When you are on a gay sex web site, and are chatting with a guy who says he is straight, you don’t challenge it. But the guy becomes a challenge, and this challenge can 1) be hot, or 2) indicate that you are a masochist. But you don’t have time to analyze yourself too much when he asks to cam with you. You’re already at the computer naked (save for a ballcap), so you take a deep breath and turn the cam on, never knowing what the reaction will be.
This is how I met Rick. The reason he became interested was that I mentioned that I liked piss play. The invitation to cam was almost immediate. On cam, he was gorgeous. Too gorgeous. Dangerous gorgeous. He was cocky, arrogant, and proud. He said he’d done some piss play with women, but not with a guy. A date for Saturday night was set.
I didn’t expect him to show up. Likely, he was a poseur, and got off on the chat alone. But I’ll be damned if he didn’t show up on time. He strode in with a sense of entitlement and proceeded to start undressing before I had opened his beer. I think the only thing he said to me was “Let’s go.”
We headed to my bed and laid on it and chatted a bit and drank our beer, and he said that that was a first. What was a first? I asked. He said usually, when he went to a guy’s home, there was no chit-chat. It was clothes off, sex, clothes on, out the door. I believe in het circles it’s called Wham, Bam, Thankyou Ma’am. He didn’t seem displeased that we were chatting, but a little confused about how to negotiate it. He told me he had a girlfriend at home. Dear Reader, I do have rules about online hook-ups, and being with someone with a partner (in a closed relationship that is) is a deal breaker. What got broken instead was my rule. I couldn’t not proceed. He had me at “Let’s go”.
And then, within moments, another rule of mine was broken. He took the liberty of lubing up my cock, and proceeded to impale himself on it like a pro – without a condom. It all happened so fast, with no negotiation. And I didn’t stop it. My mind was a crazy mess of conflicting thoughts, but I couldn’t resist the notion of having the best possible sexual experience with this stud like no other. And I ashamedly didn’t want to disappoint Rick or slow down his momentum. He was having fun and so was I, on two levels: the pure sexual bliss and the idea that I was fucking a “straight” stud. These were heady feelings and I was licked.
After coming, he didn’t rush right out the door, as I had expected. We finished our drinks, and I brought up the rule I had broken about unsafe sex. I told him the truth: I was HIV negative but always used condoms. “I wouldn’t care if you had AIDS. But we can use a condom next time if you want”. Oh Dear Reader. He didn’t care if I was HIV positive or not? Bottoming, with a girlfriend at home? All my alarm bells went off. This was not a good scene. But he said something that silenced the alarm bells – “next time”. He dangled his carrot from a stick, and I, like a stupid mule horse, thought “yes”. He gave me his number and a few days later I called it. On the voice mail was a woman’s voice telling me to leave a message. Was that his girlfriend’s voice? Was this a shared cell? Why in hell would he give me that number? I hung up before the beep.
We met three or four times again. The electricity of that first encounter became replaced by my bottomless need for his approbation and by confusion. He never gave me a straight answer as to why he shared a phone number with me that his girlfriend obviously used. He told me that he could never love a guy, and didn’t think about them sexually a whole lot. He didn’t feel he was cheating, he was simply scratching an itch. But he also said that our first encounter was the best sex he’d ever had, male or female. He said it without bravado, but as a quiet fact. And before leaving, he did something so intimate, so gentle – so unlike him. He hugged me goodbye. The hug undid me.
On a subsequent night that we planned to get together, he stood me up. The next morning at work, I was feeling so emotionally volatile that I feigned sickness and went home to punch the pillows. I could handle it all as long as he showed up, and when he didn’t, I mentally ended it for the sake of my sanity. He left a message again eventually, and I in turn left him one. I played it as cool as possible but expressed that I’d been disappointed that he didn’t call if he was not going to be able to keep our date.
The story ends there, Dear Reader. By telling him how I truly felt, I must have become too much for him to handle, because I never heard from him again, and he deleted me from his MSN. And I was left asking myself these questions: Is that as good as it’s ever going to get? The high I felt with Rick was Mount Olympus. But was it because he was unattainable that the high felt so extraordinary? I allowed him to use me like a hooker, and I liked it. It was clandestine. How had I sunk so low, how had I come to expect so little? But at that time, I believed to have felt my heart stir, and was so relieved to know that it still beat. I wasn’t numb yet, even in spite of my many encounters and my casual approach to sex. Months later, I would wonder in retrospect if my heart wasn’t just being pushed further into a pit of loneliness by the experience. And I feared terribly that if he had been less of a challenge, I might not have been as attracted. If that was true, I was truly fucked.
During one of our post-coital talks, he had said that I was the only person on the planet to whom he could talk to about his same-sex encounters. In saying so, he looked vulnerable. Where is he now? And does he think of me in any way? I’m writing an essay about him, but realize that he may have tucked me away into a hidden corner of his mind. This is not a man who reads much, and certainly not gay essays, so I don’t expect he’ll ever read this and recognize himself in these pages. But if he wrote an essay about our few encounters, how would it read? What would he reveal? Has any straight-identified male ever written in depth about his same-sex encounters? That’s a tale I would like hear.