of my own hands and had to scramble to catch it before it fell to the ground.
Dear Lonely Guy,
Breathe. It's going to be okay. Great job getting a hookup so soon. What you're doing is obviously working. You've got the attention of a hot guy who wants to have a little fun. That's what you want, right? You need to remember that. Sex is supposed to be fun. The minute you get inside your own head, it stops being that.
Do whatever you can to relax beforehand. Take a hot bath -- I'd recommend that anyway, you want to make sure you're incredibly clean. Grindr guys can be picky about that. Listen to some music. Smoke a bowl. Whatever you have to do to feel like you're on an even keel.
When you get there, don't think. Just do. Dirty talk will come naturally if you just let yourself describe what you want and what you're feeling without inhibition. If you want him to fuck you a certain way, tell him so. If what he's doing makes you feel good, tell him that, too. Don't worry about being filthy. Most guys love it, and it'll probably make your hookup cum like a freight train.
If it's anonymity you're worried about, make some more rules. Decide what will make you feel like you can be someone else for a night and communicate it.
Good luck and enjoy yourself.
- Formerly Lonely Guy
I reread the email several times, wondering if I was crazy or if it was a lot of vague, general advice that mostly amounted to "don't think too hard," something I was historically bad at. Maybe it was. That didn't make him wrong. I did need to get out of my own head.
His idea of setting more boundaries held merit. I could say the lights had to be off, even though I wanted to see his body. I could make a rule that neither of us were to talk, but I didn't really want that, either. What I did want was him not to look at my face and wonder if he'd seen me somewhere. He could have a kid at my school, or maybe a sibling depending on his age. God, I hadn't even asked his age. Did it matter? I didn't know.
What I did know was that I couldn't afford to have my identity compromised. I tried to think of how best to do that and decided right from the start that we weren't going to exchange names or numbers. No personal information at all. I felt a little bad about it, but this wasn't the sort of thing where you exchanged pleasantries. He just wanted to fuck, and so did I.
The other idea was a little more outlandish, and at first I dismissed it. But, as I searched through my sock drawer for an old bandana and fit it around my lower face, I started to warm to the idea. My partner would really only be able to see my eyes. It meant no kissing, but kissing was what guys who were dating did, right?
Opening up Grindr again, I selected the message I had with HelpingHands and sent my terms. It was possible he'd shut me down immediately. Some part of me was honestly hoping for that, just so I didn't have to feel this anxiety any longer.
DorianGay: I've got some terms. I need you to agree before we go through with this.
He responded almost immediately.
HelpingHands: What are the terms?
DorianGay: No names, numbers, or personal information exchanged.
HelpingHands: That's pretty standard stuff. I can handle that.
DorianGay: Also, I want you to wear something to cover your face.
HelpingHands: ...
There it was. I'd done it. I'd managed to alienate him already. He was going to ghost me now, and--
HelpingHands: Like a mask?
DorianGay: I'll be using a bandana. If you have an old shirt you don't care about, or a shop towel or something. Any of those will work.
Another long pause. I held my breath as I saw those three dots appear.
HelpingHands: Alright. No personal info, covered face. Got it.
HelpingHands: See you tomorrow. I'll be the one who looks like he's about to rob a stagecoach.
I burst out laughing at that, clapping a hand over my mouth as if anyone would hear me. And, as quickly as that, I had a hookup scheduled with every measure of anonymity I could manage.
I still felt like I was going to throw up.
6
Reuben
I didn't usually get nervous about hookups, but for some reason, I sure as hell was nervous