We Are Not Bad People
Like any self-respecting Friday night in Dublin, it was drizzling and a bit cold despite it being July. Unlike any self-respecting homosexual man on a business trip, I had no plans and had a severe Fear Of Missing Out.
My pathetic attempt to get my coworkers (I work in tech…) to do something together failed miserably and as it turns out, the one guy I thought was cute, was a fairly antisocial Kiwi.
Having only had two beers, and also two wet feet (remember how I was shit at packing decent shoes for Dublin on two occasions and ended up having to buy new ones?) by the time I got to the hotel, I started going on Grindr, because you know, this has always been a good idea whenever I did it… I was busy cleaning up all the messages in my inbox from faceless 60+ year olds, when I get a message from a middle-aged man who suggested a threesome and whose name currently escapes me (but would say he looked like a middle-aged George; his wife’s name, if he had one, would have been Mildred).
Never having had a threesome, this somehow seemed like a good idea, and the photos he sent looked reasonable enough, albeit a bit dark. I took a quick shower, and got in a taxi whose driver jovially assured me that the recent Brexit referendum would absolutely be handled responsibly by all the reasonable politicians in charge.
I got off and was treated to a row of nicely looking Georgian houses (in as far as nice looking and Georgian houses go together). I texted the guy who let me into the building and as I walked up the stairs, the standard hook-up thoughts were spinning through my mind: is this safe? I don't know anyone here…, why are the damn stairs creaking, does he do this often, why is it always the last floor and why do people leave the door open but aren't in the doorway?
Walking in, I saw a version of the man I texted with, looking a good couple years older than the pictures he sent. This explained the dark pictures and the open door. Remember how he looked like? He was a middle-management type, white and Irish with blue eyes and he had shaven his head but you could see he would have had white hair had he not. He was wearing a light blue shirt (very appropriate!) and no pants (ditto!) and was holding a glass of whiskey as he welcomed me in his snug apartment, with soft wall-to-wall carpets and a crackling fireplace that dimly lit the entire living room.
His friend, the better looking one, for whom I was actually there for, was a Spanish looking guy, at least ten years younger, but decidedly older than me, drinking beer, crunched in a chair, next to the firep. He was also in underwear but wearing a t-shirt and didn't make much eye contact.
George invited me to sit down on the couch, facing the fire, smiling friendly at me and sipping from his whiskey, encouraging me to get more comfortable and offering me a drink. After briefly considering whether they'd drug me and deciding that this seemed unlikely, I asked for some water and all I got was some revolting "flavored water".
I started chatting with this man that I wasn't into and, as my precum dried all up, we found out that we both work in tech (Dublin in 2016!) and as I got the usual compliments about my education and language skills (and, surprisingly flattering, my really nice legs), he sat down next to me and starting touching my left leg.
As he moved in for the kill, his friend, the Spaniard, who had maybe said three words this entire time sat glumly on his chair drinking beer. Upon asking if he's okay, he got up without even looking at me and said he'd be getting another drink and scuttled off (even though he couldn't really walk straight).
I asked George if his friend would be okay, to which he reassured me he would be, got off the couch and getting in front of me, unbuttoned his shirt and took out his hard cock. I don't remember if I had a boner, but if I did, it probably went away as I half heartedly stroked his soft, warm belly and grabbed on to his cock. In and of itself it looked nice enough, and I've more than once asked myself how come when men get old and wrinkled, their cocks still look pretty fresh?
He reach out to grab the back of my head but I unexpectedly resisted and asked when his friend's coming back. To my own surprise, I added that, I wanted him to be here. George replied meekly that he didn't know when his friend would be back or whether he felt well at all. I countered that, if he didn't, that'd go against what our original deal had been. I think I said it a few times, with renewed conviction each time and felt better and better about it.
In the past, I've not said no enough times, and as a result, have had more than my fair share of lacklustre sex to show for it. It was all over as I leaned back onto the couch, and let go of George's cock, he sighed, put his underwear back on and sat down next to me and started apologising.
I was too pleased with myself to particularly care about what he had to say, but then he said — I'm really sorry, it's not what you think... We are not bad people. We are not bad people.
As I went downstairs and got into the cold air and was trying my luck with another guy on the way back to the hotel, I thought some more about what he had said to me. I had suspected that his "friend" might be an escort. Maybe some older sort older fling instead?
I wondered whether what might had just happened was that he was in fact just a friend (you know, the kind that you only have being gay in common with) who would help him get young men to his place under the pretext of a threesome and then conveniently slip out at the right time. Did that make him feel bad? Maybe it was George's conservative Catholic upbringing in late 60s Ireland. I think he ultimately needed to say "We are not bad people" more to himself than to me. We'd never see each other again after all but I all of a sudden felt sorry for him.
I eventually made my way back to the hotel on foot, not managing to hook up with anyone, just feeling insecure and jealous of all the chiseled bodies on Grindr that I felt I can't compete with and didn't even bother jerking off before going to bed.
