Is It The End Of Gay App Dating?

(GayWebSource.com – Gay News & Press Network) – Posted by Jake Simpson – TheGayUK.com
‘Blind-date’ – ‘Surprise Surprise’ – it’s probably a ‘Wipe Out’

by Joshua Walker | 28th September 2014

Moving too fast?

I recently got an excited text from my cute Irish friend – he had a Grindr ‘date’ with a “hot, thirty-something executive” who was similarly to my friend, a little bit of a “geek” (think X-Men bedding and Superman pants).

Hours later I got another message – “he was ugly and at various intervals, talked to himself”.

How very ‘One flew over the cuckoo’s nest’!

I’m no stranger to the occasional self-motivating speech (“good for you Glenn Coco – you go Glenn Coco”) or talking myself through a list of things to do (or not to do – “Josh – don’t pole dance on the tube home”) – but I try and draw the line at having full-blown conversations with myself in public. Besides, I have more than enough personalities in my head to keep me more than occupied!

The whole disappointing ‘date’ thing got me thinking – should we avoid blind dates (AKA Grindr/Tinder/Fitlads/Gaydar meets) – or do we just oil ourselves up and get on with it ‘You Got Mail” styley – rose/cock in hand?

At the moment I’m off of Grindr – every gay (‘curious straight boy’/perverted, screwed up Fag hag) goes through this from time to time. Still, I’m not missing the grids of bizarre ‘filtered’ faces, the constant tinging or vibrating…

… Ok, I miss the vibrating.

With Grindr – as much as I like the occasional self-esteem boast (“you’re hot” – “thanks, I know”), or semi-interesting chat – “I collect figurines of cats playing musical instruments”. It all seems a little dull to me and a little fake.

Plus – I don’t really have an interest in dating at the moment and I’m not particularly seeing anyone.

But even so, once Grindr finds its way back on my phone (as it evidently will – if only to identify myself as gay to other gay males (in case the mincing and perfect hair aren’t distinguishing enough) – I’m not sure how much ‘Grindring’ I’ll be doing. I’ve met some real douches on there – and they’re just my exes!

I’m not emotionally cold or self-hating enough to have sex with strangers (unless they throw handfuls of fifty pound notes at me afterwards) after only seeing what has to be their best ever photograph (heavy filtering, possible photo-shopping, and great lighting) and an unwanted fuzzy close up of their cock (are cock pics ever flattering?) They just make me hungry for tapas.

And my darling phone likes to save these photos in my camera roll – which always adds a little awkwardness when I want to show my nan photos of my cat on my phone.

“He’s a big boy”

“I suppose he is … Oh!”

Plus to be honest, I can’t be bothered to get ready and travel to some distant, possibly dodgy place when the only climax you usually get, is an anti-climax, once you find out that you’ve spent all evening swapping pics with someone who can’t regulate their own heart beat.

I remember a meet I had arranged last year when I was feeling rubbish after my long-term boyfriend left me and headed to Spain. From the photos he was a hot, twenty-something Brazilian. He opened the door – and there stood a microscopic person with glasses.

I panicked, before composing myself and was about to suggest we watch a film or braid each other’s hair instead, and he slammed the door in my face.

“Sorry, not my type” he texted.

He must have been ‘Grumpy’.

For me, I prefer meeting people in the real world. I’m a terrible judge of character.

Everyone wants the ‘meet cute’ story to tell to people at their wedding, even if it is just “we met in Pleasuredome – our eyes locking over two fat wrinklies enjoying a 69-er”.

And although some Grindr profiles promise to “tell your parents we met someone else”. My mum is a master interrogator and an avid watcher of CSI – she won’t believe that “we met in Soho whilst the Autumnal leaves fell around us and the birds sang”.

So I guess I’ll just have to spend a lot of time looking for a potential partner whilst casually loitering around Soho Square or Hampstead Heath in a Mac and Ray Bans so I’m not recognised (of course, staying close to the bushes so that I don’t look desperate) – then again – doesn’t that sound an awful lot like dogging!?