18 July 2011

The Social Network

Scruff. Grindr. Jack'd. Manhunt. A4A. Craigslist. D List. Purpl. You name the App, I probably have it on my iPhone.

Flying over to the Emerald Isle, I wanted to do some research while I waited for my flight to board. The blogging never ends, my friends. I always notice people posting that they are at the airport so I wondered, "what if . . ." So, I located a Wi-Fi signal and [poof!] guys were teeming all over the place, looking and wanting, but where the fuck can you do any of it? Behind the gate desk? No. In the newspaper kiosk? No. THE BATHROOM!

I found Kevin, a London Town Lad tauting his status, "Bored in the airport" on good ol' Grindr. Beefy muscle-head, wearing a basketball jersey and flexing into his camera phone. So I hit him up. As soon as I did, the karma gods struck me off the signal and I panicked like a total tool, holding up my phone to the heavens in every which way in hopes to get the signal back; it looked like I was trying to find some poltergeist activity. After some time, sure enough, there it was. And sure enough, there he was having answered my "where you headed? gate 75 here."

Kevin: San fran. Want some action?
Kevin: Restroom facing gate 81 for some urinal fun now
DeeCue: Sure, what u thinking
Kevin: Fumble too busy for anything else
DeeCue: True
DeeCue: K give me five min walking over
Kevin: Coming?
DeeCue: Walking now, wait in front of it

I waited outside and was confused because his last message seemingly indicated he was waiting for me. He wasn't there. Hm. Was I being stood up? After about three impatient minutes, I was about to leave, but instead walked into the restroom. One pair of feet were sitting in a stall, pushing out a wet-messy one, no doubt - just judging from the noise - and a guy in the corner urinal wearing a cap with his head down. I washed my hands and looked up to check my face, but noticed the guy making eye-contact with me through the mirror in front of him. It was my London bloke. He nodded his head and I moved to the urinal next to him.

Bloody A!

Staring straight ahead, emotionless, he was stroking a monster uncut cock, my heart was racing. Every now and then, he would make eye contact with me, smirk, and stick his tongue out a little to touch his bottom lip. I would catch his eyes and quick look down at his fully erect dong. Was I fucking imagining this guy jacking off in this public bathroom next to me? Then people started coming in - a flight must have just gotten in, filling up the three other urinals next to us and waiting in a line at the door. This was crazy! Everyone was moving, except for us. What if we got caught? I pulled myself out of my body because for whatever reason, I thought everyone could see, but his body was perfectly still and, save for his right wrist, his rugby build stood it's ground defending his sizeable salami. The other men were in and out, not paying attention to how long we were, but Kevin became impatient.

It got too crowded and he rolled his eyes and motioned to get out. We walked out, met in an open area to shake hands and he said, "Ten minutes, out here."

Sure enough, ten minutes later on the dot, as I looked around hoping to see him and trying to keep it cool, the crowds parted and Kevin walked toward me in slow motion. In his deep English brogue, he says to me, "It's too bloody busy; go to the end, down the stairs and to the left. There is a lieu that was empty earlier because they were tending to it. Actually: follow me."

Again, my heart was racing as I followed this guy to a part of the airport that was relatively desolate, aside from the gate traffic that seemed to be occupied by passengers for a smaller jet. We walked into a smaller room with two urinals and a handicap stall - which was being occupied . . . come on: OF COURSE I checked. With him on the left and me on the right, he unzipped and turned around to keep a look-out and motioned for me to make out with him. Nice thick tongue, aggressive with plenty of scruff. He pulled away from the urinal so I could jerk him also while he unbuttoned my shirt to pinch and twist my already hard nipples. This was driving me insane. Then it happened: with a flush, the toilet occupant walked out and Kevin walked right in, with sounds of the rustling of a belt unbuckling and the removing of a back pack.

As soon as the elderly man washed up and headed out, I knocked on the stall door and was yanked in. We locked lips feverishly as he unbuttoned my shirt and I tugged on his fully erect junk. Once my shirt revealed my chest and rock hard nips, he began to suck and bite, then shoved my head down into his crotch. I wasn't playing coy and I slobbed and sucked on that disco stick like I was syphoning gasoline out of the tank fer Pa's car. He whispered lowly, "You want it?" I nodded yes and kept at it. He pulled out, turned to the corner of the stall, and shot a massive load across the toilet seat and kept jerking till his wad was fully blown into the toilet.

I buttoned up quick and left the restroom to meet him at the bottom of the stairs. I wanted to keep in touch, he was so hot. He was heading to San Fran, but was then going back to London. I go to London . . . sometimes . . . When he emerged from the crime scene, he walked up the staircase in front of me. I asked him

DeeCue: This is poor form, but what's your name?
Kevin: Kevin, you?
DeeCue: DeeCue...You have facebook Kevin?
Kevin: Yeah, it's complicated though. Send me a message on Grindr; I'll text it to you.
DeeCue: OK.
Kevin: Later, mate. My flight is boarding.

And he bolted off.

Ten minutes later, I sent him a message.

DeeCue: Facebook me

Nothing.

Point of the conversation: Fuck buddies and hook-ups are not Facebook friends.

- DeeCue

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