01 August 2011

SCRUFF, Part 1

The social media gods got a hold of me when my bestie bought me an iPhone for my birthday.

Slowly but surely, as mentioned in a previous post, I had almost every gay chat app on it - Grindr, Purpl, craigslist, Manhunt. But there was one that has changed the last five months of my life, and going. One afternoon, a friend and I were brandishing our newly acquired iPhones and the gay-apps we had. He had "SCRUFF" which tauts as it's official description: "Meet more than half a million SCRUFF gay guys in your neighborhood and around the world. Some SCRUFF guys are bears, some are jocks, and some are just guys." In other words, it was my new app of choice; essentially, it had the guys I wanted to hook-up with - muscle bears.

Said chat venues have been good to me, but ironically all except for SCRUFF. Maybe most of those guys whom I adore and admire so much don't like smooth, preppy guys or maybe I'm just butt-ugly, ha. I'd like to think the former, though the "fat-kid-in-grade-school-deep-down-inside-of-me"-me says it is the latter. In March, when I was about to end my subscription with the fur-clad membered app [insert violin], I get a simple "Hi" from Pat, a 30 year-old bloke with blue eyes, black hair, and a nicely trimmed beard [swoon].

The simple "Hi" turned into 3 months of e-mailing, chatting, Skyping, WhatsApp'ing. But why is Pat so blog-worthy? Well, he is the reason why I travelled over 3000 miles to Ireland recently: he lives in Dublin proper. But that part of the story will come at another time. For those three months, we constantly sent some sort of correspondence either a good morning, a good night, or a good sometime-in-between message. At night, with the five hour time difference, I would Skype with him at 6pm EST to tuck him in, so to speak and I would tell him a bedtime story from Grimm's. Corny, I know, but I thought it was romantic. More and more, for me at least, it was getting frustrating, but no clear plans were set for us to meet.

But one day, while we were Skyping, I noticed he was preoccupied typing and clicking. Thinking that he was chatting up someone else, I snarkily said, "Hey, if you are busy, I can chat with you tomorrow." And he said just as snarkily back in his Irish brogue, "Em, I'm booking my flight to see you on your birthday weekend." He puctuated with a mutter: I must be fecking crazy." I was elated, I was going to see him in two-weeks.

Of course, I contacted everyone who would listen.

As the day approached, it became more and more difficult for us to connect on-line or otherwise. His schedule got busier with the new job he started when I first "met" him. I was worried he lost interest. Even when I picked him up that morning from the airport, he seemed annoyed, but he told me of the hard time the TSA and attendants were giving him from both the Ireland-side and US-side - searches and questions and pulling him aside sort of thing. He wasn't appreciating that too much. "I felt like I was being treated as a terrorist." We got back to my place and I gave him a hug from behind as he was setting his things down. I told him to take a nap and we crawled into bed together.

It was surreal: for the past 3 months we talked about cuddling, and making out and hugging and sex and at that very moment, he was finally next to me. I had a raging boner as did he so we whipped them out and fondled each other in silence, but stopped. For me, I thought about how aside from the fact that he traveled 3000+ miles to see me, it could turn out to be a hook-up and after the first 10 minutes of being there, he could potentially want to leave after he busted his nut. Besides, I had more romantic intentions. That evening was my birthday dinner. On Saturday, I booked a room at MELA in Times Square as well as had reservations at Bann Korean Restaurant for dinner and tickets to "Jersey Boys," all things he mentioned in passing during our chats and emails. It was a pretty packed weekend but it covered the short time he was spending here; I wanted to make it remarkable.

Ha, how memorable it was.

After his nap, we got ready with a glass of wine and a few of my friends met up with us at my place to check him out and then to head to dinner. I felt so bad; at one point as we were heading over, we were stopped at a crosswalk and he literally almost fell over dozing off. In all the excitment, I drank way too much and blacked out. The next morning, I found myself in my underwear on my couch. WAIT! Where is Pat? Did he leave? I went to my room and found him reading a book. Of course I asked him what had happened.

"Oh, you're talking to me now?" he said with a smirk. "You got very drunk and wanted to take a cab home. After a short time, you told the cab driver to stop. We got out and walked for a good hour. You were peeing in the streets, staggering back and forth, and not making any sense. You went into an Irish pub and demanded a drink because the pub had my last name. The tender wouldn't serve you so I tried to have you leave, and you yelled at me because I didn't want to be there. It was a very logical argument that warranted you not talking to me the last couple blocks when we finally got to your apartment."

Embarrassed, I profusely apologized and hugged him. We made out, then I fucked him.

The rest of the weekend was amazing. We held each other when we could, we snuck in kisses, and took photos of everything. Monday morning, I went in to work for half the day and came back around noon to hang with him until i had to drop him off for his flight at 10pm. The mood when we came back from brunch in the city was very somber, moving slowly, quietly making out, and had sex a couple times. His flight was leaving out of Newark-Liberty International so we left a little early and hung out for an hour at the Short Hills Mall - a Class A mega-mall with the caliber of stores like Saks Fifth Avenue, Coach, and Tiffany's.

As we wandered about, Pottery Barn caught his eye. "Can we stop in here? I hear the people in "Friends" talk about it all the time, just want to see what it's like." "Of course we can." We split up and I was looking at some hour glasses. He came up behind me and asked if I liked anything. I said that I always wanted an hour glass since I was younger. He picked it up, bought it for me, and said, "Happy Birthday."

We headed for the airport and he asked me if I would stay with him until he had to absolutely leave. I did. We planned to see each other again, to keep in touch via email, text, and Skype. At the last possible moment, I escorted him to the security check and he turned to me and said with a terribly sad face, "I don't want to go. Can you come back with me?" At the check-in, he gave me one last hug and said, "Mind yourself."

He then sent one last text after he had boarded and was ready to take off:

Pat: Off now babe. Thank you so much for everything you did. I really appreciated it. you are such a nice guy. miss you already. xx

Why does he have to live so far away?

Point of the conversation: Be patient.

- DeeCue

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