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He rapidly checked to see if he had any messages, and there were several. His current scam was to target older,mucholder, gay men in other parts of the country. It was actually kind of fun, in a spider versus fly way, to toy with hearts and minds on the site. He’d start off messaging a likely sucker by deliberatelynotbeing overtly sexual. This alone made him stand out, set him apart. He’d find a detail in a man’s profile to hone in on—something in the man’s background that most users of Silver Daddies wouldn’t pay much attention to, something like what they enjoyed outside the bedroom, TV, film, books, music. And then he could write a nice, grammatically correct and warm message detailing how they had similar tastes.
“I can’t believe there’s someone out there who lovesThe Wizard of Ozas much as I do. It’s truly a classic!”
“You like Nina Simone? I didn’t think there was anyone left who knew who she was. Bless you.”
“I didn’t think anyone read poetry anymore. Yeats speaks to me.”
It was amazing how something so simple—just being friendly in a nonthreatening way—was bait that worked because it was rare. Most men sent flat-out come-ons to strangers, and that could succeed if all one was seeking was a quick and, for all intents and purposes, anonymous hookup.
Trey’s was a long game. He cast his line in friendliness and commonality. If there was any sexual reference at all, it was humorous, playful. It didn’t always work because these sites, after all, were designed mainly for sexual encounters. Even the more innocent sites seldom strayed from their ultimate—and amorous—intent. But Trey was interested in the men for whom the online world was more: the lonely ones, those who needed to hear a voice shouting through their darkness, just for them.
The ones who had money.Oh yes.
He wanted the rare bird for whom the ultimate hope in having a profile on a hookup site was not sex, but love. Companionship. Kindness. Those he could manipulate. Kind words, a funny joke, taking the time to get to know them. These things were as rare as a fur coat at a PETA convention.
Most turned away from his subtle seduction, because the site, in the end, was all about being quick and easy.
The ones who responded? Those were the guys he sought. And once he found them, the hook was in. All Trey had to do was reel them in.
Although the men looking for a more meaningful connection were rare, there were still enough to make Trey’s online cruising like shooting fish in a barrel.
Once he had their trust, there was no end to the things he could ask for—mostly cash, some gifts. All it took was a good sob story, delivered long after a deep and abiding friendship was established. Trey never rushed things.
“My mom has lung cancer and the medical bills are going to put her out of her home.”
“Tinkerbell, my sweet little Schnauzer, will be surrendered to the shelter today. And my heart is breaking. Unless, that is, I can find a way to pay for her cancer treatment…”
“The truck was a total loss. Glad I got out alive. But how in the hell will I get around? To work?”
It was a long con.
But he’d been surviving this way for years. A little here, a little there, all under the table, kept him afloat, and sometimes thriving, depending on who he got his clutches in—and how deeply.
Once he established trust, the old farts gave and gave and gave.
Trey thought he should stop, now that he was married to an endless source of money, but the pull of the game was too much. He didn’t like to think about how much he needed the validation and the admiration—maybe even more than the cash.
Right now, he was juggling three senior “daddies.”
There was Don, a hairdresser from Chicago whose last relationship had been before the AIDS crisis.
Carlos was a retired CPA in St. Paul. Gullible and sweet, Carlos had already wired him thousands of dollars for travel expenses to St. Paul—travel Trey kept finding excuses to avoid.
His biggest and best hope, though, was Al from Boca Raton. Married to a woman with a life on the down-low, he was not only ripe for picking easy “loans” from, but he was also ripe for blackmail. Done right, it was guys like Al who could keep him rolling in it for substantial sums and time. Al had kiddies and grandkiddies. What would they all think if they knew that Pop or Grandpa liked to suck cock and be spanked, wearing black fishnets and stiletto heels?
Trey knew Al was a little more dangerous because his home was just north of Trey’s pretend one, but he knew how to avoid in-person meetings and keep stringing ’em along. Al had been president of his own travel company and was a multimillionaire. He was seventy-nine, and if all panned out, he just might be worth having second thoughts about his current marriage and moving on.
Lies.
They were so easy to cast and so gullibly believed.
Like that story he’d laid out for Connor tonight. His background was nothing like what he’d told Connor with tears in his eyes, shuddering at recalled abuse. No, the fact was Bruno Purdy had grown up in the tiny Ohio River town of Wellsville, Ohio, where Dad made a living at a local industrial pottery as a caster, and Mom cashiered at the local Kroger. He didn’t have a sister, Elizabeth. He didn’t have a sister at all. He did once have a brother, but he was dead.
Trey didn’t like to think about Carl or the circumstances around his death.
The story he’d fed to Connor was lifted from some Netflix documentary he’d seen years ago. Trey simply changed a few details, shed a few alligator tears, and suddenly became a tragic victim, one Connor could wring his hands over. One he could feel good about helping and being someone Trey could lean on. One Connor might defend should a jealous, meddling daughter try to spoil their good thing…
Simply, Connor ate it up. The story would stand. As long as Connor didn’t accept the challenge to Google details. Or if that bitch daughter of his didn’t get more suspicious than she already was.
