I've always found Sunday nights boring, depressing, and generally downers. There's nothing going on, nothing to do but watch Fox animation, and now I don't even have live tv anymore. So I've gotten into the habit of getting a hookup. Every afternoon I go on Grindr, Scruff, and Hornet for a couple of hours to try to arrange something for the evening.
I'm a twink magnet, so usually it's just a matter of deciding between offers.
But classes ended on Thursday. A long procession of cars have been coming into the city all weekend, as parents come to retrieve their kids. Apartments and dorms are packed up and vacant.
Last night there was a toga party next door, and this morning they all scattered, too.
Sunday afternoon I went on Grindr, as usual, and found nothing within a five mile radius but guys in their 30s and 40s, who always ignore me
What the heck. I started the hookup interviews.
[1. is censored]
2. Lonny. In his 40s, bearded, hairy chest, ran a straight bar in a small town about 30 miles away. His profile picture showed his wife and baby son.A lengthy hookup interview, including questions about our sizes and favorite sexual positions, and an detailed description of exactly what we would do, moment by moment. "Ok, first you walk into the apartment. We sit down and chat for awhile. I give you a soda. Then we make out on the couch. We go into the bedroom...."
He agreed. I invited him over at 8:00.
I went to the gym, came home, had dinner, cleaned the apartment, and waited. And waited. And waited.
No show.
Two no-shows on the same night? What was I, a leper?
Next, I did the unthinkable. I put an ad on Craigslist.
If you've never tried Craigslist, don't. Hustlers, downlow married men, "sissies" who want to wear a dress, guys who are drunk or high,
3. Austin
Slim, smooth, helmet-hair, dorky expression, said he was 18. I said I would have to card him when he got here.
He agreed. "I'll be there in five, ten minutes."
Five, ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes came and went. No Austin.
He gave me only his stats: 36 years old, 6'3, 250, muscular.
6'3 and 250 pounds? I'm 6'1 and only 210. He must be a bodybuilder, I thought.
And Sunday night is depressing anyway, and I was stinging from three no-shows in a row, so I said "Ok" and emailed him the directions with no other interview questions.
Don't try this at home.
The full story, with nude photos and explicit sexual content, is on Tales of West Hollywood.