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When The Monkey Throws Its Feces... Duck!

There’s a reason I am not looking for a relationship.  They are messy. They involve other people.  Other people come with baggage. Baggage means drama.  I do not care for other people’s drama.  It’s not that I am not sympathetic or unable to be compassionate, but so much of what others present as drama is self-induced; made up shit that they throw at you like a monkey throwing feces. 

Case in point…
It’s a Saturday night and I am on Adam4Adam, a site I have come to avoid for a number of reasons.  The usual complaints, of course: guys play too many games, looking to hook-up (but not really), tend to be snobbish, same faces, lack of a sense of humor (about themselves), etc.   But also because the whole barebacking thing.  People on there used to get very upset about it.  Now, I have noticed a shift.  A lot more guys are listing “Anything Goes” in their profile, which I guess speaks to the growing acceptance of barebacking on the part of our community.  I don’t have a defined opinion about this current shift.  However, I’ve noticed a shift in mainstream porn, as well, or at least the porn I am exposed to via Hamster, Xtube, and the like.  That may have more to do with the preference of the moderators of those sites, but I sure am seeing more of it – and the actors aren’t just guys next door anymore, but real porno pros who definitely know better, but have made a choice.  
As far as Adam4Adam is concerned, it would seem the scales are evening up re: raw sex, although people continue to be just as absolute as ever regarding just about everything else: not into Asians, under 25 only, if you’re  over 30 do not contact me,  blah, blah, blah.  You’re on-line, on a hook-up site!  Get over yourself.
Eventually I settle into this conversation with a dude I have never talked to before.  He is 5’10”, furry, with a beard, and a handsome mug – very masculine looking, wearing a trucker’s hat.  His body is in relatively good shape for his age (51) and he has a couple of tattoos on his upper shoulders.  We are firing on all cylinders, meaning we seem to have a lot in common.  The banter back and forth is pretty entertaining and more than a tad sexual.  At one point he asks me if I am looking for a relationship, to which I give my standard reply (absolutely not).  I ask if he would be cool with being fuckbuds… he says he would be cool that and I take him at his word.  Turns out he’s home all the time and our schedules might actually match up.  He’s a vers top and his dick is the same size as mine – 7.5 cut.  He’s way into making out and kissing and exploring different things.  I am thinking – this is too good to be true.   Clue: always trust your instincts! 
Okay, so there are a few red flags on the play.  First, he is unemployed.  Second, he is renting the top floor of a house.  When you are 51 years old I really feel that neither should be the case.  You should be employed and own real estate, but I withhold judgment.  The dialogue also seems kind of florid, with too much information being offered too soon.  It feels odd.  I tell him straight out that I do not PNP, for it has now become my standard line any time my spidey-senses tell me that the person I am conversing with may be under the influence of something.  He tells me he doesn’t do drugs.  Cool.  We make plans to meet the next day.
Sunday morning I text and email him telling him I look forward to getting together.  I know the general area where he lives, but don’t have his address (another red flag) and ask that he send the address.  I’d explained the previous evening that I had to sing at church that morning and then would be having breakfast with my folks.  While at church, he texts me that his parents have dropped in unannounced and they are going to church and brunch.  That’s cool (odd coincidence, but cool), and since we aren’t to meet until later that afternoon, I figure, oh, well. So when the time comes I hit him up via text and A4A.  He doesn’t respond.  So basically, he’s stands me up.
The previous evening, I mentioned that I would be going to the Eagle on a rare Sunday afternoon with friends.  He had asked if it would be okay to join me there, as well.  I say sure, thinking we will have already met face to face, and since I anticipated that going well, my friends might be amused.  So, late Sunday afternoon, I get an email telling me that he will be there and that he will have a nose ring in and will be wearing leather shorts.  No mention of the fact that he basically stood me up that morning and hasn’t responded to my texts and emails via A4A, but I shrug this off.   His outfit of choice, however, I find a little odd - it’s not leather night, but to each their own, right? There is some sort of leather contest at The Saloon that night, so maybe he is part of that scene.   His pics strike me as hyper-masculine and I remain intrigued. 
Of course he never shows.  And I get no explanation.  Nothing. 
Sitting in my car the following Wednesday, at a park I frequent, less for cruising these days and more just for the solitude, he hits me up via text.  I am surprised.  Again, no explanation for the no-show and I let it go.  He’s chatty and the banter is what it was previously – witty and a tad sexual.  At this point I had not been fucked since the first of February nor had any sexual contact for three weeks.  My dick is developing a mind of its own and want some attention.  I suggest I come over to his place so he can do all the things he said he would do to me the previous Sunday.   He knows about my self-imposed limits on sexual activity.  He keeps begging off.  Even though he’s not doing anything but laundry.  He tells me he wants his place to look its best before he has me over.  Red flag.  Is he a total slob?  
Then he CALLS me. 
Okay, I hate talking on the phone, especially to dudes I meet on-line who I have not met in the flesh.  The voices never match the pictures.  Discussion usually devolve into some type of phone sex – which I hate.  But more than anything else – I hate talking on the phone.  I have a phobia, maybe.  Or perhaps I really just hate doing it.  I keep necessary conversations brief and succinct.  What do you want?  I can/cannot do that/get that/be there for you. Period.  I don’t want you to chat on and on about your cat, or that woman at work who says stupid shit.  And I especially do not want you asking me ANY FUCKING QUESTIONS about who I am, what I like, blah, blah.  It’s is simply not me.
But he calls.
He can’t have me over.  Cool, I tell him.  I already accepted that as fact via text, so why is he calling?  He wants to know where I am.  I tell him.  He wants to know why.  I tell him.  He doesn’t seem to buy it.  He’s new to the cities and can’t possibly know the reputation of the park that I am sitting in, nor have I told him the exact park, but he jumps to that conclusion anyway.  I want to terminate the conversation, but he just goes on and on.  Seems he once had a partner who cheated on him.  Seems the last dude he played with gave him a case of Gonorrhea.  This last bit of info intrigues me – I have not had gonorrhea and want to know what it’s like, how they treat it, etc.  After I get this info, again, I try to terminate the conversation, but he chats on.  Finally, I decide to just end it.  I tell him I have to go take a piss.  He wants to know if the restrooms are open.  I tell him no, they are always locked at this park and that I will just go behind a tree.  He makes some comment about how I have learned to mark my territory like my dogs, so men will follow me and have sex with me.
That’s it.  If his voice wasn’t annoying enough (and it so was – whiney, queeny, smokers rasp), and the fact that I suspect he was under the influence of alcohol, this last bit of conjecture on his part is enough to kill this whole thing for me.  I tell him I have to go and end the call.
That should be the end of it, right?
Oh, no.
The next day, the emails start coming via my Hotmail account. Initially, I had sent him pics of myself.  He never returned the favor.  But what he does do, now, is write me for the next three days about how I am not the man he thought I was, how I mislead him, how he could never be IN A RELATIONSHIP (??!!??)with someone like me (gee, I thought I covered that upfront) with someone like me.  He has trust issues.  He’s been hurt.  He’s… he’s a nut bag.
I respond once.
He ends one missive with the words: And I really wanted to like you!  I responded: “And I really wanted to like you.  Oh, well, guess it is not meant to be.  That’s life.”
But he keeps emailing.  I read them, I delete them, and keep thanking my lucky stars that I dodged this bullet!
I don’t need crazy in my life.  I don’t do crazy well.   That’s why I have protective barriers all around me, with signs posted to keep the crazies out.  
I’m not saying this dude is a loser.  I am not saying this dude is an alcoholic. I never met this dude, so I can’t make those calls. I am simply sharing my experience that I had with him and coming to the conclusion that he is not someone I would enjoy spending any time with – naked or otherwise. 
That said, I think he is also a small part of a much larger problem… people on hook-up sites really need to dial back their expectations of others.  They are meeting people on A HOOK-UP SITE!  I don’t care what your profile may say about how you are there only to chat and do not hook-up.  I read that and I block your ass, because that indicates to me that you have a tenuous grasp on reality.  If you only want to chat and do not hook-up and will throw a shit fit if someone dares tell you are attractive or send you a picture of their naughty parts after establishing some type of sexual dialogue with you – THEN YOU SHOULD NOT BE ON A HOOK-UP SITE.
Get a grip.  Grow the fuck up.  Read the tea leaves, Helen, your destiny awaits.
Next week: Part II of this rant, as I take on the no-minds on Grndr, Scruff, Growlr, and Jack’d.

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