The power and perks of popularity

Something very strange has happened, and I have no idea what's going on. I'm suddenly, inexplicably and intensely popular with gay men.

I'm inclined to blame my new iPhone, a superceded model that KCG gave me when he upgraded to the new one. It's battered and scratched, with a crack in the rear panel and a woeful battery life. However it's spent two years absorbing KCG's charisma and dating mojo into its curcuitry, and now it seems to be reflecting it back. I've never been so popular in my entire life.

It probably also has something to do with the fact that earlier this year I joined Scruff, a mobile dating app that's like a more beary, less twinky version of Grindr. As I am more beary and less twinky myself, it seems to be a good fit with me. Five of my seven dates in my now infamous Week of Dates came from Scruff; it's hard to argue with those numbers.

Speaking of the Week of Dates, I've kept up with Mr Tuesday and Mr Wednesday, although there's a lack of fire there that's kept me from sleeping with either of them. However, having them in my life has given me an excuse to nudge UAM out of my life, much to my relief and to his displeasure.

A funny thing happened on my third "date" with UAM. Instead of just fucking like monkeys, we actually had dinner together and talked... and then fucked like monkeys. While the fucking like monkeys part was as enjoyable as ever, getting to know him better and getting more of a feel for his character revealed that... well... he really isn't terribly likeable. He's spoilt, manipulative, calculating, dishonest and, much as I hate to admit it after all of the sex we've had, kinda creepy.

Afterwards I gave him a lift home in my car, and I was driving he put his hand on my thigh and stroked my leg. It took all of my self-control not to bellow "GET YOUR FUCKING HAND OFF MY LEG, YOU HORRIBLE MAN!" I knew at that point I'd be very happy never to see him again.

So when he texted me a couple of weeks later seeking to hook up, I twisted the truth slightly to say that I'd started seeing someone and didn't feel right about fooling around. 

Besides the whole creepiness thing, my other big problem with UAM was that he's married. Before you start declaring me a home-wrecking slut, you should know that it's a sham marriage. His wife is a lesbian who has a girlfriend back in their home country. He married her to take the heat off both of them from the religious police, and also so that he could come out to Australia on her student visa as she studies at a local college. They sleep in the same bed, for appearance's sake as neither of them are out to their local ethnic community, but they've never consummated their marriage as far as I can tell.

So I'm let off the hook, at least a little bit. Even so... the fact that he's married always made me very uncomfortable. It reinforced the immorality of the whole thing. It's easy to spin a sexual relationship with a single gay man in ways that can be said to conform to traditional morality, but to me banging a married man is beyond the pale, making a mockery of the sacred institution on virtually every level. His marriage means nothing to him, nothing to her, and apparently not enough to me.

Hold the front page: Empty sex is empty!

I've reached the stage in which each new date is less than unique.

Take last night. I met him on a prearranged street corner and we walked up to a local bar I like. He was pawing at me by the time we walked into the joint. We had some cocktails and tapas, then went for a walk along the river. As we crossed the park he kissed me, and we paused for a while to talk before continuing along the waterfront. Perhaps it's just because he was Gen Y, but he kept touching me, rubbing my back or holding my hand. As you might imagine, I found this very confronting, but I treated it as a challenge; to test my resolve to be more open about my sexuality.

Afterwards we went up to his apartment so that I could use the bathroom. He had a friend staying with him for a few days while she waited for the lease on her new apartment to be finalised, so he had to control himself. But he asked me if we could go to my place, and I agreed.

Once we got there, there was more kissing, caressing and ultimately sex. I'd rate the sex 5/10 - not terrible by any means, but not great either. Definitely middle level. The most notable thing about it was that he dragged me, fairly reluctantly, into topping him. After we'd had sex (fucking followed by him wanking), he asked me if I wanted to do him. I demurred, since I didn't particularly feel the need to get off. But he rolled on top of me and lubed me up, and I assumed he was planning frottage or a hand job. But before I knew it he had slipped my cock into his ass, and was enjoying himself with it.

About all I can say about it was that it was hotter than I expected, both in the senses of temperature and pleasure. I came pretty quickly, pulling out of him just in time to avoid a safe sex faux pas.

So it was a notable encounter for three main things. One, at 28 he was the youngest guy with whom I've had sex. Two, he was the first guy I've ever topped. And three... it's been a long time since I felt that bad after sex. I sent him home afterwards because I knew I wouldn't sleep well with him in my bed, and although it was only 10.30pm or so I had to stay up another two or three hours watching TV just to put some distance between it and my going to sleep. As it was, I had a stomach ache from the stress.

You may be wondering why I was so stressed. It was purely existential. When did I become this person, who has joyless, non-intimate sex with lonely young men? Why was I kissing and fucking a not terribly attractive man with whom I had little in common?