One of my favorite things in life is a hairy asshole — specifically, my hairy asshole — preferably being penetrated by a variety of muscular older men with unfortunate “tribal” tattoos and huge penises.
(All photos are taken from Jonny Makeup’s Grindr profile)
One of my favorite things in life is a hairy asshole — specifically, my hairy asshole — preferably being penetrated by a variety of muscular older men with unfortunate “tribal” tattoos and huge penises. I know you all must be extremely saddened to hear that of late there has been a distinct lack of said muscular older men plowing my ass into the next dimension. I’m not happy about this. So of course I was more than happy when asked to be the guinea pig for the Grindr app made especially for all those lonely gays out there with both a BlackBerry and an anonymous sex habit.
For all you heteros not in the know, Grindr is pretty much GPS for cock. Any wiener-hungry gay dude near you — wherever you are, whatever the hour — comes up on your phone when you click on the app, complete with photo, bio and distance from you. In a nutsack shell, if the person you click on wants to chat with you, or better still, blow you and/or shove a huge purple dildo up your ass, you have yourself your very first Grindr experience: casual, no strings-attached, and pretty much totally anonymous sex with a like-minded pervert in your vicinity. Sounds blissful to a freaky fag like me, and I was more than excited at the prospect of finally having some sort of penis homing-device on my person at all times.
So off I went, embarking like Odysseus in the tales of yore on an epic adventure to semen land with only my trusty balls for company and the wry, knowing smile of a veritable anal veteran. But alas, faithful readers, my journey was to end in tragedy. It seems the homos here in Los Angeles are pretty much just pansy ass, asexual untouchables with mommy issues and balls shriveled so far up into their bodies that they resemble tiny grapes hanging off a particularly ugly vine. Apparently, dudes in LA don’t like to fuck. Or suck. Or anything in between, all those delectable gray areas (rimming, fisting … the list goes on) that we gays love to indulge in on a regular basis. Or apparently not, if the dudes on Grindr have anything to do with it.
The first dude I contacted balked at the mere hint of a blow job, saying that he only liked ”to spoon and snuggle’.’ Spoon and snuggle? SPOON AND SNUGGLE?! Where are we, daycare?! This is a gay sex database, not a fucking PG-13 family caper! I was incensed, yet your faithful hero would not give up hope. The scent of cock hung in the air like a reminder of my youthful excess, and I would never give in.
Palms sweating, I noticed that a red button had popped up and “General Bill- Horny n’ Hung Bear Daddy” who was 300 feet from me wanted to chat. I was soon embroiled in a tantalizing back and forth involving talk of pig play and shrimping (don’t ask) that had my cock swelling up like Anna Nicole Smith after a handful or Percocet and a happy meal on a hot day. I was ready. I asked my naughty daddy Bill if I could meet him somewhere, and suddenly the mood changed. He seemed hesitant and told me he was ”too scared” to meet up with “someone he’d never met.”
Wait a minute, hold on bucko — I thought this was an ANONYMOUS GAY SEX APP specifically invented with the SOLE PURPOSE of connecting one random dude’s cock to another in a worldwide human centipede of cum! But it seems yours truly is the only homo in this shitty show-town with the balls to go balls deep. Every other prissy faggot is too precious to even discuss a casual rimjob, let alone meet up to indulge in one with a semi-famous D List reality star with a dingy motel room and a variety of different butt plugs. But why are they even signing up for Grindr if the thought of casual sex turns them off? It seems for some of these guys, the process of simply chatting to another like-minded individual is a thrill enough. But for a boy like me, born and raised on the mean and cum ridden streets of Philly, then turned out in New York and brought up thinking that a cab ride ended in blowing the driver rather than paying him, and if a guy on the street had a certain color hanky hanging out of his back pocket, it wasn’t a fashion statement rather than an invitation to piss over his face, the world of Grindr means sex. And only sex. Not hugging or hand holding. Surely that, in its essence, is far more intimate then sticking your fingers in some bear’s asshole?
So for now, I’ve put away my Grindr and my dreams of nights spent with horny strangers in seedy hotels on The Strip. L.A. may like to think of itself as a liberated city teeming with raunchy homosexuals, but underneath all the glitz and glamour lies a little twink too scared to come out to his parents, let alone take on Jonny Makeup’s weenis after meeting him on a Blackberry chat room. FML.