(With Pretty Eyes)
Part 8 part 1
David was my second crush, and the second time I had sex. Two for two, I guess.
I had been on grindr for three days, on it as an app and on it like a drug.
I'd just moved to a new place, and it was a shithole. I was subletting (am subletting) a basement with crud-blackened shag carpetting and 3-d brown drips on the bathroom walls and spiders previously unknown to science nesting in communes over the kitchen sink. I was miserable. And so I took care of myself. I shot up.
I had gotten on grindr in my new place before, out of rich, lustful curiosity, and the pickings had been slim, further away from campus than I had been before and on a Sunday night.
It was the same this time. Not many people, fewer responses. I fiddled about, with my blank profile (it was easier to control who you talked to, and it felt more moral, more concealed, to have a blank profile). Nothing was happening, it was discouraging, it made me feel scrawny and limp. Fuck this shit. I didn't want to pick tonight, I wanted to be picked. I was escalating.
I took a few shirtless photos, a few ass pictures, picked out a couple, cropped and filtered them (gotta make sure those abs pop, gotta make sure it's just the mouth down, just a smile or those sweet, blow job lips), picked one out in particular and threw it up, published it, a profile pic.
It worked. I had to wait for it to load to get approved (no nudity on the front page of grindr please), and then I went nuts. I tapped, I messaged, I hit up anything with a pulse and a cute bod, and then, people started hitting up me. A lot of people.
And it felt so fucking good.
It was like being stroked, like shotgunning cake, like stepping out in a well fitting shirt, like an A++.
And most of the guys were old, fugly, a little gross, a lot of the same attention I would have gotten if I'd thrown up a blank profile that said "Age 23" and let the youth fetishists swarm in like mosquitoes. But that's not all I get this time. There's hot guys, guys my age, guys, guys, guys. Over the course of the three days I talk to me than 25 guys, and probably get messages or taps from almost 100 (I will brag here, but also most of them were just desperate). And then on that first night: DAMN.
This dude messages me from four miles away. He looks like a YouTuber, skinny, a little twinky, with groomed stubble and luminous green eyes that he's squinting into a bright light so they'll look extra glowy. And I'm not usually into that, that's a little twinky to be my type, but, damn.
And he says hi, we chat, we probably exchange some pics and compliments (chugging devil's food cake), and he asks me what I'm on here for. And, me, high as fuck, say I'm looking for someone to marry me and help care for my 8 children from my dissolved hetero marriage.
And he says "omg, same"
We chat more, he asks which kid's my favorite (yes, yes, keep going dude) and we joke, I say I don't know their names, I just refer to them by height. Wonderful, he just refers to his by whistles (I can tell you stole that from Sound Of Music you dumbass but I'll let that slide, because this app is a wasteland), and three whistles is the only one who doesn't disappoint him. Good good good shit, and I'm having a great time and starting to get entranced.
And then he asks if I can keep up. I say (cocky) sure, I'm outpacing him. I'm talking about jokes.
He's talking about fucking. He starts telling me how fast I'm gonna cum, how good he's going to make me feel, and I start wrapping myself around his little finger.
I was just going to get on and look, maybe chat, of course not Do Anything, but that conviction is sizzling away like water in a hot pan and fuck it is gone.
He wants to do this now. He's four miles away and I don't have a car. I download lyft but I don't want to pay, I don't want to get in a car and have someone look me in the eye before I get dropped off for a booty call. The bus will take 45 minutes, I ask if that'll work.
He's gone for a while.
By the time he's back we're haggling: it's late, he should come and get me, he has a car, that's too much driving. He wants to fuck me now (it had been the other way around before) he wants to do it in a park somewhere, I say no (but I keep talking to him, I keep trying to figure this out) he says it's late, maybe tomorrow. He's going to jerk off and go to sleep. He wants me to inspire him. I oblige.
It gets filthy.
For three days we sext. Some pictures, a lot of pictures, a lot of, "oh yeah? Show Me ;)" but mostly, it's plans, it's promises, guttural, explicit, lip licking, boner making ones. His short, almost brutal demands and guarantees (I'm imagining you making my head bang against the headboard; you're gonna cum so fast; I'm going to bend you over and bury myself in your ass), and the rich, unctuous erotic literature I pulled out of my had-sex-once ass.
That's half the reason I love sexting so much. It's shadowy and forbidden, and "safe" but also words are my bitch and I'm so fucking good at it.
We're still messaging each other. We started Wednesday night, missed each other Thursday (more talk, more plans, more of him "waking up hard thinking of me" and me swallowing that bullshit like it's a milkshake) and then Friday, and we're making real, concrete plans. This is going to happen. I'm going to fuck, and get fucked, I'm going to quake and shatter in bacchanal pleasures.
And we're talking (sexting, only always sexting), every second I can get (you fucking addict idiot) and he asks to see "more normal pictures of me". And I think that's kind of sweet (maybe it was, or maybe he was just squeezing the fruit and checking the horse's teeth). So I oblige and crop some Facebook pictures, me at a party, a candid my friend snapped. And I send them along.
He doesn't respond. I get a little nervous. Maybe he's just busy. Probably. Most likely. Yeah. If course. I send him a message "Are you busy or am I just too fugly to talk to, haha". It's a joke, I'm not worried.
His profile vanishes.
He blocked me.
I'm confused. I feel like someone reached insides and scooped out my insides with a spoon, like the seeds out of a chili, I was stunned. And then my high collapses.
I feel like shit, like stupid, played with shit, like a used condom.
It's the first time I've been really rejected, the first time I've had someone really examine me, actually get to know me at all and then look in my face (my literal, actual face) and go "not good enough".
I keep it together, but I feel hollow, and I cry in the shower at the gym after work. Even then I feel stupid (so stupid), a 14 year old girl crying over a boy with pretty eyes.
On top of that it took me almost an hour and a half to catch the bus home (to my shithole). It was not a great day. I texted my friend, I called him, explained the whole thing, didn't quite cry, but close, and deleted the account, the app, the pictures, everything (rinse, delete, repeat) and I felt... Better.
This changed one of my habits. I just deleted without warning before, now, all of a sudden, there are other people (real people) on the other end of my sexting, me-sodden fantasies. This time I sign out to each one (that mattered, not the creeps or the people who fizzled out), tell them I'm quitting the app because it's toxic, or I need a break, or I'm going away for the weekend (which was technically true). There were some actually good guys on there. I delete the app.