The usual warnings apply – this post is not safe for work and contains far too much information and if you’re in the middle of eating or are feeling squeamish or are under 18, then this isn’t for you. Turn away now.
I’ve been feeling better about life recently, with my re-commitment t0 writing and to walking the Camino and to getting various other projects off the ground, so in that spirit, I turned to my apps and websites, the ones where I go to meet men, and the ones where men go to meet me. It’s been almost a year since my last encounter, in Macedonia, so I guess I’m feeling the itch again for what seems to be my once-yearly spurt of man-on-man action.
Anyone who’s ever been online dating will know that the vast majority of conversations start boringly and peter out quickly. “hi” “hey there” “how are you?” “fine. wbu?” “fine. what you up to?” “nothing much” That’s it for about 90% of conversations. And this gets frustrating.
People also often start conversations with poorly lit pictures of their erect and ungroomed penises, or with “Skype now sexy chubby daddy?” or other dreadful conversation starters like (and these are all real first messages I have received instead of hello) “You should always wear glasses”, “Not an oral receiver?”, “Just wanted to say keep on growing those fatty legs”, “Bi vers can be a bit dom”, “Looking strong”, “You should grow a beard” and of course, many, many men greet me with the phrase “belly rubs”. “Hi” might be boring, but I think it’s preferable to any of these.
As you can imagine, when these are my options, I often visit one of my sites or my apps and look through my messages and end up not replying to any at all. But the other night, with my new positive outlook on life, I decided to reply to every single message I got. This is the story of what happened.
A 32-year-old Frenchman got in touch. We exchanged the usual “hi” and “how are you?”. We pushed past that to finding out each other’s jobs. It kind of turned into a real conversation. He complimented my photos. He really liked my chest and my belly. His profile only had one photo. He seemed handsome and I complimented that.
The conversation continued and he revealed that he was straight. Hmm. He had a wife and two small children. But he really wanted to gain weight. He wanted to be just like me. He found big bellies really exciting. So he was on this site to find fat men to get fat with, not for any sexual relationships. At this stage, I wasn’t really into it any more. I mean, I was kind of intrigued. Why would a straight man really be on a site especially for fat gay men and their admirers? He couldn’t really be straight, could he? I mean, there definitely are men who are turned on by the idea of gaining weight. Maybe he couldn’t find any women who were into this, and so he was turning to gays out of desperation. Or was he just lying to himself? His name was Muslim-sounding, at least to me. Was he from a traditional background where he felt he couldn’t be gay?
He asked if I would skype. I told him that I wasn’t really interested in chatting to a straight guy as I didn’t feel it would “go anywhere”. He pleaded, saying he’d love to see me and compare bellies and chat about eating. I literally sighed. I said “yes”. I’m being open to life.
We got skype up and running. He had his headphones in. He didn’t want to wake his wife and children who were upstairs. So while I spoke, he typed his responses. This was weird. And of course, very hot. This was so illicit. He was slim, dark and attractive – smiley and broad-shouldered. He asked to see me and I obliged. He told me that I had better boobs than his wife. I’m not usually that into Skype sex, but OMG, having a straight man silently ejaculate copiously over you is more exciting than you’d think. I slept very well that night.
He’d deleted both his skype account and his account on the site where we’d met by the next morning.
The next day I returned to the websites. I’d enjoyed the previous night’s shenanigans too much to leave it at that.
There is a man in the South East of Ireland who is mad for my body. Crazy for it. We’ve exchanged a few messages before, but this time we really started chatting properly. He sent me a lot of photos of his perfectly nice penis. We discussed fantasies, his and mine. He got very excited. I have to admit that I did too.
Eventually, we moved the conversation off the website and onto What’s App. This entailed me learning his name, so of course I immediately googled him and found his twitter. I was a little disappointed. It was mainly golf and Ross O’Carroll Kelly retweets.
Still, I didn’t read too much into it. The conversation was too exciting. We talked about me visiting him, and then him visiting me. We even discussed dates.
He wants to do everything to me. Everything. I mean, it’s not often that you tell someone all your fantasies and then they want to do them all to you. So then you tell them your filthiest fantasies and they want to fulfil those too.
He wants to come for a whole weekend, a Friday to Sunday visit. And he wants to do everything to me.
But it worries me. What on earth would we talk about in between all those athletic sex sessions? I’m morbidly obese and I’m 35. I don’t have the kind of stamina he appears to require. And we don’t seem to share any actual interests. He seems to like masculine men. I can only imagine what he’d make of my colourful One Direction inspired decor. Will he want me to talk about rugby and farting?
And the site I met him on is one for gainers and encouragers i.e. men who like to gain weight and men who want to help others gain weight. I’m in training for my Camino. I don’t want to take two days off training for him. I don’t think I can afford to. He’ll want to fatten me up, because that’s what turns him on. He’ll probably want to feed me lots of greasy things and force my belly to balloon out as much as possible, while he feels it grow and cums all over it.
And you have no idea about how much I’m panicking about the Camino. I’m finding the training difficult. If I don’t manage to get weight down and walking time up between now and I go, I’m only putting myself at greater risk of having a heart attack or stroke on the route. I can totally see myself ending up in a Spanish hospital. I need to do this right and I only have six weeks left.
So I found myself playing two movies in my brain. One was an indie movie where I share a magical weekend with this new man. We have silent sex and in between, we share intimate and quirky moments. The other movie was basically Wild, where Reese Witherspoon finds herself by going on a really long walk (the Pacific Crest Trail) and having goofy and inspirational adventures along the way and I was Reese Witherspoon.
Of course it’s not just a one or the other. I could find a way to have my wild sex weekend and still be Reese Witherspoon. But I’m not sure I want both. I don’t know.
After 2 hours and 17 minutes, yes TWO hours and seventeen minutes, chatting, planning our crazy sex weekend and exchanging pictures and videos with this man on What’s App, I “finished”. I immediately felt that familiar disgust that you feel after a climax. I didn’t answer his last two texts, turning instead to YouTube and watching Glenn Close doing “As If We Never Said Goodbye” from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Sunset Boulevard. Because sometimes I’m the gay who plans doing filthy things with boys on the internet and sometimes I’m the gay who cries at musical theatre numbers while hugging my pillow.
I haven’t been in touch with him in three days. I don’t know if I will again. But it was fun.