Vancouver
2 min

Compulsive typing

While trying hard not to hook up

Credit: Xtra West files

You would never know by the hours a week I spend in chat rooms that I’m not particularly fond of meeting men online. The orgy of dick shots in every profile strikes me as too bizarre. I like my cock, a lot, but not enough to take pictures of it. Well, unless the photos are for art/porn, which is for public consumption, not private solicitation.



I don’t want someone to date just my dick. Similarly, I prefer to see the face I’m going to suck far more than the cock. Eventually during sex, the prick disappears in some hole or another, but the face, that sticks around.



Last week, a friend privated me. It was very late. He asked if I was looking for a hookup which, our history had taught me to assume, was not a question dripping with implication. It was chitchat.



I said, on the contrary, I was trying hard to not hook up. I had to work the next morning, I was tired, I never have much success finding a face (and a personality beyond the top/bottom variety), and I’m trying hard to keep myself out of the anonymous sex scene if for no other reason than variety. You can fuck your brains out with whomever you wish, however you wish, and as often as you wish, provided everyone involved is happy, but I’ve decided I don’t want whomever, however. I want someone, somehow.



So why was I online? I don’t know. Loneliness. Procrastination. An overly active imagination. Optimism. It’s more entertaining than bad reception on my TV. Some nights I’m logged in for four hours plus, staring at the screen. Various times, I’ve resigned that I won’t go online again then log on. I have even stuck a note above my computer which reads, “I would rather write a new novel than gay.com chat.” But the next day, I still go online; I come home late and tired countless nights, dying to sleep, but am compelled to sign on.



Between five sites, I have eight different profiles. When I get bored being the faceless slut, I log in under my alt-guy profile, or my boy-next-door look. I switch between sites, dialogue in multiple rooms and surf porn in the downtime. I tell men who ask for dick shots that I have none. (I’ve a bunch, but I’m in a dress, or hot pants, or fishnets.)



I’m online because I live alone. Because the rare time that I do hook up with someone it’s less anonymous than the park. I’m online because I’m impatiently trying to distract myself from my ongoing search for a guy to whom I can say, “I think you’re wonderfully attractive,” and have him say more than, “I like your eyebrows.”



* Miss Cookie does not want to appear ungrateful for having very nice eyebrows.