“If you think you’re too small to have an impact, try going to bed with a mosquito in the room”
– Anita Roddick –
Have you ever been unsure about which course of action to take and you are just submissively waiting for a sign from the universe? Or do you believe in none of that bullshit, trust your guts, and dive into a situation head-first? As a self-proclaimed over-thinker, I’m one of those trashy human beings who is an expert at coming up with the most random excuses whenever I’m faced with inconvenient situations because my train of thoughts always take me to the darkest places. For instance, whenever I am intrigued by a shirt in a clothing store, I can’t help but wonder the amount of bacteria on the shirt, and the mere thought of it makes me feel nauseous. Yet at the same time, I’ve never thought twice before putting a stranger’s dick in my mouth. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m a fucking weirdo.
Contrary to popular belief, I’m not always looking for Mr. Right Now whenever I’m on Grindr; sometimes I’m just looking for a distraction whenever my friends are having a heated discussion about topics I have zero interest in (I usually do try my hardest to appear interested by casually chiming in and saying uninspired responses like “damn, that’s crazy” or “oh wow, that’s wild”). So one day, when my female friends were in the hotel bathroom having an argument about which shade of makeup to use, I immediately tuned out of the conversation and logged onto my favorite networking app. I saw this Indonesian guy on the grid and although he’s not my first choice, he seemed interesting enough for me to waste thirty minutes of my life for a meandering conversation that serendipitously leads to sex. Apparently it’s the beginning of many mistakes I would make throughout the day.
We were chatting for a while, but just like most conversations occurring on Grindr, our chemistry fell through due to our mutual lack of enthusiasm. It was hard for us to plan a time to meet since we had our own agenda, so we decided to go our separate ways. At the time, I honestly didn’t mind since I wasn’t really in the mood to eat cake by the ocean.
Let’s fast-forward to a couple hours later with me casually sipping a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon at a trendy beach club while observing wannabe influencers exemplifying the finest form of superficiality and social laddering. #doingitforthegram
P.S. Filming yourself dancing in front of the DJ booth is tacky. To those of you who make it a part of your regular content on IG, you need to stop.
As the sky slowly turned red, my face identically turned into the sky’s color as a result of the excessive amount of alcohol circulating through my veins. My friends and I were having a blast; our bodies were hypnotized by the continuous loops of ethereal vocals and heavy base lines, leaving my mind with no room to think about male physiques. Unfortunately, my friends had to leave early, leaving my tipsy self on the dance floor alone, vulnerable to the temptation of more alcohol and reckless decisions. So what did I do after my friends left, you might ask? I got more booze and logged onto Grindr, duh!
I was waiting for my fourth glass of cocktail that day and as I was discreetly checking Grindr, lo and behold, the Indonesian guy whom I chatted with earlier was 25 feet away from me. I thought, “this guy either has an awesome taste in music or is an amazing stalker, and either way, I’m into it!” Without any hesitation, I messaged him trying to confirm his whereabout and inquire about the plausibility for us to
have an anonymous wham-bam convene. Clearly, I wasn’t thinking with my head as I didn’t even know a spot where we could safely engage in risqué activity. I did weigh in some options and below are the options I considered:
- Dance floor
– Pros: small number of curious audience and the cheap thrill
– Cons: overwhelming number of appalled audience and the high possibility of going to jail
– Pros: the romantic atmosphere and wonderful feeling of being one with nature
– Cons: poor hygiene and again, the possibility of going to jail
– Pros: the privacy and easy access to toiletries
– Cons: E. Coli, erosion of self-respect, and again, the possibility of going to jail
Being the amazing fake ass bitch that I was, I decided to meet him at the beach to give him the impression that I was the Don Juan he’s about to tame. I mean… nothing makes a guy drop his pants faster than gorgeous sunset on the beach and some tropical beach club tunes, right? I also thought that the beach was my safest option should things go south. So I messaged the guy telling him to meet me at one of the beach loungers, low-key hoping that the romantic ambiance could disguise my mischievous thoughts (y’all know I have a method to my madness). In retrospect, this was probably the biggest mistake I made that night.
I waited for what seemed like forever (alcohol can really distort your perception of reality), and I noticed that certain parts of my body started to itch. Knowing that my potential disco stick pleaser was going to meet me at any given moment, I decided to tough it out (because my mama didn’t raise me to be a quitter) and did some light scratching to soothe the itchy skin. I thought, “What the fuck is going on? Did my body develop a strong reaction to possible bad dates?” The itching started to become unbearable, and just when I was so close to ditching my Indonesian guy, I saw an olive-skinned guy in a white t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts walking towards my direction. Checkmate, bitch.
We started chatting for a little bit and let me tell you, my friends… it was awkward as fuck. To those who know me personally, you can probably attest to my horrible listening skill (even my TOEFL scores are telling me that listening isn’t my strongest suit, or maybe I’m just one selfish motherfucker). Combine that with off-the-charts blood alcohol concentration, extremely loud music, and my excruciatingly itchy legs, it took all my energy to concentrate on the shit he said. And don’t get me started on the mundanity of the conversation topics he brought up. But being raised as a polite Indonesian man, I occasionally nodded in agreement to whatever the fuck he said and made minimum effort to tell some jokes because society raised me to be non-confrontational and (allegedly) respectful to others.
Pro tip: if the weather is the most interesting conversation topic you could come up with, you need to step your dating game up. Ain’t nobody got time for a date with the weatherman!
The itching did not stop and became more intolerable, and that’s when I glanced over my right leg and internally screamed.
My arms and legs were covered in bumps from mosquito bites.
I did a quick count of bumps from mosquito bites on my right leg that I could see and I was horrified. There were over 10 bumps on that single leg; how the fuck was that even possible?! I did a quick scan over my arms, elbows, and thighs, and they all had an equal amount of bumps scattered around. In the eyes of those people who do not know better, I might be mistaken for a Chickenpox patient. Like… what the fuck? First of all, how were there so many mosquitoes at the beach, and why was there no warning sign for them? And secondly, why were they only attacking me and thinking my skin was an all-you-can-eat buffet?! Because my date looked chill AF while I was clearly not feeling my Don Juan fantasy. I was so appalled by the situation that I decided to end the date early with a handshake (clearly I wasn’t thinking straight and the alcohol didn’t help my case). Let’s just say I did not experience the kind of penetration I signed up for that night.
In all honesty, I felt horrible for coming up with the lamest excuse to get out of that questionably romantic predicament. I mean… I was the one who initiated the meet up and I didn’t even make it to minute ten. To make matters worse, the way I abruptly said goodbye to him was awkward as fuck; it almost felt like a personal attack to my date’s appearance and it’s clearly not my intention. My hope is for him to read his chapter and know that he didn’t do anything wrong. Yes, he could be an enormous bore, but in retrospect, first date is always awkward AF and I shouldn’t put it against him. In any other situation, I could imagine us being good friends as we both share similar taste in music. On a brighter note, I guess he has the mosquitoes to thank for saving him from a sloppy bathroom sex with a drunken weirdo? Thank you, mother nature!
This is actually a PSA on the importance of mosquito repellant and the danger of sitting at the beach at night. Someone should pitch this chapter to Baygon because this is a good way to sell their products!