I met him on Grindr.
Which is kinda controversial.
Because as you know I am a total technophobe.
But I do like to own the latest thing.
I had been perfectly happy with my $99 LG flip top phone.
It fitted nicely in my pocket.
The buttons were easy to press.
It never made accidental calls.
And had a vast assortment of very appealing ring tones.
But I'd had it for 4 years.
And one day I decided it was daggy.
And that I just had to have an i-phone.
I already had the ipod.
And the i-pad.
They co-ordinate beautifully with my PowerBook.
Which is the same colour as my Bose docking station.
And provide tonal contrast to the dark moody hues of my recently refurbished apartment.
Perfect.
And so now, in order to be really cool, I paid $1040 for a new phone.
32G of stuff I can't use.
And stuff I never will use.
Every time I sit down I have to take it out of my back pocket.
And pop it on the table.
Along with all the other i-phones.
Every second cafe table is like a communal creche for telecommunication devices.
Precious little babies under the protective, albeit wandering, eyes of their latte-sipping same-sex parents.
Ever mindful of the possibility of it slipping out of the back pocket of the low slung skinny jean and shattering on the floor.
And each time any one of them rings everybody reaches for theirs, thinking they are the only ones with Old Phone ring tone.
It's the only decent one available as a standard application.
There is little room left for food on the table.
Which I suppose is fine, seeing as I don't know a single faggot who's digested a solid in years.
Coffee, alcohol, water and protein shakes seem to constitute a balanced diet.
I'm sure there's a fifth food group in there somewhere.
Oh yeah.
Coke and Ice.
And that ain't no beverage.
But I digress.
I'm too old to be still takin' drugs.
Although clearly not too old to be competing in the Gen-Y consuming stakes.
And don't get me wrong.
I love my phone.
I would be lost without it.
I would rather lose a limb than leave home without my phone.
And be without my notes, my email, my contacts, my photos, i-tunes, the weather in 13 different places.
The time in 7 different zones.
I never used the GPS.
I go everywhere by taxi.
And I figure if I'm paying Sydney cab fares the driver can work out how to get there.
But then I discovered Grindr.
Clearly I'd heard the hype.
And wondered what the fuss was about.
I'd used Gaydar to find sex when at home.
And living in Potts Point I certainly didn't need my phone to tell me where the nearest poofter was.
There's one in both the apartments either side of me.
There's usually one at the next table.
One next to you at the checkout in Fratelli.
There's 734 of them at the gym.
At any given time.
There's one beside you as you wait to cross the road.
And one cruising you from that passing car.
No I certainly didn't need my phone for that.
Permanently_horny is permanently glued to it.
Twice he's been hit by cars while in the process of hooking up.
Surely it wasn't that good.
And then he showed me his profile.
Along with several others.
And gave me blow-by-blow descriptions of the encounters he'd had.
And how easily and conveniently they had come his way.
I suddenly got it.
While it's all very well to be cruised, how do you really know if he's up for it?
And if so, right now?
Or later?
Nothing worse than doing the turn-around, the stop and the lowering of the sunglasses only to find he's kept on walking.
Or stopped, smiled and shrugged.
How do you know he doesn't just think you're strange?
Or that your outfit is?
Just go to Grindr.
Pop some GPS in your life.
And take out the guesswork.
It's how I turned that casual smile at the cheese counter at David Jones Food Hall into a blow job in the toilets.
It's how a sunrise walk around Mrs Macquarie's chair became a really good morning root under the rocks.
Although before I got used to using it a quick dash down Macleay St could drag into a 3 hour frantic race against time and technology as I took endless wrong turns, propositioned innocent bystanders and worked myself into a traumatic yet near-orgasmic frenzy.
But now I am an afficionado.
A seasoned connoisseur.
I can uncover a secret identity at 100 paces.
In 15 seconds.
@fedEx_guy becomes @daddy_bear.
@nerdy_student becomes @submissive_slut.
One mild mannered clerk really was a fucking superman.
And @hot_fuck turned out to be a fashion forward shopper in my favourite store.
On a recent cold afternoon, a brisk walk in search of both winter woollies and hot action led me along Darlinghurst Rd.
And right to the door of my all time top fashion shopping destination.
Diederic the Cat.
A mini emporium of directional Italian and Japanese clothing.
Owned and run by @fabulous_fashionista.
Staffed by @groovy_twink.
And patronised by an endless parade of hip homos of all ages.
Today it was especially packed, poofters going totally apeshit over new winter arrivals.
It didn't take me long to identify @hot_fuck.
All the patrons were extra hot that day.
Many with i-phones in hand.
And all with one eye on the clothes, the other on their fellow shoppers.
But then there he was.
The most handsome black man I have ever seen.
Loitering near the knitwear.
Feigning interest in a knee length cable knit cardi-trench.
While madly running his fingers over his touch screen.
Before I could grab his attention @fabulous_fashionista.
Rushing over with outstretched arms, heaped with an entire winter collection.
"There's only one of each of these in your size" she enthused.
"And I got them all especially for you".
How could I refuse?
I pushed myself to the front of the changeroom queue.
Winking along the way at @hot_fuck.
Who subtly grabbed his crotch in response.
I dutifully began trying on every garment.
Coming out to view myself in the store mirror, under the appreciative eye of @hot_fuck.
Only to return to the changeroom and immediately consult my phone after each outift.
After the 11th such performance @hot_fuck's patience started to wane.
And I was only half way through.
"I'll take them all!" I said as I saw him slowly gliding past the scarves.
"Don't bother with individual wrapping" I cried, "just shove 'em all in the one bag!"
As a regular customer I knew where she kept them, and grabbed the biggest one I could find, using my whole arm to sweep my new wardrobe from the counter into the bag.
I swiped my card myself, keyed in my pin, and ran out after @hot_fuck, who had by now left the store.
He was only a couple of doors down though.
Leaning against a wall.
Smoking.
Upon seeing me he started walking slowly away, and beckoned me to follow.
Which, clearly, I did.
To the underground carpark of a nearby apartment block.
Where he bent me over the bonnet of a car.
And practically split me in 4.
I felt used.
Abused.
And violated.
It was unreal.
Yep, @hot_fuck had lived up to his name.
And continues to do so.I've seen him every day since.
#DNA Magazine
@urban_homo_dna
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