WolfcubATL

So, my first venture into the world of online hooking up was, um, interesting.

Manhunt is absolutely fascinating. It requires such a very specific order of steps and code words and negotiation in order for anything to actually happen, I swear it was modeled after diplomatic relations with North Korea. An *abridged* version is below.

1. First you have to express interest in someone, or vice versa, only seeing a “teaser” pic, that may or may not look anything like them.
You can either do this by:
- winking, which has a high fail rate
- just clicking on their pic (because they can see that you did)
- sending one or more of the following in a message: “what’s up,” “looking?,” or just “hot.”
- actually sending a full sentence or two. This I find out later is completely pointless, because even if you meet someone smart and interesting, it just turns into empty nothingness later

2. Then you have to both agree to unlock your “private pics” which may or may not show your face, and which probably show your junk.

3. Both of you must then show approval for eachother’s private pics, because oftentimes they’re definitely dealbreakers

4. Oh there’s more. Then you basically decide in vivid detail what you’re going to do, what you’re in the mood for, who wants to play what position, etc etc.

5. Then you decide where and when.

6. THEN, if you’re lucky you at least get a phone number in case you get lost.

7. MAYBE you even tell eachother your real names.

8. Half the time, by the time I get to this point, I don’t really need to go much farther, the mere fact that I COULD go and have sex with a stranger is enough to get me off quite frankly….and the desire of someone else, sight unseen, is quite the aphrodisiac. So I pretend I have to get up early for work, take care of business, and then go to bed.

9. Sometimes, I go ‘all the way.’

Such was the case with “WolfcubATL.”

I was feeling particularly randy.  I hadn’t gotten any since Italy, this guy was hitting me up hard, and I maaaayyy have had a bottle of wine…a common theme.  His picture looked hot, but I mistakenly didn’t note how tall he was.  Yes, you are lean and muscular, with a six pack, but, *sigh*, you are also 5’6″.  It’s just weird.  I try not to discriminate, but if you’re a “wolf top”…i’m just going to need you to not be a leprechaun…otherwise it feels like a shitzhu humping my leg.

I also hate dogs.  I hate dogs that sit on the floor of the room while you’re making out with someone.  I hate dogs that whine at the door to go out when their owner is clearly in the middle of making out with a stranger.

Wolfcub was alright.  As I will come to find out, people who say they like snuggling are liars, and are just saying it so you’ll come over.  Wolfcub also apparently thought he was going to convince me to have buttsex (even though we had already discussed it not happening) so I had to let him down again.  But, it wasn’t bad, I got mine as I always do, and he took forever to get his…and then promptly rolled over.

I attempted the universal “I’m putting my pants on so I can leave” actions, but was asked to stay.   I assumed there would be cuddling, but maybe he was mad he didn’t get to experience my delicate flower, since we both just rolled to opposite sides and went to sleep…at some point with a stupid dog on the bed somewhere….

In the morning I drove home in the pouring rain…after stopping for a mcmuffin of course.

Peter

Now that I’ve been back a few weeks, the new Daniel apparently has a clear few thematic elements:

1.  I’ll pretty much sleep with anyone who walks up to me and says “you’re hot.”  Much to my pleasure (and sometimes dismay), this happens rather often these days.

2.  However, I don’t like fucking on the “first date,” much to the displeasure of a few people I’ve hooked up with.  I don’t know why.  I think mostly because I may have had a cocktail or two, or it’s late and I just want to get off and go to sleep.  Also, there’s preparation and clean-up involved, and sometimes I just don’t want to deal with it.   Or maybe because I have to actually like the person.  *snigger*

3.  I don’t get nervous anymore.  In fact, after most of the dates I’ve been on, I think the other person was way more nervous than I.

4. H&M makes magical clothes.  Seriously.

5.  People who wouldn’t give me the time of day two years ago now want to sleep with me.

6.  I can’t say no to free drinks.

7. I’m free of the lesbian who was apparently controlling my brain. At last, my hidden away inner gay man has reared his head at last. I’m dashing hearts to the ground, rejecting offers, and not caring in the slightest if people call me back. I’m also not planning my wedding flower arrangements in my head when I meet and start talking to a random stranger.

8. I always get mine.

9. For some reason, I CRAVE Chick-fil-A the morning after a hook-up. I think it has something to do with needing something carb-licious thanks to the “exercise,” and also it’s quite nice to drive up past the bible quotes and christian music blaring from the speakers and buying a bagel knowing that I probably still smell like cum from the abomination that was my hot sweaty man sex.

So, that being said, I was barely back in Atlanta for 5 days before I went home with someone.  I was aching for some gay action after being around my parents for a few days, and then being thrown back into the American world of work hard, and play hard (but only if you’ve got any cocaine to keep you awake after working so hard).  Alas, while I’ve been gone, my usual bar friends, even the straight ones, have been nesting with various boyfriends.

But, who should walk into my restaurant with his parents to eat but JB*, A fair-weather friend from my Sbux days.  I, of course, said we should hang out sometime, but I didn’t really mean that night… but he texted me later and invited me to go to the Atlanta Eagle.

Sure, why not…

I used to enjoy the Eagle.  It is/was dirty and trashy, and I’m all for dirty and trashy (remind me someday to post about New Orleans).   But, it’s gone downhill.  A few weeks earlier, it was raided (relatively unlawfully) by the Atlanta police and it seems to have scared its patrons away.  What was left was a cadre of, well, old fat people, with a smattering of sort of attractive big muscle men.

So, I drank.

A lot.

Because JB, and apparently the bartender, was paying for them all.  I wasn’t bored though, as it was very fun to watch people’s reactions to JB who was a force to be reckoned with.  I’ve never seen someone hit on so many people in such a short span of time. The dance floor sucked. So, when closing time came around, I was ready to go home. What I wasn’t ready for was Peter. Peter, who grabbed my arm as I walked through an archway and told me that I (and my beard) was hot. [see #1 above] So, we made out for a bit, before JB, who had also found a friend, came twirling around the corner inviting us back to his place. Peter was (very) good at kissing, which is extremely important to me, so away we went.

JB, who’s a giver, lent me and Peter his bed, and he and his man used the couch. In five seconds flat, we were naked, and having a hot (and much needed, since Italians suck at making out) makeout session.

Just when things were “going south,” JB barges in the room exclaiming something about his trick that I can’t remember, but had resulted in the guy getting kicked out of the condo.

So.

That was that for the makeout session. And with three people crammed into a queen sized bed, one of which I had NOT planned on ever seeing naked, I was thanking the baby jesus for that last Jagermeister shot for allowing me to quickly go to sleep. At some point in the middle of the night, I woke up to take care of #8 above, and then went back to sleep.

The best part about this evening, besides the delicious and well-deserved Chick-fil-A biscuit, was that the Peter guy didn’t recognize me at all. Nor did he remember me rather blatantly hitting on him a couple of years ago at Burkhart’s and then readily shooting my offer down.

So, it was with great joy that I left without a sound in the morning, without a number, or even my name… and god was that biscuit good…

Sex, Lust, and Love

I’m Dan.

I live in Atlanta.

I’m 30* and still single.

This blog is all about my attempt to change all that.  AGAIN.

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The tools of the trade:

1.  Manhunt.net, and the internet in general

2.  Self-help books

3.  Various and sundry “outings”

4.  My wry and disarming sense of humor and charm

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Come along with me on my journey of sex, lust, and love….  :)