I’m not sure whether I really fell for the guy or not, but I do know that at the end of it he was just using me to get off. And while at the beginning I felt like I had the upper hand in the situation-I was the one who was out and comfortable in my sexuality, right?-after each time we met became more secretive and more dirty, I began to feel secretive, dirty, and most of all shameful. We’d meet surreptitiously in dark and make out in the cold British weather on a park bench before venturing back to his place to have sex. I didn’t tell him that I’d never had sex with someone before instead, saturated with vodka and inflated by nerves, I was swept up in the motions.įor the next year, we’d hook-up on and off, usually at 3 a.m. All I know is that one moment we were talking and the next minute, well. The minutiae of exactly how things developed from us being together in that room to us having slightly unsuccessful sex in a bathroom in a different corridor have since escaped me. He was clearly intoxicated, but it was a party after all and who was I, quite drunk myself, to judge. It was late (or early, depending on your outlook on the world) when I was joined by the boy who was living in the room next to mine, way back on the other side of the building. I can remember, although I'd had some drinks, sitting alone in my friend’s room on a single bed, the mattress overly springy and with a coarse plastic coating, attempting to stream a song over our dorm’s spotty Internet connection. The whole thing went down near the end of my freshman year at a party, at which people from the whole dorm floor were drunk and celebrating, carelessly streaming in and out of each other’s rooms, following the various different pop songs until one room took their fancy.
I was at college, living in dorms, and the experience-aside from the usual horrifying awkwardness and somewhat spontaneity of the occasion-was completely and utterly unremarkable aside from one thing: the guy I slept with identified as straight. I will now go back to my fearless pursuit of the truth.I was 19 when I first had full-on sex with another man. Still, there are worse ways to spend 30 minutes in quarantine. This week, Lush and his non-socially-distanced buddy totally Randy-and-Paula the shit out of the videos, with the theme of “dancing in your undies.” It takes about a half-hour to watch a bunch of twinkie young guys shake and grind in cravenly thirsty tease videos. I’m not gonna just be a cheerleader for the North Texan. The informant thought there might be a local angle.īut I gotta tell ya: I don’t roll that way. The reason why my confidential source suggested I look into it was because a local man named Sergio (lives in Denton) is in the mix. (It just launched about a week ago, it seems.) The deal is, Lush sets challenges for contestants to partake in by sending videos of themselves doing the task, then others vote on their favorite the lowest one gets eliminated. Lush is a kinda cute otter himself in the “yaaasss, kweeeennn!” mold, so I took a look. The link I got was to the YouTube page of an L.A.-based blogger named Matthew Lush who, apparently, is trolling for an online boyfriend.
Then I saw it took me to a video with dirty dancing twinks and I decided this could be my Pulitzer.
So when I got an anonymous email from someone with murky motives offering a supposed lead, I was skeptical. Because I’m a hard-hitting investigative journalist in the time of COVID, I pursue all leads on my way to a good story.