#picture this

Still foggy from my Big Night In last Wednesday night, I ventured out again on the Thursday night.
On a date.
Although to be honest, calling it a date is a bit of a stretch.
Strictly speaking, it was actually a hook-up.
Grindr.
But I didn't go to his house.
Nor did he come to mine.
Which is in fact my usual approach.
Of course there's always the whole "if I don't like him or I feel uncomfortable then it's easier to leave theirs than it is for me to get them to leave mine" internal conversation.
But I always feel more in control at mine.
I know where everything is.
Fire escape.
Hidden baseball bat in cupboard.
Panic button.
Panic room.
However, notwithstanding my mental preparation for the worst possible outcome, the recent spate of app-supported dates going horribly wrong has me seriously re-thinking the whole coming-to-my-place thing.
Best to meet in a public space.
A very public space.
Full of my friends...
The Green Park.
Most unimaginative.
But guaranteed to be housing at least 6 of my nearest and dearest at any given time.
I had shown @mr_grindr_date's photos to @cool_cat and @cute_boy.
Both of whom assured me they had seen him out and about.
In numerous venues.
For several years.
But none of us recognized him when he walked in the pub.
Which is hardly surprising.
Because it wasn't him.
And the only reason I knew it was / wasn't him was because he came up and said hi, introduced himself and started chatting in such a way that demonstrated he knew exactly who I was, and quite a lot about me.
But he was not the man in the pics.
And I don't mean he appeared a little different to his pics.
He was a completely different man.
More handsome and better looking than the man in the pics.
And noticeably younger.
Completely bizarre.
The man in the pics had been very nice looking too.
But not in this league.
Although the physical outcome was better I was a little creeped out by the situation.
And therefore very happy to have decided to meet in a public space.
The personality I was getting, however, seemed to match perfectly with the one I had gleaned from our online and texting conversations.
So it seemed OK to bring up the change of pics things.
My friends quizzical looks had turned to thumbs up signs.
So I brought it up.
"Why would you have pictures of somebody else? somebody older, less fit and less good looking?"
"So that the reality is a pleasant surprise".
"But you look nothing alike, and besides, I liked the look of that other man. I wouldn't have been here otherwise."
"Are you disappointed?"
"No, just surprised. This has never happened to me before."
"Because I'm disappointed."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me.. I'm disappointed."
"In me?"
"Yep."
"But the photos you saw were of me.
And they're quite recent."
"They do you justice though. You obviously know how to work your best angle."
Now I was getting the shits: "Excuse me! At least they're me!" 
"Yeah, but you don't look as good as your pictures."
What do you mean?" I practically screeched, dreading the answer.
"Well you look older, for a start".
I died a little.
"And you're definitely fatter".
Older.
Fatter.
I had no words.
I just slowly rose from my seat.
Skulled the rest of my drink.
And left with as much dignity as possible.
Until I reached the door.
Where I turned around.
Flipped him the bird.
And yelled across the bar: "No I will not piss in your mouth. Go fuck yourself."

#DNA Magazine

Facebook

@urban_homo_dna