Dial-A-Butt-Hole

At about 130am last night, my phone rang. Someone I had been exchanging messages with on another gay dating site for a week decided to call, finally. After a short chat, I turned on the light, got changed and rode to his weekly apartment, a sort of apartment for short term rental from several weeks to few months. And in my case, four months to be exact.

Before leaving my apartment, I decided to put on a jacket. It wasn't that cold, but since I was stirred from my sleep which I'd gotten into just hours before and at 37 years old, I wouldn't want to take any risk and catch a cold. At 2am, I arrived at his doorstep. Three hours, an ejaculation and a massive amount of  nipple play later, I was back in my apartment at 530 in the morning, but not before taking the wrong turn and ended up in an almost dark and empty alley which took me an extra 5 minutes to get back on the right track.

I showered, slept and woke up two and a half hour later to go to work. After work, I bought a new 5-piece futon set for the apartment I was moving into, schlepped it all the way there, did some groceries shopping, made myself some yakisoba, chatted with a sexy Australian on skype, took a nap and woke up feeling extremely hungry and realized I am no longer young -- every old bones I have felt as if they were dislocating in me.

Midnight/early morning sex is for the 20s. At 37, sex at a more civilized hour would be more age-appropriate and healthier. What happened last night was, like that Elton John's song, "a sad sad situation, and it's getting more and more absurd." I won't deny that I'd had a good time last night, especially when he and I were talking and cuddling up. But, somehow, leaving his apartment at dawn, I also felt a wad like some guy named, probably Ricky or Ethan, whom you suddenly decide to call up one night out of horniness, at Dial-A-Butt-Hole. I felt cheap. and what made it worse was I wasn't even getting paid. It was mutual, remember? And I thought: Is this what I am still gonna do -- running around in empty cold streets at 2 in the morning for sex -- when I turn 50? It made me feel even more pathetic. I should have waited until more adult hours.

My Australian friend related a few past incidences that had turned him into a better man that he is today -- less critical, less bitchy and more fun to be with. Maybe what happened last night was a good thing after all. It makes me realize the kind of man I would allow myself to age into -- someone who understands that delayed gratification is a sign of maturity, someone who will not be out in the dark searching for sex, and definitely not someone by the name of Ricky or Ethan.