New express columnist Hamuera Johnsm takes on the rollercoaster ride that is gay life on a dating app.
The Pie story:
There’s a hilarious rush on Grindr around the hour of four am on a Saturday and Sunday, when everybody’s suddenly online throwing, ‘hey misters’, every which way, in anxious states of drunken arousal. These are the dregs of the night who haven’t managed to nab that right guy to cap an otherwise middling evening of debauch. So, it was with this rabble I joined rank on the Saturday just been.
I ended up at a similarly desperate guy’s place nearer to five, more drunk than I can remember being since, well, last summer. I was holding a bacon and egg pie, which (in my inebriation) I’d figured a suitable token at that hour. The guy in question was lovely. I stumbled into his room, we stripped and chatted cosily like only conspirators can (strangers for the cause), and within ten minutes or less I was comatose (maybe even mid-sentence). He didn’t seem to mind.
We eventually consummated our rushed agreement when I woke up, and then he hustled me out of his Sunday morning, where he undoubtedly wanted isolation in which to nurse a hangover with base notes of regret.
Living the dream!
Come back tomorrow where we look at things grindr has taught me!
Article Hamuera Johnsm