Hook-Up Interruptus


Today I ate lunch with one of my favorite down-low peeps, “Martin.”
Martin is a tall, slender brown-skinned brother who exudes an air of confidence. He knows he likes sexing men, but he values his marriage and family above all that. He keeps this shit in perspective.
We’re the same age but sometimes when we talk I feel like the naughty teenager in the principal’s office and he is a counselor trying to guide me back on the straight and narrow. I’ll tell him about my exploits and he will just shake his head and smile.
“Don’t let this control you, Immanuel,” he has said to me repeatedly. “You have to control it.”
Still, I like to get Martin to laugh. He is such a sober person that when he laughs you know something is funny. And I know the stories about my sexual escapades titillate and amuse him.
A few hours after seeing Martin I had finished some work and had some free time on my hands. Would I go workout or go online and get a hookup? I opted for the hookup.
I found this cat on a gay personals page with the name “handsomeandmanly.” We exchanged emails. He said he was married but his “wife” was out until seven that evening. Could I please come by and fuck the hell out of him, pull off the condom, and let him eat my cum?
“Sure, no problem,” I instant messaged back.
He only lived 20 minutes away. But before I could get off his highway exit he was phoning.
“Where are you,” he asked.
“I’m right down the street,” I answered.
“Look, let’s meet out…I want to see you first,” he said.
For the next 20 minutes we drove around in the rain, trying to find each other. He said he was at a Wa-Wa gas station. I never saw one on the route.
I called his cell.
“Look man, I’m not pressed,” I said. “Let’s just call this off.”
“No, I really want that dick,” he answered.
We finally caught up with each other in an apartment parking lot. I rolled down the passenger side window while he walked up. His profile name said he was “handsome and manly” but he was anything but.
An unattractive, effeminate man with dreadlocks walked up to my car. He was missing one of his teeth. He had on way too much jewelry — silver rings studded his fingers. And they looked like women’s rings. And to top it off he greeted me with “Boy, you so crazy!”
I just stared. Can you spell Q-U-E-E-N? (For those who don’t know, that’s a flamboyant, effeminate gay man.)
He should have seen from my expression I was turned off. But he was horny.
“Well, do you want to still come over to my place and have sex,” he asked.
“No man, I’m not interested, some other time” I said. “Forget about it.”
I closed my car window and sped off. I may be a freak but I’m not that desperate. In the down-low life masculinity is a premium. We got women at home to be feminine.
Luckily I had my gym bag in the car and my fitness club was less than 10 minutes away. I had a good workout.
After exercising I was dressing and noticed a text message from Martin on my cellphone.
“Are you behaving yourself,” his text message asked.
I had to laugh. Sometimes I think Martin is psychic. It’s like he knew I was going to be trolling for sex that evening.
I texted back. “I have a funny story to tell you. Read it on my blog tomorrow.”

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