Monday, March 12, 2012

A Guy's Story


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Floppy Disks and Hard Drives

It’s a beautiful day for a fabulous guest post. I don’t know about the rest of the world, but we have blue skies in .  I woke up and sprung out of bed, then raced out to take a long walk in the glorious springlike weather. Then, after walking for a few hours I realized that I needed to get home to tend to the blog. Beautiful day or not, I couldn’t forget to post this.

Today we’re lucky enough to have a guest post by my very talented friend Totally Tyler (so talented, in fact, that his book just got a rave in The Advocate). So… read the post and then check out his blog and  book. 

Floppy Disks and Hard Drives

After much hesitation, I decided to take the plunge by setting up profiles on two different gay-dating websites. I kept my description simple, brief and to the point (Enjoys a good party, movie, or book, and music of all varieties…) I filled out the personal statistics but I chose to leave the sexually explicit questions blank. Is it really necessary for a stranger to know if I’m into rimming? Each website allowed the uploading of a photograph, so I chose a nice black-and-white face shot, one of my favorite photos of myself.

Each site also permitted the uploading of photos for a private gallery that I could unlock for suitors. Already assuming that most private galleries were filled with salacious nude shots, I chose to show my cheeky sense of humor and uploaded a photo of my shoes. Personally, I’d rather see a pair of Pradas than a pasty penis any day. 

After I posted my profile, I sat in front of my computer and watched the emails roll in. Most men just said hello, but a few were a little more specific with their intentions, asking for my phone number right off the bat or requesting we meet as soon as possible. I politely declined, saying I’d like to take things slow and some men were respectful and responsive while others simply did not reply.

As I cruised through the websites, the different types of profiles perplexed me. The majority chose to show face and torso pictures reserving the nudity for the locked private gallery, while, in reverse, others featured

gratuitous shot of their nether regions, keeping their face pic hidden in the locked private gallery. I wondered which of these types of men were the true exhibitionists.

On, I exchanged emails with a variety of men, mostly my age, and nearly half were looking for a long-term relationship. I felt as ease chatting online with most men, maintaining a casual and sexy banter and displaying a sharp and clever wit.

Most of the action took place on I was inundated with email after email requesting to unlock my private photos. Several men sent me messages that simply asked, “Wanna fuck?” Almost every profile I viewed featured nudity or a blatant interest in sexual encounters only. If the internet was truly the information superhighway, then was a dark and seedy rest stop with glory holes in the bathroom stall partitions. Every time I entertained the notion of communicating with the men, I would often get the cold shoulder from them once they realized I was looking for more than a quickie.

So, it was back to, where I continued to receive emails from numerous men and also, I was beginning to feel comfortable sending emails to men was interested in. After several exchanges with a clean-cut and conservative looking black man whose screen name was YngLawMan, we agreed to meet for cocktails at Prince of Wales, a British pub just a block away.

His real name was Jack and he was a law student in his early twenties. Dressed in head-to-toe Banana Republic, Jack looked exactly like his photo. Despite being taller and less masculine than I imagined, I enjoyed

his company but I felt no chemistry. He had just returned from a study group at Starbucks where he had admittedly downed four double cappuccinos and was talking so fast and loud that other patrons of the bar were wincing. We parted ways after an hour, agreeing to stay in touch.

A couple days later, after multiple internet chats and a lengthy phone conversation, I invited Ashley to my apartment. Ashley, a property leasing manager in his early twenties, looked exactly like his photograph but once again, the level of masculinity I expected was not there. Before long, our mildly uninteresting conversation was overshadowed by a growing physical chemistry. After a fast and furious make-out session, Ashley left and I felt disenchanted with his eagerness to get me into the bedroom.

Dating For Love - Guide To The Best Dating Sites On The Internet, Cupid At Work


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