I instant-message him back, “Howdy! Staying in tonight too. Going on the computer. Have fun. Later!”
I log on to the website and start scrolling through the ads like a cyber photo album of porn. That word sounds hot. Porn. Porn. Porn. It just rolls off my tongue. The photos get me hard and horny. So do the names, well, some of them.
There’s CUMNGETME. Another is UPMYBUTT. One ad is called PISSONME. Some of these dudes don’t have any shame showing shots of their asses and dicks.
But who am I to talk? My screen name is EXFELON. Guys like that. They like the danger, the suspense, the bad boy image of it all. I look pretty rough in my profile photo. It’s a shirtless picture of me, from the backside, hitting a boxing bag. If someone wants to see something else, they gotta e-mail me and start up a video camera link. I’d never put my picture out there for someone to copy. It’s my face. No one else’s. You never know where your face shot may end up without knowing it. Better to be safe than sorry.
My “You’ve Got Male” cursor blinks and I hear the computer beep. It’s a message from a guy named CUMOVER. I open the e-mail. This should be good.
“Hey, what’s going on tonight? Just out of jail? LOL! Hot photo. Looking to top? Lemme know.”
I open up the guy’s profile. He’s forty-two, overweight, balding. A troll. NOT! Why would he think I’d be interested in him?
I respond, “Thanks. Not interested. Later!”
My computer beeps again. Another message from the same guy. I sense this response won’t be as nice as the first.
“Well fuck you, too. You’re probably ugly since you won’t show your face. Asshole!”
This is what you get for going online, but hey, it beats going out in this wicked weather. I keep scrolling through the ads in Dorchester. Most guys here are older, as in late thirties, forties, and fifties. You have to be older to afford one of these historic Victorian or Cape Ann houses. Most of the young guys here are in college and room together in triple-deckers, to save money on the rent.
Once in a while, you strike gold and find a cute hot guy who comes over to your place to play around. But to find that cute guy, you have to look at tons of fugly dudes on the site. It’s like weeding out the bad to find the good.
I get hit with another “You’ve Got Male!”
The name on this one is LOOKIN4LATINOS.
“Hi Papi! You’re one hot guy. Want to strap me up and hit me with a whip.”
I don’t even want to look at his profile. He already sounds like a weirdo.
I type back, “Me no espeaki English.”
And another e-mail follows his.
The name on it says REALGUY.
“Hey Italian Stallion. I’ve seen you out. You’re Tommy’s wingman, right? I recognized the back of your head. Sexy guy. What are you doing tonight? Want to play reality TV? We can play Queer Factor or I could be your Bachelorette! Wink Wink.”
Euuuww. It’s Kyle, the Real Life dudette. I’m surprised he’s not parading around Club Café tonight. He’s cute to look at until he opens his big mouth. Then the image falls apart. He’s such a queen and so superficial, always dropping names, including his own. I’ve never liked him so why is the dude emailing me here? Doesn’t he get the hint that I’m not interested in his pretty Real Life ass. It’s so obvious it’s him, too. The first giveaway is his screen name: REALGUY.
Then there are his four photos. One’s from his modeling ad for The Gap. Another is an image from The Real Life, of him and his ex-boyfriend. The other Kodak moment is him shirtless on a Provincetown beach, where he is sporting a bright blue Speedo and loud Elton John–type glasses. Kyle is holding out his hands to say, “Look at me! I’m fabu!” And then there’s the X shot, of him and his bubbly toned Oklahoma white ass.
I tap the keys of my computer to respond and press “Send.”
“No thanks KY!” I laugh to myself. Who’d want to be called KY! Ha! And who would want to mess around with that guy, after that threesome episode. Everyone saw it. Gross. Besides, everyone in town has been with him. I don’t want to give him bragging rights that he’s been with me and Oscar. No way. Ain’t going there.
Kyle responds back.
“Don’t be a stranger Rico Man. See you out soon,” he responds. More like, avoid you sometime soon, Kyle.
I get hit with another “You’ve Got Male!” I guess I’m not the only one staying in tonight. I suspect Club Café is dead tonight since the chat rooms are crowded tonight at 9:30 P.M. The snow’s falling pretty hard and there could be black ice on the roads. I’m gonna have to shovel the snow off my truck in the morning. What a drag but that’s winter for you in Boston.
The name on this e-mail is “YOUNGHOTBOSBOY.” This one looks promising. A quick hookup. He seems like a combination of a mineral and an animal from first glance.
I rate guys based on three categories: Mineral, if they have substance/brains. Vegetable, if they don’t have smarts. And animal, if they are just hot but lack the substance and the smarts. Most of the guys in Boston are minerals but don’t have the looks to match. It’s hard to find two out of three. They may be hot and stupid or smart but with Frankenstein faces.
I continue reading his profile. I’m getting harder.
It says he’s twenty-three, five feet eleven inches tall, white guy, dirty blond hair, brown eyes, a business student at Northeastern University. He’s negative and looking to have fun or meet cool guys to be friends. His face is cute in that Matt Damon Good-Will-Hunting way. He has two body shots. One shows his tight abs and nice smooth arms and surfer-guy-type blond chest hair. He has a tattoo of a shark on his right shoulder. He looks pretty yummy. His location is South Boston, two subway stops on the red line or about a mile from me by car. But heck, I’m not driving tonight. He has to cum here, so to speak.
His e-mail reads, “Hi. Nice profile. My name is Joey. How’s it going tonight? Cold?”
Wow, no “how hung” questions. No “top or bottom” question. No “my milkshake brings the boys to yard” comments. He seems cool so far. Cute name, too.
“Just staying in tonight, staying warm. Rico here. Nice to meet you dude. What are you up to?”
He responds, “Likewise. Thanks. Kind of bored tonight. Taking a study break. No one wants to go out tonight. Some news of a blizzard on the way according to Channel 7. I’m from Worcester but I live in the city for school during the school year. Are you from here? Are you a student? What do you do for fun? And why are you called ExFelon or is that just your gimmick? Did you serve in Alcatraz or something? Inquiring young minds wanna know!” He ends that sentence with a smiley face.
This guy actually wants to chat and he seems kinda funny. I was looking for a quick hookup but Joey could be a possible date or a good fuck buddy. Did I just say that? A date. Shit! Tommy must be rubbing off on me.
“I’m from the Berkshires and moved here a few months ago. I work in accounting in downtown. I like snowboarding, watching movies, getting into snow fights and getting arrested. Just kidding on that last one. Never been in jail but wouldn’t mind going either. I thought the screen name would get people’s attention. It obviously got yours,” I write him back with a facial expression marked by a winking right eye.
We talk until midnight, first on the computer and then later on the phone. He said he’d like to come over a bit but first he has to dig out his Toyota pickup truck buried in the snow.
“What do you wanna do, Joey?” I ask him, staring at his hot shirtless photo. I tuck my hand down between the layer of my underwear and sweatpants. My eyes, though, keep scrolling up to look at his smile. It’s so bright and electric.
“We can play cops and robbers or we can just talk