Slap & Tickle

Maybe They’re Just Not Into Me…


A few weeks back I had a date with this guy I’ll call Karl* We met online (already you can see a happy ending, right?). We seem to hit it off, going back and forth in emails, he was adorable, he said the right things, and I was very into him.

We try for a few weeks for a “date”** and finally find a mutually agreed upon time and place—his place, Saturday at 1:00pm. He calls to move it to 3:00… then to 6:30… then to 8:00. I was filled with confidence that it was something he wanted to do.

I met him at his place and he seemed to be pretty nice. We had a number of similar interests (besides fucking) and we had what I think was a pretty nice time. Then, he shut off. I mean, it was literally like someone turned off a switch in him and he was so incredibly not into me at all. Did I mention that this was in the middle of me fucking him? No? Because I think that’s important.

[CAUTION: Graphic stuff my sister will NOT want to read ahead]
I’m not so much an ass man—sure, I like the butt. I like to stick certain appendages into another man’s nether regions, but that appendage would be my dick. Not my fist. But, I’m a nice guy and while the whole hand doesn’t go in—enough fingers went in to… uh… okay, it was three. I had three friggin’ fingers in and my hand was cramping like nobody’s business. We had fucked, rested a bit and now I was trying to get him back into the game.
[Okay, Alix, you can read again]

Being the trouper that I am, I assist him in “getting his cookie.”*** However, I can not say that Karl did the same for me. Apparently, his violent—freakishly long and intense—orgasm did not turn the switch back on. In fact, he seemed to become even less interested in me—which until that point I thought impossible.

We said our goodnights and I thought about it on my long ride home with my very blue balls: what did I do or not do that got him to go from 90 to zero in three seconds? I did everything he asked, nay, begged me to do.

I sent him a “thanks” email the next day and asked him to send me a link he’d mentioned the night before. I was hoping for a “sorry you didn’t get off” note back, or even a “it’s not you, it’s me” note.****

He sent nothing. I never heard from him again.

Fuck the fucking fucker. I moved on.

So, Friday I went to The City for a beer and hoping to have a nice time—not necessarily meet someone, but to have a good time. Which is a total lie, because every time I have met someone in SF, it’s been a Friday.

Moments after arriving, I was standing in the patio of this bar and I see this somewhat attractive Hispanic guy talking to another guy. I kept looking over at Hispanic Guy because he seemed cute. But, the way he was talking to the Black Guy, I figured they were into each other and walked away.

A minute later, Hispanic Guy walks up and introduces himself. I’ll call him “HG”. HG was really sweet, we had much in common, not only on basic things (we both hate fish) but on issues like relationships (don’t like dating guys claiming to be in “open relationships” or having an open relationship).

He asked me if I wanted another beer and we walked to the bar. Under the light of the bar I got a clear look at him: Oh. My. God. Stunning. Gorgeous eyes, beautiful smile, and just so wonderful to look at!

We moved from the patio back inside and that’s where I kissed him. Very out of character for me, but every cell in my body was screaming for me to do it. So I did it. And it was good.

He said he was a good pool player and put his name on the board to play. While we waited for his name to come up, we found a corner and made out.***** He was so lovely to kiss and he kept telling me how handsome I was—I just kept kissing him and thanking God HG has not been to an optometrist in a long time.

When it came time for HG to play pool, he kept blaming the table for all his missed shots. I found it adorable that he was worried I wasn’t impressed at his sucking at pool. It could not have mattered less. First, I’m a horrible pool player, and, second, he kept bending over to shoot, giving me a nice view of his cute butt.

HG barely won the first match and then went on to beat the next 5 guys easily. The man made some very incredible shots! I was initially in doubt as to his billiard skills, but ended up very impressed with this adorable guy.

About this time, the bar was getting ready to close and he came across a friend of his and a buddy of the friend. The buddy was very in to my man! When the bar closed and HG, HG’s friend, and I went outside, Buddy followed like a horny puppy. He made sure to note he was 24 and remark on everything HG would say with, “awesome” or or “cool” Or “I’ve heard that.” I really wanted to say, “You’ve heard it? Really? Tell us about it then, bullshitter!” But I didn’t want to come across as the jealous type.

I was even more dumbfounded that Buddy was as subtle as an anvil. When HG said he was parked “at the corner,” Buddy started on his oh-so-understated “so-o-o you like corners, do you?” type comments. Then, when HG was grabbing onto a No Parking post, Buddy started leeching out comments like, “so, you like poles, too. I like poles.” Yeah, I would have liked to have taken one of those poles and bashed it over Buddy’s head.

But—as I have said—I’m not the jealous type.

Finally, when Buddy said, “I totally need a ride home.” I groaned. I wanted to say, “You waited until fucking 2 o’clock in the fucking morning to fucking ask the last three guys at the bar for a ride home to Fremont?” Did I mention that HG lives in Fremont, too? I didn’t? Well, he fucking does and Buddy fucking knew it.

Realizing that HG’s friend was pushing hard on this whole thing with his “I’ve got plans and can’t take him home” comments. Who has plans at 2 o’fucking clock in the morning? “Call me tomorrow.” I said to HG as I left.

I liked the guy, but if he’s going to fall for some dip-shit 24 year-old drunk-ass bullshitter, then he’s not the man for me.

HG (my man!) called about ten on Saturday morning and we agreed to meet for lunch. He did not give Buddy a “ride home” or, for that matter, a ride home.

We sat across from each other in a booth at Chili’s (hey, it was Milpitas, what are you going to do?) and he wrapped my legs with his (It was more subtle than it sounds)******

After lunch, we went to a movie, so we could hold hands and make out. What I saw of the movie I liked and since it was raining really hard, we sat in my car afterwards and made out. It was wonderful!

I felt like a teenager breaking the rules. I’ll tell you, sitting in the back of the theatre, walking out and wanting to hold hands, making out in the car… it was all such secretive fun. Sure, it doesn’t matter if you’re gay, but we were in freakin’ Milpitas—they kill people for stuff like that there. I now know why people have affairs: it’s damn exciting stuff doing something that you might “get caught.” Even if it doesn’t matter if you do. I now get it.

Sitting in my car and steaming up the windows was everything I missed out on in high school. I didn’t have those experiences (because I didn’t want them with a girl), but this was my moment and I enjoyed every last second of it).

Since we are taking it slow (in the gay world we should have had sex about 12 times by this point) we weren’t going to go fuck somewhere, but we did want a place to at least snuggle and talk (I know… how gay!). He lives with two straight guys and I live with my sister who finds any kind of public display of affection annoying—double for the gays.

HG was tired, so I asked him if he wanted to go home, take a nap and then to give me a call when he woke up. He agreed, we kissed a little more…

…and that’s the last I have heard from him.

It is well over 24 hours past when he was supposed to call. That’s a mighty long nap… or he finally got to the optometrist...

While I am tempted to call, I don’t want to hear any lies. I would rather think that he’s just not into me, rather than have him make up some bullshit answer. “I meant to…” “You’re not going to believe this but…” or the classic “Something suddenly came up.”*******

However, the ever obsessive part of me continues to ponder what the hell I did to have him grabbing and groping me at one minute and then completely forget about me the next? What do I do to these guys that cause them not to let me down gently, but to run screaming from the room?

Before you say, I'm over-reacting to his napping and not calling—Did I mention that he mentioned Friday night that he doesn’t like to take naps, because he never really gets to sleep? Or am I being too subtle?













*Because Karl is his name.
**“date” in gay means “fuck.”
*** “Making sex is like a Chinese dinner: It ain't over 'til you both get your cookies.” Alec Baldwin, Outside Providence (1999)
****Which means “it’s so about you.
*****It’s a gay bar… I believe it’s a requirement—staking out territory and all that.
******For reals.
*******© Greg Brady (1973)


Update: I broke down and called HG. I got his voicemail. What was bothering me was the not knowing, but more than that was the waiting for him to call. I gave him the power over how this would go. I took it back… and instantly felt better. I guess I still wonder what happened, but right now, I have got more important things to worry about: school, work and a party I am going to this weekend (maybe I can meet someone else to obsess over for two days!)