Patrick was a millennial gay, which is to say one of those people consumed by his hormones with an outlet for it on the internet. Multiple hook up apps, favorite porn sites played morning and night, a steady stream of NSFW tumblr feeds available for an afternoon wank in the toilet if none of the nudes in his Grindr/Scruff/Hornet/Jack'd/Adam4Adam, messages were doing the trick. Work was work, friends were fun, but sex was almost the driving force of his life. It was seldom great but usually good enough. In a city of millions, easy to come by. And if there wasn't a willing partner, there were probably two or 4 or a whole room of hard cocks for him to work on.
The ready availability of sex made Patrick lazy about it. Much as he dreamed about the 70s, he had to work to pay his rent and sex was at your fingertips more than at the gloryhole or in the bush down the street. So on a good night that meant a flesh light, but generally a wet hand and the steady stream of pictures on his six inch screen. (He was also a member of Bate World.)
Nostalgia can be misplaced though, and the apps have their perks. The thing about apps is that you get to know the neighbors in a way that seems to belong to a different time. You might not know their names, but you know which ones are just as horny as you, single, cheating, poly, bi, transitioning. And you knew sexual preferences, links, and usually what their dick looked like. You could chart break ups and couplings if you paid for the premium service; changing social mores. It was a data mine for the contemporary gay anthropologist. But most of the data wasn't so interesting, especially Patrick's. He was just horny. Seldom dating, mostly fucking.
Like with its analog form, app based cruising created some kind of obtuse hierarchy. There were guys that were easy, guys you didn't really want, guys you could never get, and some that were just beyond the horizons of possibility. They'd talk and flirt, but it just never happened, regardless of how elaborate your thirst trap was.
For Patrick, that was MV5 I'm Scruff; known as Stephen on the street.
They had talked but Patrick scarcely knew the hook up details. 48 (but the hottest 48 you've ever seen). Thick black hair. Overgrown facial hair. 5'10". Very hairy. Relationship status: unknown. HIV status: unknown. Safe sex practices: unknown. Position preference: whatever he wants to do is good for Patrick.
Stephen was the kind of guy you could call a daddy but would never actually call daddy. Mature, salt and pepper features, but a hard body and generally hot as fuck. His eyes were kind and deep but he was flirtatious enough to let you know he would give you the most intense blow job you've ever had without ever saying it directly.
Stephen was always keen to chat, to have a deeper conversation than one should with a virtual stranger, and to flirt. It had substance but it wasn't the parade of nudes Patrick was accustomed to. And also Stephen wasn't online much. Was he a serial monogamist? Disinterested? In a very selectively open relationship? Whatever was happening, Patrick had a taste from the app but not the full meal he was craving. 8 month's of wanting more. It was exactly his kind of man and despite knowing.
Patrick could usually catch Stephen online too. He didn't always get a response but usually was fishing for one. But some nights, the apps seemed to offer little and Patrick was happy enough to enjoy having his apartment to himself and to lie on his couch in a pair of speedos idly playing with his hairy cock, thinking it would be a JO night. His phone in the other room, he ignored the buzzing that had been going on for 45 minutes. Twinks and headless torsos he assumed.
Of course strange pleasures can await. After poking at his cock for some time, Patrick got up to get a drink. A little buzz, shoot a load, an early night he thought. He checked his messages anyway.
Twink98: ram my hole daddy
At 30 with a healthy coat of fur, Patrick was into being some jailbaits daddy.
ToTaLMascTOP: let me shit on your face while you worship my cock faggot. You'll become addicted to my man meat
Patrick often wondered about the appeal of these tactics. He was no prude; he had been dick slapped and made to crawl on his knees and loved a piss orgy, but sometimes he wanted a little courtship, even if they were going to deep throat one another after 5 messages.
MV5: hey handsome. Busy tonight?
Not an exemplary opening line but from the man of many of his masturbation fantasies, he'd take it. The message was old and it said mv5 was offline, but Patrick replies hurriedly anyway.
OtterS29: hey! Just spending the night at home? Want to meet up?
Rationally he knew he would probably have another night in as a bate pig but this gave him hope. Could he be working his way toward his most desired fuck of the year?
Patrick walked into the bathroom to take a piss but struggled as he looked at his long semi hard cock, getting harder as he thought about all the things he wanted to do with Stephen. Drink his piss straight from his cock (was be cut or not), suck his balls, eat his ass, give or receive (top bottom or vers?).
Five minutes passed but no response. He sent another message.
OtterS29: Happy to go close to you if that's easier.
They had almost hooked up two months ago but Stephen had decided 1 am was too late so nothing happened, no plans made. But Patrick knew Stephen was only 2.7 miles away and that was a distanced he would happily run, bike, walk, bus, train, or taxi to for such a hot fuck. He would wait up all night if he had to.
Ten more minutes, nothing. Nearing 10, his phone buzzes.
He assumed another message from another thirsty queen but instead:
MV5: yeah, that'd be great. Maybe catch a drink. I'm feeling social.
Patrick didn't want to play it cool. He responded immediately.
OtterS29: Where are you? Want to go to a bar. Stay inside?
He sent his address.
MV5 was typing but stopped. A minute later, no message. A minute after, still nothing.
MV5: lets go near yours. I've had some xx fun over there before
What did that mean? A typo? Should he be washing his anus?
Patrick immediately sent some bar suggestions. The messages went through, but they remained unread. For a minute, then three, then five.
He had no chill:
OtterS29: Any preference? I'm up for anything, you can just come here if that's easier.
Five minutes later, still nothing. But Patrick wanted it,
OtterS29: What do you want? Tie me up in a sling or and fuck me like a monkey or let me whisper sweet nothings in your ear as I jerk off. Pretend I'm your son and spank me as I call you my big strong daddy. I'll call the Uber.
Patrick regretted it but couldn't help himself. He hadn't had sex in a week, good sex in closer to three. And the person he'd been after for months was finally within reach. He needed some notice on how to prepare bud didn't know. He stood there pacing in his speedos and t-shirt.
Then, the typing ellipsis. But nothing.
A minute later, Stephen was typing, but nothing. A few more minutes. Nothing.
