My Date with the Nastiest Guy in the World

Kew Gardens, New York, April 1998

During my first year in New York, I was living in graduate student housing near the university on Long Island, nearly 2 hours from Manhattan by train, and trying to figure out a way to move to a gay neighborhood.

While looking, I spent a lot of time in gay chatrooms.

You actually met people by "instant messaging" them.  Inside the room itself, the conversations were usually limited to "anybody here?", stats, and insults.

A guy named Troy terrorized the Long Island chatroom.  There all the time, making insulting comments about everybody and everything.

Me: Grad student in sociology.
Troy: There's an exciting degree.  The art of studying the obvious!

Me: I lived in West Hollywood for 13 years.
Troy: How many auditions did you bomb before you gave up on your dreams of stardom?
Me:  I just got back from visiting my parents in Indiana.
Troy: How fun, chawin' tobaccy at the general store with Ma and Pa Kettle!

Even his profile was obnoxious: "I take care of my body and expect you to.  No fats, femmes, or grandpas.  If you aren't extra large beneath the belt, don't bother."

So I was surprised one day when I announced, "Looking for a room in Manhattan or nearby," and Troy instant messaged me.  He wanted to share his apartment in Kew Gardens, only 25 minutes from Manhattan on the Long Island Railroad.

"How far is it from the train station?" I asked. "I don't have a car."

"Only five minutes."

It sounded ideal, but -- share an apartment with the nastiest guy in the world?  Well -- maybe if he was in his room most of the time, making snarky comments in chatrooms.

So one Wednesday afternoon I took the train to Jamaica Station, and Troy picked me up.

He was much older than his profile picture, with a weird Satanic goatee, but quite muscular, almost a bodybuilder's physique.  If it wasn't for the nastiness, I could see us dating.

We drove down Jamaica Avenue, three, five, six blocks.

This was a little far to walk every day.

Under the Van Wyck Expressway -- then to Kew Gardens Road, then to Lefferts Boulevard.  Finally we pulled up to a weird apartment complex 1.5 miles from Jamaica Station!

"This is easily a half-hour walk, across two busy streets and under a freeway!" I exclaimed. "I told you I don't have a car."

"Oh..I thought your car was in the shop."

That was crazy.  Most people in New York didn't have cars.  "No way can I live here!"

"I guess not."  He paused.  "Tell you what -- I feel bad for bringing you all the way out here, so how about I buy you dinner, and then I'll drive you home."

"Sure, ok."  He owed me that much.

He took me to Mehak, an Indian restaurant with very good tandori chicken, with ice cream for dessert.  I refused the wine.

Troy turned out to be very nice in person.  No snark, not even when said that my mother was from Kentucky.

"Why are you so nasty online?" I ventured.

"I'm not nasty, I'm just honest.  I won't lie to you.  I'll tell you if you're a chubbo, or you have a twig down there."

"Most people prefer a little tact. You know, to avoid hurting someone's feelings."

"It's not tact, it's lying."

Maybe I actually found him attractive, maybe I was flattered that he hadn't called me a chubbo with a twig down there, or maybe I wanted my "money's worth" for the wasted time, but when he suggested that we go back to his apartment, I agreed.  

After kissing, cuddling, and criticizing Wednesday night sitcoms, Troy suggested that we move into the bedroom, and I agreed again.

He started to pull out the couch.

Then it dawned on me -- this was a studio apartment!

"Wait -- I've heard of guys with one bedroom apartments renting out their living rooms, but in a studio -- where did you expect me to sleep?"

Troy looked away.  "I...well, actually, I don't really need a roommate.  I just wanted to meet you."

"So you conned me into coming over?" I asked, stunned.  "Ever hear of asking someone for a date?"

He grinned.  "This way worked, didn't it?"

It did.  I spent the night with him anyway.

The next day, online, The Nastiest Guy in the World was back: "Boomer is bigger than me, but inside he's just a little sissy boy.  Oh, use a little tact!  Oh, you're hurting my feelings! Wah, wah, wah!."

See also: A Search for a Roommate in Philadelphia

The Search for a Roommate Leads to 3 Hookups and 2 Dates

Germantown, Pennsylvania, September 2012

When I got a temporary one-year position at a small college in a distant suburb of Philadelphia, I was ecstatic.  Finally I could move back to a gay neighborhood.

It didn't take long to realize that the commute was going to be a problem: a five block walk to the metro station, wait for the train, take it to the downtown station, wait again, transfer to a new train, sit for 45 minutes, walk to campus, an hour and a half each way 4 days per week.

Maybe I could relieve some of the pressure by finding someone in town to stay with now.

Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of gay men on the small, conservative campus at least not many open enough to find and amiable enough to make friends with.

1. Horst.  The academic advisor of the gay student organization, a bisexual woman, introduced me to the only out professor on campus, a musician named Horst: in his 30s, tall, thin, elegantly dressed.

We met at small, elegant bistro near the campus, where he got on my bad side right away by waiting until I ordered the fajita platter, then ordering just a small bowl of mushroom soup -- "You don't need to eat much for lunch, just a little soup or a salad."

He was a graduate of Brown University, originally from Germany, where they still believed in culture.  Americans -- all idiots!  Is there anything more hideous than rap?  And American students, with their mindless pursuit of video games and graphic novels! A generation of morons!

I hate elitists.

Next!

At least I got a date out of the deal. Horst had an uncut Kielbasa+, very thick. I didn't even mind his habit of yelling out orders "Faster!  Slower!  Take your time!  Take it all the way down your throat!"


2.  Jimmy. Horst gave me the number of his ex-boyfriend, Jimmy, who worked in the Admissions Office: in his 30s, rather buffed, with thinning brown hair and very big hands.

Jimmy insisted that we meet in a park by the river: "It will be getting cold soon, so we have to squeeze in all of the outdoor time we can, right?"

We walked through the park, over the bridge, and through the park on the other side, while he talked about his garden: "I got some asters and Russian sage coming up, and I still have to do some weeding and hedging.  The helenium is looking good."

"So, do you own your own house?" I asked.

"Well, it's actually my great-grandmother's house.  My mother is renting it to me and a straight couple."

I stared.  He shared his house with a straight couple?

Next!

But at least I got a hookup out of the deal.  Jimmy was average beneath the belt, but very passionate, into kissing and oral.  We laughed over Edgar shouting out orders.

October

3. Rory. I couldn't stay with a student, could I?

Jimmy gave me the number of his ex-boyfriend, Rory, a senior majoring in modern languages.

We met at the YMCA near the campus, where many students and faculty worked out, and shared a desultory game of handball.  Rory had a round, handsome face, a slim swimmer's build, and, from what I could peek at in the shower, a Bratwurst+ beneath the belt.

He was impressed by the fact that I was a Modern Languages Major as an undergrad, that I had lived in Turkey and France, and that my boyfriend Troy was a French major.

But: "I live with my parents and little brother.  They know that I'm gay, but we don't talk about it.  I've never brought guys home when they're not around, but I've never introduced them to a boyfriend."

Next!

At least I got a hookup out of the deal.  Like many 22-year olds, Rory was constantly aroused, before, during, and after the bedroom activity.  He was strictly oral passive, going down on me while murmuring "Take me, Daddy!"

4. Hamid.  I hate, hate, hate the question "Do you have any big plans for the weekend?"  It always makes me feel guilty.  Am I the only person in the world who doesn't spend the weekend riding dirt bikes on the beach and then singing around a campfire with 20 of my closest friends?

So when the Middle Eastern guy at the Barnes and Noble near the campus asked, I got sarcastic: "Sure, I'm jetting down to Cancun to go hang gliding with Tom Cruise."

"That sounds like fun," he said, oblivious.  "I'm going to the Beer Fest in King of Prussia."

"You drink beer?" I asked in surprise.

He grinned.  "I do a lot of things."

Hamid was a recent graduate of Temple University with a major in theater arts, a practicing Muslim, but he ate pork and drank beer.  He had a trim physique, with a smooth tight chest, thick biceps, and a thick Bratwurst.  He was mostly into anal, but open to suggestions.

Oh, and he was living with his sister and her husband, who didn't know he was gay.

Next!

But at least I got a date out of the deal.

November

5. Sprag.  Maybe I was going about this wrong.  Maybe I could actually rent a room from a gay guy two nights a week.   It would be a little pricey, but it would save me from a long commute.

I answered an ad for someone to stay during the spring semester, a room with kitchen privileges for $300 per month.

His answering message was very long and annoying, ending with "and the little bird said 'beep'," and he was never home, so it took about two weeks to get ahold of him.

His name was Sprag.  He was about 40, very pale,very muscular,  with dark eyes, red lips, and a short beard.

While I was interviewing, he played loud music constantly -- an immediate turnoff.

"My boyfriend stays over several nights a week," Sprag said.  "And sometimes I hook up.  I hope that's not a problem."

"No, not at all," I said with a grin.  "I have no problem with hookups, especially if you're into sharing.

"And sometimes I have girls over, too,  I'm like 90% gay, but you know, sometimes I'm in the mood for p____."

Next!

At least I got a hookup out of the deal.  Sprag had firm, pale chest, a shaved crotch, and an enormous cut Kielbasa.  He wouldn't kiss, but he was into both giving and receiving oral.

By this time, there were only a few months left, so I decided to ride it out.  I never found a guy to stay with, but it was a lot of fun looking.

See also: My Date with the Nastiest Guy in the World