser.” Either I’m ridiculously good at tonsil tennis, or that compliment is the sexual networking equivalent of “you have nice eyes.”

 I wanted to get laid, and instead all I got was a large American Eagle T-Shirt. I’m an XS, so that souvenir just reminds me that I was intertwined with someone large.

Look, I know it’s horrible. You don’t need to tell me. I need to get over my disgust with fat people, I know, I know, believe me, I know. Fat people are everywhere, it’s America, hell, it’s the world. Fat people can be nice people, probably. Fat people can even be sexy. In day to day life though, I have issues with them. Severe issues. I’m a hater, but at least I know it. Maybe on this trip I’ll eat, pray, love my way to enlightenment.

Maybe I’ll just get shitfaced in a seedy dive in the sex capital of the world.

So, after Gage there was another to visit to Jordan’s. Sweet, childlike, “I don’t have two braincells to rub together to make fire” Jordan. Texting back and forth, he hinted that he had a fetish but wouldn’t let on to what it was. I wondered about the possibilities. Rubber? Animalistic roleplay? Scat? SCAT? What if he asks me to shit on him? Or even worse, vice versa? I’d never go. I’d never even be able to speak to him again. How awkward would that be?

It was feet.

Fucking feet. The least possible exotic fetish. Honestly, I found myself a little disappointed. You want to suck my toes? That’s it? So I went, straight from the gym because apparently gymwear also gets him off. Sweaty and tired, I laid there as he sucked, moaned, and groaned. I found the entire ordeal to be a static bore. The entire affair felt like nothing more but a dull procession of an act. Unlike Gage, he’s never so much as put my dick in his mouth. While last time he jacked me off, this time I had to do it on my own while he titillated the little piggy that went to the market.

The payoff simply wasn’t nearly worth the price of admission. A big part of me wished that this little piggy had just stayed home. Again, I let myself out, though this time not without taking photographic evidence of my stay. So, now I present to you pictures of the weirdest entryway I’ve ever encountered.

As for the third reason? That’s another blog post.