Sunday, March 5, 2017
The Best Date in the History of the Plains
Plains, March 2017
I met Reynard (not his real name) on Grindr at the beginning of the fall 2015 semester. He was 18 years old, a freshman theater arts major, and in my intro class! I don't hook up current students, so I turned him down.
Then he dropped my class so we could date!
Thinking that he was unstable, I turned him down again.
Last week, a year and a half later, he contacts me. He's transferred to another college about 100 miles away. He'll be driving through town on the way home for spring break, and he wants to stop by.
This time I say "yes."
We've never met in person. We've spoken barely a dozen words. I know nothing about him except the fact that he's driving 100 mils for a meeting he's been anticipating for a year and a half.
Obviously a simple blow job won't do the trick.
I plan the Best Date in the History of the Plains.
I instruct Reynard to meet me at the gay-friendly coffee house in the early afternoon, after lunch, and to bring his jogging clothes.
He arrives at 2:00 pm sharp: cuter than his profile pic, with a round face, unruly black hair, and dark eyebrows that give him almost a Mediterranean look. He's trying to smile, but can't quite make it -- he's almost trembling with nervousness.
We shake hands -- he has a loose, moist handshake.
"I've never done anything like this before," he says.
"What? Gone out on a date?"
"Not with -- you know, a professor."
"Call me Boomer."
We sit down at a little table for coffee and scones, and I tell him about the schedule for our date. I reach under the table and take his hand. He tries to smile.
3:00 pm: Jogging
It's a brisk March day, perfect for jogging. We go to the YMCA, change into our jogging clothes -- I give Reynard a good view of my penis, but he turns his back -- and then go jogging on the trail that goes through the woods for about 5 miles (we just go 2).
This gives him an opportunity to dispel some of his nervousness and chat some more.
Reynard has changed his major twice, first to psychology and then to biology, though he's still dancing. He strikes me as a little flighty, not focused. I tell him that I changed my major eight times as an undergraduate.
Afterwards we shower -- a good time to check each other out, and get some other sausage sightings -- and change back into our street clothes.
He's average sized but nicely shaped, cut, with low-hanging balls.
4:30 The Art Center
Just down the street from the YMCA, the Arts Center has monthly exhibits of local artists. This month it's countless paintings of lakes and rivers, but at least it's cultural. It gets the brain thinking about something other than getting laid. And it allows for more chatting -- and, in one of the secluded galleries, a bit of kissing.
We go out to dinner at an upscale seafood restaurant, sure to impress Reynard. I don't usually emphasize the age difference on a first date, but tonight I tell him about my 13 years in West Hollywood, including my hookup with Michael J. Fox.
He's never seen Back to the Future -- he doesn't care for science fiction. But he's into fantasy like Harry Potter, and cosplay. He likes to dress up like a wolf -- not for sex, I hope.
We discuss our favorite sexual positions. He's an anal and oral bottom, naturally, and he's never tried interfemoral. I promise to show him what it's like later.
Reynard has been stimulated in body and mind, and we've been talking on and off for four hours. Time for a break. I take him to a local high school production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.
Unfortunately, Joseph stays fully clothed the whole time, but the palace guards are shirtless. This one is quite buffed.
We go to the straight bar downtown to cap off the night with hot chocolate -- I don't drink, and Reynard is too young. It's a straight bar, but on Saturday nights the clientele is mostly college boys. Wall-to-wall beefcake, and a lot of cruising.
The function of cruising on a date is not only to look at the hot guys and get revved up for the sex later -- it's to get approached by other guys, thereby increasing your date's perception of your attractiveness.
But it's not working tonight. Reynard becomes quiet, and even starts to doze off.
"I think it's about time to go home to bed," I announce.
As we drive back to my apartment, he puts his head on my shouler.
I skip the nightcap, since we already had hot chocolate, and bring Reynard into the bedroom. I unbutton his shirt and kiss and fondle his chest. He moans. I pull down his pants. He isn't aroused.
He lies down onto the bed, his butt in the air.
"I'm not into anal," I tell him. "Could we do interfemoral?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean that.," he murmurs, not looking up. "Um...do you mind if we, like, just cuddle tonight? I'm zonked -- been up since six, and all that stuff we did wore me out!"
"Sure, no problem." I take off my clothes, climb into bed, and pull him into my arms. In a few minutes he's snoring. And I'm fully aroused.
The problem with the Best Date in History is: it leaves you too tired for sex!
Sunday morning, I wake him up with a blow job, enter his mouth before saying "hello," and then push between his legs in interfemoral to finish. Twice before breakfast.
See also: A Student Drops My Class So We Can Date.