I had a Gaydar ‘meet’ last night. It was a slow Wednesday night; I was feeling horny; and I had left Gaydar doing its seeking out in the background. Next minute there was the unmistakable ‘du-dum’ sound and I thoughtlessly clicked open the message and read “what u looking for?”, after which I checked out the profile. He wasn’t bad; just one face pic, but it was a nice face; a bit older, with slightly receding black hair, a bit of stubble and a lovely mouth; I guess you could class him as ‘rugged handsome’. I scanned down the stats – mmm, 6’3″, versatile – oh, only ‘large’ cock, which meant ‘medium’. I wouldn’t normally do this kind of thing (thanks Pet Shop Boys), certainly would not normally go for it after one, brief message, but his gay ray hit me while my defences were down.

So, skipping ahead a bit, about an hour later I’m standing outside the tallest apartment block in Brighton, looking for the buzzer to flat 37. After pressing it, a very fast and gruff “hello” shot out at me. A bit taken aback, and not quite sure how to announce myself, I just said “Hi, it’s Joe”. The intercom remained silent, but the buzzing noise told me that I’d gained access and I pushed opened the big glass door to enter the plush, deserted lobby. Why was I starting to feel like a high-class hooker? In fact the feeling of seediness increased as I entered the lift and pushed the button for his floor, and not in a good way. This was to be an equal, mutually consenting encounter, but, as I got higher and higher in the lift, I couldn’t shake off the feeing that I was providing a service, that he’d dialled up for take-out and he was going to have me on a plate. The lift doors opened and I was at the end of a long corridor with doors on either side; I could see a head popping out from one of the doors at the far end, and I walked towards it. Then the head disappeared! Shit, was this a rejection? I carried on walking and found his door open, so I went in. “Hello” said a voice; “would you like a drink?”. He was just like his photo (plus point) and definitely as tall as he said (another plus point). We had a drink; we did polite chat; he showed me the amazing view of the whole of Brighton, and then he said “shall we go next door?”, so we did. We sat on the end of the bed and kissed; it was a bit mechanical (minus point), so I took it to the next stage and removed his shirt, and then mine. He had a nice body, not particularly muscley, but broad and well built; he looked good in tracksuit bottoms; I could feel he was hard through them. Next he pulled them off (he had been going commando – sexy – but my suspicion about cock size was correct, so minus point). For some reason, I wasn’t getting hard, so I started sucking him. After a while he moved down to reciprocate and, on realising I was soft, said “nervous?”. I replied “yeah”, knowing full well the real reason was that I just wasn’t finding the whole experience sexy.

Nevertheless, he got me hard and I asked him to fuck me (I didn’t want this one to drag on). He told me there was some lube on the side table – I think it’s so rude when guys expect you to lube yourself – and I found an already opened sachet of lube (urghh, minus several points), so did the necessary and he entered me from behind. I have to say it started off as a good fuck, his cock slid in and out beautifully (plus point), then he said to my ear “sorry, that doesn’t normally happen.” (game over!) And that was it. Indeed, that was it; he said to me “would you like to finish your drink before you go?”! As I left his place, not only was I still feeling like a hooker, but now I was sexually frustrated too! I got into a taxi, went home and had a wank – oh, and ordered takeout.