In the world of dating, the gay world that is, relationships move at the speed of light. Wall Street and I ended on a sour note after only two months. Long story short, he’s looking for a friend with benefits, but I’m not interested in being a sex ATM.
I found myself with no options, and I thought that internet dating may be worth a try. I put together my little profile, added some pictures and with a click of the mouse I was on my way. It seemed I was very popular. Responses were coming in top and bottom, digging through them I found one that struck me. Dollar, yes that’s his nickname, was handsome for a blurry picture. He had the major things I look for: dark hair, dark eyes.
Initially, I agreed to go have a drink with him out by the river. The night was slightly derailed in the first 10 minutes. He gave me directions from the train, meeting me on the street. We stopped to grab some beer, taking part in a makeshift wine tasting, continuing on to his friend’s house. When I realized we were going into his friend’s house I started to panic. I hate meeting the friends, especially when I’ve only been dating someone a short time. Meeting them when I had only met Dollar five minutes prior, seemed a bit rushed.
We entered the apartment, normal looking for a twenty-something: dirty dishes in the sink, an empty vodka bottle, cloths strewn about. We sat on the couch talking while I slammed my first two beers; I drink faster when I’m nervous. I would like to advise: If there is someone to stop you from picking up that third, fourth and fifth drink, utilize them! Over the next three hours Dollar, his friend and I got tipsy, watching practice fireworks over the Hudson River, playing great-bad music, and at one point I was inclined to ride the slide for toddlers on the apartment’s playground.
The next morning I awoke, exhausted and sick from only having slept three hours and choosing to mix beer and vodka. I got myself dressed, coming to realize that my shirt was gone and my chest and stomach were covered in black marker. This posed a dilemma. I had been wanting to hit Starbucks from the minute I passed out, I was just craving that latte! So, I walked in, covered in marker, wearing a borrowed dingy stretched out wife beater, and ordered. I felt relived at my own appearance when I realized a pre-op tranny was making my coffee. I was almost glad I looked like an ‘80’s glam rocker, otherwise I may not have fit in with the local eccentricities of this particular Starbucks.
The amazing thing is that later the same day Dollar sent me a text about hanging out again. I was shocked to say the least. He had seen me sloppy drunk, witnessed me stripping in public, used me as a wall for graffiti and still wasn’t scared off. Either he is the bravest man in the world, or I’m really good in bed, yes I put out on the first date. I blame that partially on the alcohol and partially on me being easy. Now, it’s very early on, three days to be exact, but things are going surprisingly well. I’ve been up two nights until the crack of dawn talking on the phone with Dollar, and we spent three hours sitting on the pier last night. I can’t say for certain but there’s hope that this may actually turn into a real functioning relationship.