But Don’t Call Me Daddy!
“people say shit like it gets better, but what they mean is
there’ll always be haters only you’ll be older” — Richard Scott, SOHO
“How’s it goin’?”
“Send me nudes.”
“Send me dick pics.”
“You’re too old for me.”
This is what my dating life has been diminished to. Whether it’s Grindr, Scruff, Adam4Adam, or myriad other “dating apps”, the opening lines are always the same.
Come on, guys. We’re gay! Can’t we come up with something a bit more creative?
“What are you into?” always gets my goad the most.
“Well, you idiot”, I say, “if you’d read my profile before you opened your mouth, we’d be halfway to my bedroom by now!”
It seems that profiles on these sites are more for the writer than the reader. In my experience, it’s all about the visuals and not the words.
RN — or Right Now — is the second most annoying aspect of the apps. Most of us (over the age of 30) are not able to drop what we are doing to go have sex. So you shouldn’t be on the app if you’re not looking for RN? I’ll use the apps however and whenever I want.
Navigating the straits of singledom has become 50 times more difficult since I was last alone in 2010. Back then, which is not that long ago, we didn’t have apps that told you how much dick was available nearby — or possibly at the table next to yours in a restaurant!
At that time, most of us were checking out the sites from our desktops or laptops. Sites like “Manhunt”. For serious relationships or dating, there was match.com. (“Try it, it works!”) While Match is still around, this space has become so splintered that the app icons can’t even be contained to one page on your phone.
Him: “Are you top or bottom?”
Me: “Can we talk about some foreplay, like making out, before we go there?”
Him: “I don’t really like to kiss guys.”
Based on some of the responses I’ve received to my always well-tailored opening lines, you’d think I was 90. Now here’s where it gets difficult:
I still have an ego, and when I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t see a 63-year-old man. If my looks are all I have left to trade on, you better believe I’m going to use them! But try to convince a 26-year-old that you recently passed for 46, and they’re likely to say that 46 is too old.
Hold on a minute!
I know what you’re thinking. I’m NOT trying to rob the cradle in my dating efforts. No, I’ll only make the first advance if said 26-year-old informs me that he’s into older guys. (Ugh.) Should anything be consummated, it will be a catch-and-release game. I want someone old enough to be able to tell me where they were on 9/11. But there’s more…
These “kids”, if they can hold a conversation at all, often begin to call me Daddy after we’ve had a bit of dialogue. I don’t stop them, but that doesn’t mean that I like it.
The question I have the most adverse reaction to is, “are you Gen?” In other words, are you generous? Are you going to give me money or otherwise treat me to an uber-luxurious life in your six-bedroom home in the Heights with views, a pool, and a hot tub in exchange for sexual favors?
Hell to the NO!
Click. Delete. Game over.
Twice I’ve been told that my prospective trick “is traveling with his son and they’re in town at a hotel, but to pacify his son while he is away with me, he needs a $50 GameStop gift card from me. Really? Am I that dense? Many ask for gas money or say that they need a lift.
No, No, and NO!
I’m just looking for some company from one who isn’t a thief.
Being a liberated gay man is not all it’s cracked up to be. At 63 anyway.
I call them “The Lost Boys”. They may come from families where their fathers were not so accepting of their sexual orientation. Maybe those daddy-hunters are looking for a father figure or mentor. And while I get all of this, I am already the daddy to two “kids”, and I’ve no interest in being anybody else’s.
What this all boils down to is, there is a relatively small sea of eligible gay men left for me. Since I won’t or can’t be anybody’s daddy, that rules out anyone under 30. The majority of those who are — and dare I say, older — are already in relationships. That leaves those in their 30s and 40s as my most likely “prospects”. If I had a dollar for looking at every person’s profile who is 34, I’d be a rich man. Thirty-four seems to be my number.
I’m alone, but I’m not lonely. Not enough to be a daddy, not enough to be a GEN. As the saying goes, love will find you when you’re least expecting it. I guess I can deal with that for now, but the clock is ticking.