XXVI. The Guy Who Made Me Travel Across The State (NYC Series: Part 1)

“Only fools do what I do, only fools fall”

– Troye Sivan –

What’s with people these days being so obsessed with playing the “love game”? People keep saying that you shouldn’t reply to your date three minutes after he responds to your most recent text because you don’t wanna seem overly desperate and you spend your entire day staring at your phone waiting for a response. The same thing goes with sex. Most people say that you should wait until, at least, the third date to show your private area to your date. Why is everyone so afraid with commitment nowadays? When does showing affection for someone becomes a sign of desperation, and why is that a bad thing? It just seems incredibly difficult now to be satisfied as we are constantly looking for better options without knowing exactly what we want. It’s just never enough.

I was clearly minding my own business and wasn’t really looking to meet anyone when I was visiting New York City with my family for several reasons:

  • There’s no fucking way I would wanna get caught butt-naked by my family, especially with a guy and his willy inside me. It’s not gonna happen, people.
  • I wasn’t an extraordinarily amazing liar back then. For some reasons, I could not come up with any excuses to sneak out at midnight in a city I had never been before. I was holding onto my “innocent boy” image for dear life at the time, FYI.
  • NYC is exhausting. There’s no way a regular human could navigate around New York’s touristy areas in a thick-ass trench coat and a pair of leather boots (I know, a very poor fashion choice for a long walking trip) and still manage to have the energy for a sex marathon, unless you are on some kind of drugs.

But did I go online on dating apps to check out the boys in the area, you might ask? Abso-motherfuckin’-lutely. I’m like the Tinker Bell of the gay world; I need constant validation from the boys for the sole purpose of boosting my ego, which plays a huge role in my survival.

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As I was relaxing in my hotel room on my last night in NYC, this twenty-something-years-old guy messaged me on Jack’d and we instantly hit it off. There’s something very nerdy about him that instantly pulled me into him, and you all know I’m a sucker for guys who adore science fictions and Nintendo games. And there’s something with the way he flirted that was incredibly smart, overly empathetic, and devilishly naughty. We also bonded over our strong hatred towards the superficiality of Angelenos as both of us had experienced living in Southern California for a while. Oh, and did I tell you that this guy owned a dog? That’s a major brownie point for him.

After confiding to him that it was my last night in NYC, he invited me over to his place so he could give me a “memorable night”. I was so eager to just completely give into the night without realizing I had zero ideas on how to sneak out from my family. At 11 PM. In New York motherfucking City. After coming to the conclusion that I wasn’t desperate enough to create an imaginary friend I could use an excuse for my midnight rendezvous that I would need to pay $100 for the cab rides (because Uber wasn’t around at the time, unfortunately), I bid adieu to my NYC lover and left town the next morning.

We ended up sexting texting for over two weeks and for some odd reasons, we really clicked, or at least I thought we did. We kept having some random yet interesting intellectual banter, and that shit turned me the fuck on. I thought, “oh wow, I really like this guy“. And you all know me; when I fall, I fall hard, harder than Melania Trump’s botox-filled face. Or at least I used to, I think I’m doing a lot better at hiding my psychotic behaviors.

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From this point on, I want you all to reserve your judgment for my unsophisticated rationale to yourself as I know how ridiculously stupid what I am gonna tell you might sound. What can I say? McDonald’s is cheap but I am cheaper. 

As I was planning for my summer vacation to the UK, I had this crazy idea that I should visit my NYC bae to sweep him off his feet. So there I was, sitting with my laptop with the biggest grin on my face as I was all set to visit my online lover in NYC for a day before I flew to London. I told him about the plan, and surprisingly, he didn’t find the whole thing creepy. He even offered me a place to stay (or more like I masterfully tricked him into letting me stay at his place) and I was over the moon. In my head, I was hopeful that this might work out.

Or at least I thought it would… 

Before I boarded on the plane, we chatted about our plan for the night and everything seemed fine. It took me a long time to realize that one hour after I landed in JFK, I still had not heard back from him and this was a classic case of Grindr flakes. He disappeared faster than the LGBT rights page from the White House website after Donald Trump got elected president. Saying that I was unhappy at that moment would be a huge understatement. I thought, “how the fuck did I think I would stay at a stranger’s place without having his phone number?” I quickly went online to book a room in the nearest hotel to the airport and shamefully made my way there to wallow in self-pity.

In retrospect, I brought all this mess on myself. Who would have traveled almost three thousand miles across the state to meet a guy they met online and expect to receive free accommodation? NO. ONE. But hey, maybe this is the universe’s (super fucked-up) way of telling me to reevaluate the valuation of my self-worth? That I should stop being such a dumb bitch?!

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To be continued…

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