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I leave a tap on this first guy’s profile. A winning smile accents his face, even if one of his teeth is slightly askew from the rest. He has sixteen years on me, but that doesn’t matter. Age is just a number. Truth be told, I sometimes find someone older than I am to tick the intelligence box more than somebody in my own generation. After a quick message informing him that I like his smile and dropping a friendly salutation, I return to the grid for further searching.
My second requirement of sorts is just as important as the first. Every guy vying for my attention must show me that they’re a flexible, accepting person. If they can’t see past what’s on my skin, then they don’t deserve to be a part of my inner circle. This is precisely why I hate the men who require a face pic before engaging in a simple conversation.
The next guy who catches my eye is flexing his biceps in front of a full-length mirror.He’s probably some shallow fuckwit.Carter would lay into me if I didn’t give someone with a gym selfie just as much of an opportunity as someone stuffing their face with a Six-Dollar Burger inside a fucking Carl’s Jr. He might actually be a genuinely accepting person after all. I don’t leave a tap on his profile. In my experience, these type of guys are instantly gratified by compliments. This tap feature is the equivalent of whistling at someone in the flesh. Instead, I say‘Aloha’and that he has good taste in drink containers.I’m such a fan of the Hydrocell bottle.
Lastly but certainly not least, a man must prove to me that they’re reliable. I’m not only talking about punctuality. No. What’s important is that I feel comfortable confiding in a guy, to tell them what’s on my mind without fearing it’ll become front page news or Grand Junction’s hottest goss.Which could paint me hypocritical coming from an investigative journalist, but whatever.I need a man I can trust to hold my heart. Not stomp on it at the first turn when things go sour.
I leave a few greetings for a couple other random guys, casting my line deeper into the sea of potential fuckmates. That’s really what I’m looking for, because I’ll be boarding a plane back to Western Colorado come Wednesday morning before the rooster crows. This party is lame, by my standards anyway. And it’s incredibly loud for being in an outdoor event space at the Kuhio Beach Fairchild Resort & Spa. Since I’d rather chill on the bed of my hotel room, I rise to my feet before parting through the lobby to leave.
My family isn’t staying at this particular resort, because Candace and Tuti could barely scrape enough pennies to hold Tessa’s reception here. We’re across the street at a one diamond hotel called The Tiki Tavern. In fact, I hardly call it a hotel altogether because the pool is practically no larger than an oversized bathtub. My attention doesn’t break from the endless appeal of Hawaiian Grindr as I trot through the lobby. A split-second later, I’m confronted by the impact of an oncoming gent bumping right into me.
He apologizes for not paying attention. At least I think so. Honestly, I’m enamored by his greenish-brown eyes which captivate my awareness of what’s actually going on. A second is all I need to identify this man. He’s practically the gay male version of Paris Hilton, smattered across billboards and social media. And the paparazzi are always up in his grill. I advise him it’s okay for bumping into me.I wasn’t watching where I was going either.This exchange, however, couldn’t be any more awkward for a one Kragen Darling.
There’s another slight confession I must make right out of the gate. When my boss in Denver found out about Tessa’s destination wedding, Allen tasked me with digging into the Fairchild Resorts Group. Scuttlebutt has it that they’re about to be involved in a major Ponzi scheme. And this investigative motherfucker right here gets to do all the dirty work. Earlier today in fact, I’d been pondering how to go about getting my foot in the door at their corporate office on Monday.This is what could be considered career kismet.
Reid Fairchild twists around to sneeze, affording my timid gay ass a chance to flee. I’m terrible at thinking on my feet. Allen never assigns me the high profile shit, because he knows I crack under pressure. And I wasn’t expecting to physically collide with the guy either. A lady at the front desk hollers at him, meanwhile I dart straight out the revolving lobby door. A sigh flees my lips as I pay attention to the heavy cadence of an accelerated heart rate.
* * *
Back at my hotel room, I finish changing into a comfier outfit. I hate dressing dapper. The brood of Grand Junction gays look down on me because my idea of cozy differs from theirs. Nobody would find clothes in my closet which are fancier than anything at JC Penney. Fuck. I resent K-Mart for going bankrupt in America, because clothes shopping there was the shit. Gone are the days of fitting‘style’and‘affordability’in the same sentence.
The pizza delivery boy at my hotel room door, leaves me to my cheesy pie once I pay him. Merely a second later, I leisurely plop myself on top of the bed. All the while turning on my iPad so I can find something to occupy the rest of my lonely night. Schitt’s Creek is with zero doubts my favorite show.Who doesn’t just adore Dan Levy?
As I get lost in this episode, I’m reminded that I’ve sent a handful of messages into the Grindrverse.I doubt I’ve received even one reply.More often than not, I’m left on‘read’by pretty much everyone I send a message to. Hawaii could be less limiting than back home, so I’m fairly uncertain.
Why I’m constantly ignored has everything to with the fact that my profile picture is an image of a banana. Yes, for a bit of subtle humor. More than just a snarky first impression, nobody would give me the light of day if they saw my nasty birthmark. Ugly as sin, set on my forehead like a third eye or some shit. To my surprise, the red dot over my inbox icon tells me there is indeed unread messages waiting to be seen. Soon do I discover three different advertisements, all hinting that I should upgrade to premium. And one message from a profile picture that I don’t remember seeing before.
Much like my profile, this person is hiding behind an image of a volcano somewhere down here in the Hawaiian islands. His handle is as inconspicuous as mine—Island Daddy, 42.
Hey there. How’s your evening going? I love a ripe banana, by the way. *wink emoji*
Finally somebody understands my subliminal humor. This guy is already worthy of an equally witty reply. Not that I’d be as rude as all the other motherfuckers who ignore me by default.
Hi. Bananas are my favorite fruit, ya know? Well, I like fruits in general. What’s your name? I’m Kragen.
His avatar is adorned with a green dot, indicating he’s active on the app right this minute. The location says he’s 82 miles away.Where the fuck is this guy? The moon?I suppose this instances just goes to prove my luck on Grindr. Even back home, the people who usually message me are farther away than I could ever hope to host, or let them. My impatience would’ve prevailed, and I’d have wound up rubbing one out long before meeting face to face.
It’s nice to meet you, Kragen. I absolutely love that name. You can call me Eddie. What seems to have captured your attention on a night like this?
He’s well spoken.Hmmm.Intelligence is possibly a check. Especially given the fact that he can think outside the box enough to comprehend my fruity humor. And he hasn’t immediately asked for a face pic. I’ll hold a conversation with Eddie. But if he expects a meet up this weekend, he’ll have to come to me.
Nice name as well, Eddie. I’m about to eat a few slices of pizza because I’m starving. And I just turned on an episode of Schitt’s Creek. What about yourself?
Since it’s wildly evident that I won’t be getting fucked tonight, I slide my left palm between the elastic waist of my lounge shorts. Meanwhile, I lean over the pizza box to eat my first slice with the other hand. Pizza, a hopeful conversation with a fellow seemingly smart guy, and my favorite show couldn’t be any better stimulation to get stiff.
CHAPTER THREE
REID
Hotel drama always sets me off. But I suppose it would be fair to say that many things set me off. Most of today has me frazzled from here to Newark. The whole reason my presence was required, is because nobody could get into the storage freezer. My Kuhio Beach location’s lead chef failed to show, apparently leaving me as the last available person with a key. We seriously must avoid this in the future.
All that to say, Jimmie’s text response when I accidentally bumped into the younger boy, couldn’t have screamed any angrier.
Fuck you, man. I’m sick of your horseshit. You’re as reliable as a donkey in a snowstorm. Don’t bother showing up, because neither of us want your support anymore. You can rot in Hell for all we care.
His message didn’t go without that nasty GIF of Bryan Cranston dropping a microphone with a vacant smirk. Thoughts of responding to his infantile rant swims through each corner of my brain, as I lounge here on the sofa of my private jet. I’m already heading back across the sea to Maui, because my appearance isn’t valued at the incredibly mediocre actor’s Waikiki residence.
Normally, I would have stayed the night up in my penthouse above the hotel. But I’d rather return to my far more isolated residence where I have a loving canine partner waiting for me. Now I can have my Schitt’s Creek marathon while cruising Grindr like I’d wanted to do all along. Fuck. I might even order pizza and make it a one person party.Pity party, more like. But who cares? It’s fine. I’m fine.
