911; this put the fear of God in me. But I am always afraid in such circumstances. Before Covid-19 I had not — for many years -- traveled to someone’s house for sex, and hardly ever ‘hooked up’ online. Suddenly this is not so much my regular routine as the only alternative. I’m not that horny -- as I’m terribly old now — but now and then the need to have a strangers body next to mine, or new lips to kiss, well, hopefully you get it. But there was another reason for my insecurity -- the Bruce McArthur thing -- for I am into ‘kink,’ and a ‘submissive’ and I ‘identify’ (for all you millennials out there) as a ‘sex pig.' Unfortunately we pervy bottoms were shamed by the Bruce McArthur tragedy — for the implication was ‘if you like to be dominated, you will likely be killed.’ This is nonsense, of course, many more women are in danger of dying at the hands of their abusive husbands. Nevertheless, I am irrational (aren’t we all?). So add to this his scary address, and add to that my general niceness. This is something you won’t believe. Let me tell you I am more confrontative in my blog than I am in real life. Here I wear a mask of blithe, brave indifference -- I could care less -- and am fearlessly angry over what i perceive as injustice and hypocrisy. Well, in real life I'm not like that. I have been known (my lover will attest to this) to buy items of clothing in stores because I don’t want to disappoint the clerk. If she seems like a nice girl working her way through school, and she says I look good in those skinny jeans, I will buy them because I don’t want her to miss a sale. I am endlessly guilty about everything, as deep down it must have been inculcated in me that I would be punished for merely being (I call this a ‘criminal ontology’). This guilt may have come from the air or from the zeitgeist, but also both my parents were horrified by the sexual act, so perhaps they inculcated that fear in me, and then I discovered to my shock and horror that I have been and will always be sex obsessed — even now when the damn thing (my penis) doesn’t work properly. So, anyway, here I was, in a cab, with all this running through my head. My insecurity was of 'Hamlet-ish' proportions, heading to 911. Add to all this the fact that his photo on the hook-up app was pretty cloudy. So why did I…? Well basically I liked what he said about himself. I’m not big on the guys who tell me that they are into long walks and sunsets, or those who hint that they have not yet found the perfect man. Then there are the prissy masculine tops, who say ‘Don’t bother winking at me, just tell me exactly what you are looking for, because I don’t want to waste my time -- or my huge penis -- on some idiot.’ Oh yes, thanks, it sounds like it will be a lovely, relaxing evening. No, from his description this guy sounded like a nice person, but there was no ‘face pic’ and being the wimp that I am, I hadn’t asked for one. When I reached the building it was an old warehouse that had been renovated into apartments, which was somewhat reassuring. I was at the wrong door, and when he appeared on the sidewalk I noticed he was somewhat odd looking, as he was wearing ripped camouflage pants (ripped in a rather daring way) a camouflage cap, and glasses. The glasses weer disconcerting because — well, they just gave him an oddly intense look, with the cap. He was not ugly, but his face was a little scary. We proceeded up two flights of stairs, never easy for a near septuagenarian like me, and I noticed it was very dark and there was a lot of junk. When we got to his apartment I noticed that it was nicely renovated, but a mess. However, who doesn’t occasionally forget to dust? I was pleased we were going into the living room, not the bedroom — and that he had an L shaped leather couch — always an indication of the best kind of worst intentions. I still could not tell about him though, was he a sweet man who wanted a good blow job, or a serial killer? He asked me if I wanted a drink — which was just polite, I thought, and I thoughtlessly said yes, and then surreptitiously inspected his place for tell-tale signs of atrocities. I remember glancing into the fridge when he opened it, noticing that -- Thank God -- there were no preserved body parts in mason jars. But all this means that I neglected to monitor his bar-tendering. So when he offered me a tall vodka tonic I suddenly realised I might, of course be 'roofied.' I thanked him and set the glass down on a table and tried to figure out a way to politely not drink it. My attention was diverted by his question “Do you do edibles — or anything?“ I told him that I only drink, which of course I was not doing. Then he said “Do you mind if I do ‘the pipe’?” I now have had enough experience at these Covid-19 encounters to understand that most all of these hookup homos are on ‘the pipe’ — which needs must be juxtaposed against the public image of happily married gay couples that we so often see on Netflix, and hear of, from the antisepted mouths of middle class fags. At any rate I said yes, because — well he had suddenly become that forlorn shopgirl in my head, and I didn’t want to disappoint him. As you can imagine, I was fully conscious at that point that some of McArthur’s victims were probably as shy as me about confronting their eventual killer with questions that might have saved their lives. But you know....by that time something else had happened. It wasn’t so much related to my attraction to him (although he was attractive enough to have sex with). I must admit that, as a matter of survival, I have come to trust my instincts. By that I mean if I am going to survive this thing (i.e. Covid-19) I will need to occasionally have sex, which means I will have to hook up online, and the best way to do that is by abandoning reason (that is arguments for and against) and instead listen with my heart. There’s a sign up in the apartment building where I stay in Toronto about how to tell about letting a stranger in the front door: ‘Does it feel right? Trust your instincts’. That is all we can or should do, really. And, hey, the whole thing worked out fine. My meth-head friend was, I think, as satisfied as I -- afterwards he said -- ‘that was very civilized.’ Like the best of all gay promiscuous sexual encounters, yes, it most definitely was.
