I tend to know more about a man’s dick before anything else. Welcome to the 21st Century Gay Fuckosphere: online dating for gay men. It’s a koi fishpond that has piranhas and deadly bacteria spreading through it. it hardly falls into the “dating” category, as dating is non-existent.
For the gays, we are not lacking in options of applications out there to meet one another, and more are popping up every day: Scruff, Hornet, Jack’d, GuySpy, MISTER, Tindr, and the infamous Grindr. OKCupid seems to be an afterthought; people want the instant gratification of a cock, come, and close. Even the lesbians are getting apps catered to vagina’s desires. #gaylivesmatter #thanksstevejobs
I’ve been flown to California on Grindr-esque affairs. Business or pleasure? It’s business. And it’s someone else’s tab.
I’ve also hit the lowest of the lows on Grindr. By that, I mean being handcuffed (unwillingly) and having my safe word ignored. You know what happened to that stupid fuck who didn’t listen? I shit on his bed sheets. Karma.
Fuck. You. You don’t take what you want from me without my permission.
My life is littered with the bad and the terrible on this app.
It’s the same little 50×50 pixel images on the daily, unless you find yourself somewhere geographically new. Then it’s like a traveling candy shop in your front pocket.
But the individuals on it have decreasing social value. It’s depreciating every day. The language is dull, uninventive, and colloquially gayafied to unbearable levels. Body structure, shape, and cock dimensions are the currency, and the less time it takes, the better.
The gay agenda is in the App Store, awaiting download.
“Do you have any other pix? Its only fair ;)”
No, bitch. I do not have any cock pictures. I will not share any cock pictures. I know it breaks the unofficial “Grindr Code of Conduct” and I have been shafted because of it, pun not intended.
In case you’re unaware of the Grindr Code of Conduct, there are a couple of criteria that ruin conversations in this particular fuckosphere. One of them is not having photos. There’s stages of photos: the face picture, which tends to be 70:30 chest photos to face. Next, cock and asshole photos.These are the photos that establish the desired credibility: how many abs are showing? How big and thick is the cock? How tight or limp is the asshole in question?
If you cannot prove the credibility of your body and/or your penis, you get the [no] shaft. This, effectively, weeds out the gays of low self-confidence and zero-tolerance gays.
I’m a zero-tolerance gay. I have no pictures of my anus, mostly because I don’t even know how I’d possibly photograph it—and so help me Christ Jesus if I figured out how to, how would I make it look pretty? A pretty anus? C’mon.
Nude pictures? No thank you. My body is a wonderland, as John Mayer has told me thousands of times—and it’s no wonder why I want to keep it to myself. My body is a place where a third nipple exists, where curves of non-abdominal variety live, and where stretch marks of struggle with weight scar my skin. My ass cheeks wiggle in a familiar way to me, and I’d like to think that is where it ends. I like my face, I like my cynical personality, I like my heart, and like my legs and feet. Why should I be judged on these attributes to validate my ability to be fucked?
But what can be said for the thousands of guys I’ve interacted with that are sharing these photos with the frequency of HIV infection in Africa? Well, for starters, we’ve lost “shame” out of the equation, and for GREAT reason. Because that is what this book is about—getting rid of guilt, shame, and jealousy.
“No, sir. There are no dick pics coming your way. And there is no come coming my way. We’re even.”
I live and breathe syntax and diction. This is why interactions on these platforms are so corrosive and painful.
First, no one knows how to greet one another. Adjectives are used with emojis to make a “quick touch,” as social psychologists call it. A simple “I’ve noticed you” gesture. But how many synonyms for “beautiful” can one do? The saturation of flattery makes me believe it less; the shorter the proclamation, the more I’m infuriated (“Cute” versus “gorgeous” elicits different anger).
Maybe some participants of this gay subculture don’t read these adjectives over and over again. But I’m going to give the benefit of the doubt that there are adjectives I’ve never seen, probably given to the dick pictorials of the self-confident out there.
Beautiful language just doesn’t exist anymore. I use language that some of these men have never seen before. Words like “quixotic” and “benevolent” don’t register, but a dick pictorial speaks a thousand volumes for someone’s worth. I guess people don’t talk during these encounters, so language doesn’t matter—the vessel does. My language is reduced to my to pictures of my anatomy.
The gays are in a world where people are replaceable by one slide of a finger, one tap of an “X.” For those masterful (and those horny enough), with mastered colloquial broken gay English, they can secure a blow/hand/goat job, get fucked in whatever way they want, and find essentially nothing and everything they are seeking.
If someone knew vocabulary, they would get laid. Every time.
It’s not the gays fault, per se—nor is it my own for “having” to use these tools.
We’ve never had so many resources available to us as a community, and the fuckosphere is gaping as wide as my asshole after a weeklong bender. And “having” to use these apps is a proclamation of how lazy I am to actually go out and spend unnecessary amounts of cash in public venues to look for the something I don’t even know.
But, as mentioned, it would be nice if there were a gay app that allowed a rating metric of what you perceive yourself, and what other people perceive you as. Blunt honesty hurts, and peer reviewed perceptual honesty would be helpful. Then again, people are not honest, and they are not honest assholes.
I like honest assholes, because their honesty is a greater good than their tact. But an asshole alone will not do, for they lack the character of being honest while simultaneously being a worthless orifice that spews nothing good because they know nothing else.
A ten-criteria, star-based application allowing for peer-review of others and over time, giving them a rating—that’s what I want. Have sex? Review that, too. Everything about the experience is up for discussion.
Break down the honesty barriers there. The rest will come, all over your face, by the right curtailed person for you and your needs.
I need to be a gay relationship consultant. That, or a teen girl counselor.