Let's Talk About Casual Encounters

The perfect man doesn’t exi—

Picture this: It was my 18th birthday. I triple-checked the lock on my door, slid into bed, pulled the covers up, grabbed my phone and proceeded to...download Grindr. Yeah, you heard that right. I didn't have a normal 18th birthday; I didn’t head to the gas station excited to buy a lotto scratcher or hop over to the grocery store to buy a pack of cigarettes while my friends giggled behind my shoulder. I downloaded a gay dating app.

I was ready to enter the world of what I thought was "gay manhood." I think in that first hour I messaged every person on the grid with an annoying "HWYD?" message. Typical Grindr newbie contributing to the stereotypical behavior people complain about on the app. My search came to a quick end when I woke up to a very pixelated photo of a cropped torso with washboard abs named Jeremy. I thought this was going to be my literal future husband. Don't judge me...I was oppressed...I got aroused from staring at TJ Maxx catalogs. Little did I know then that Jeremy was not exactly the man of my dreams.

I was having the time of my life, talking for what felt like years with Jeremy (8 hours in gay time). He knew my favorite color and liked the same genre of movies as I did. I was in love before I had even seen his face. Suddenly, as I was discussing my favorite Sailor Moon episode, he asked me the dreaded question..."any more pics of you?" I immediately responded with "yea, yea. of course!" Five minutes later he said "well? where are they?" I didn’t know what to send. So what does any 18-year-old do? Takes his shirt off and sends a dirty mirror selfie that still haunts him (me) to this day.

But guess what y’all? I was being catfished, if you haven’t caught on. But here’s the twist: I wasn’t being catfished by some random seedy creep looking to fill his spank bank with fresh nudes. I was being catfished by none other than my bible-thumping, Jesus-loving MOTHER. I haven’t heard that woman run up the stairs to my room faster in my entire life.

I was getting ready to leave for college in a few months and boy were those final days in the house awkward. I had to go to church every Sunday and read scriptures on sodomy and adultery, and for a second there I was beginning to think that I was being “fixed” during those Sunday morning services. That didn’t last long, though, after I laid eyes on who I thought was going to be my future husband (see a pattern here?). He was none other than the pastor’s son. Spoiler alert: we hooked up...A LOT.

Needless to say my mother and I are now great and she loves every future husband of mine (they basically change every other week). She still has the picture saved that I sent to “Jeremy.” She brings it up every holiday, and I am reminded that my mother once thought that hitting me in the head with the Bible one afternoon would actually knock the gay out of me. Lol, good times...

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Drop it like it’s hot

I hooked up with a new guy a few weeks ago and after sex as we stood to get dressed he started telling me about his stressful job at a Hollywood agency. Frankly, he was kind of monologuing in an obnoxious way, but it seemed like he really needed to get some stuff off his chest so I let him go off. In the middle of a story he was telling about his monstrous boss, a nugget of shit dropped out of his ass and landed with a loud plop on the floor. He paused for a second and then kept talking. I had no idea what to do so I pretended that it didn’t happen and averted my eyes from the poop that was lounging between his feet. We never mentioned it, and he kept monologuing until he left. I then swiffered my floor and went to bed. Weird night.

Marketing “meeting” in the supply room

Last year I got on Grindr while at work and saw that my co-worker, Chris—who I thought was straight—was online. Chris is 6’4, ruggedly handsome, and has the thickest legs I’ve ever seen. He oozes sex. I don’t know how I got the courage, but I sent him a “hey.” He didn’t respond. I was super bummed, not just because he ignored me, but also because now I would probably feel awkward at work.

I avoided him the rest of the week like the plague, but that Friday, right as I was heading to lunch, Chris came up to me and started asking about my week. We chatted for a minute, and then he said, in his regular work voice, “Would you like to swallow my load?” I nodded and he told me to meet him in the supply room in five minutes. I went back to my desk and counted down. My stomach turned over again and again. Four minutes. Three minutes. Two minutes. One minute. I crept over to the supply room and opened the door—Chris was there leaning against a shelf of printer paper. “Get on your knees.” I shut the door and got on my knees.

Chris unzipped and pulled out a semi-erect dick the size of a small nordic country. I must have looked scared. “Are you scared?” he asked. “Yes.” “Good.” He grabbed the back of my head and filled my mouth with his massive cock. He grew bigger inside of me. I could feel it growing down the back of my throat, filling my entire mouth. My eyes watered. I gagged. “Good boy.” He pulled out and let me catch my breath before he entered me again. He face-fucked me hard for a few minutes until I couldn’t breath. I gagged and pushed him out, his cock still connected to my mouth by a string of saliva. “Are you hungry?” he asked me. “Yes.” “I’m going to feed you.”

He filled me again, his cock harder this time. His dick was so big that tears started streaming down my face. Over and over his cock slid in and out of my throat. Finally he smiled and said, “I’m gonna cum.” I felt a blast of warm, salty, cum fill my mouth and slide down my throat. I had to swallow three times to get it all down. Chris pulled his pants back up. “See you later man,” he said in his regular work voice. Then he left.