Latinjock69 abandoned his AOL handle and logged out of the nycm4mnow chatroom forever. Most original AOL members have moved onto other service providers. AOL chatrooms are outdated like I-Pod shuffles. Many screen names died in the arms of the digital revolution. Some, although no longer active, live on, like spam. Screen names are an important part of American literature and represent who we once were as surfers, in an ocean of on-line communications.
I saw latinjock69 at the supermarket last evening, buying a can of Crisco and some chicken wings. I’m glad he’s still around and unplugged. When we first met, when on-line dating was new and revolutionary, chatrooms hosted a maximum of 23 members at any given moment. Like supermarkets, there were lines. We had to sometimes wait just to ‘chat’.
When insatiable tops with tempting names like latinjock69 secured one of the coveted spots in the popular online chatrooms of AOL, he stayed there almost 24 hours a day, hogging up space, or at least until he found a member with a bubble butt who wanted to give it up. He, like so many of my gay friends, had become on-line, hook-up, sex addicts– one night gang bangers. It all started when people first plugged their home computers into the phone jack and started communicating with the written word again.
As the cashier was sliding the tub of shortening across the scanner at the supermarket, latinjock69 asked, “Are you still on- line?”
“Nah. Not for a long time,” I said with a smile.
“You look good, Charlie. It’s good to see you,” he remarked while winking at me, yet nodding his head toward the guy he was with– obviously a new ‘profile’ my old friend is screwing.
“Thanks. I hope to see you around,” I winked back.
I paid for my jumbo shrimp, heavy cream, fresh parsley, linguine and vine ripened tomatoes while reminiscing of our affair.
We were never lovers, just good friends who knew how to make fast love– no strings attached whoopie. Every moment we spent together, we made love. He slept in my bed many nights after he came and collapsed upon my chest. We were never lovers, just pen pals. He often made love to me all night long. I’d awake to feel him on top of me, lifting my tired legs.
“You know– we gotta go to work in the morning.”
“I know. Who cares? I want to be inside of you again,” he said.
Those were the good ole days.
At the beginning of the internet era, when I was single, queer life in the big city was like a digital orgy– as if everyone had sniffed electronic poppers.
Modern technology beamed latinjock69, along with the rest of gay New York into a sexually charged, digital underworld with possibilities as endless as the world wide web itself. I could almost never get into that room, post my stats, and make my move on latinjock69 disguised as ‘ivorycheeks’. The room was always jammed packed. I was forced to use my handle and enter the whiteguysforblackguys chatroom and hope he would show up there.
AOL chatrooms were far more interesting than gay bars or bath houses when dial- up subscriptions connected closeted homosexuals to New York City’s out, short-circuited, over the top homosexual culture. Real conversation and effective writing was used by on-line poets seeking ‘hook-ups’ before there were phones with cameras. There were so many new men to be had. We chopped the English language into shreds along with many other tongues for that matter–
‘pic 4 swap’–
‘How big, papi’
‘10″, uncut dominican meat here”
Never again was it necessary to stand at a stinky bar waiting to make a pass at the regulars. Gay men were able to shop on line for what they really wanted– anonymous sex. Finally, we had the tools to get we needed. No longer was it necessary to wear colored handkerchiefs in our back pockets to advertise our preferences in the bedroom.
‘Straight married man looking to get serviced. Got a pic?” those instant message squares often popped up reading when ivorycheeks sat his ass down inside one of those rooms.
I had a digital photo of just my ass that worked like a charm when trying to lure in one night stands as ‘ivorycheeks’. A chatroom regular ‘chelseasnatch21’, a guy I met up with in one of the chatrooms, snapped a shot of my buttocks. He was a professional photographer and a tired lay who lived in Chelsea.
“Do you mind if I take a photo of your ass in black and white?” he requested as I was getting dressed and ready to leave his place.
“I need a photograph for my profile– sure, as long as you send me a copy,” I insisted. I know how talented, gay photographers can be. They can turn any bad side into a good side with the right lighting. They have a knack for that sort of thing.
He took a very artistic shot, developed it, scanned it and sent it to me.
“Thanks for a great night, Will. Here are the photographs. I think they are great. You really should consider professional modeling,” he wrote. I didn’t even bother changing the name of the file before I saved it. The image remained on my hard drive forever, saved under the file name ‘willass’.
I felt like such a whore– posing like that for a total stranger, but the pic was nice.
I should have answered his e-mail and thanked him.
He had a little cock.
The infamous photo of my big, round, plump, white ass worked like a dream in those chatrooms. I couldn’t wait to use it on latinjock69. Afer I finally got into nycm4mnow one evening, Latinjock69 was there as always. I sent him a pic– the one that chelseasnatch21 took of my butt a few days prior.
‘Ready for a hard one now,’ I typed.
“That’s not your ass,” the instant message from LatinJock69 said. “I’ve fucked that ass already. That’s chelseasnatch21. Stop sending fake pics.”
I was so upset.
“But that is mine. I have the Adidas underwear to prove it.”
He ignored me for hours and would not answer my ims.
“I swear to you, this is my ass,” I typed at 3 a.m. on a work night when the room, although full, was very dead.
“When I screwed chelseasnatch21, I noticed that it really didn’t look like that pic. His as was too hairy. Is your ass hairy?”
“Si papi, but only around the hole. Not on the ivory cheeks themselves,” I quickly typed.
“Hell No,” I wrote while almost too terrified at that point to meet up with him. Shaving? For heaven sakes, I would never trust a total stranger to shave my ass.
“Someone stole my pic,” I wrote. “Wanna see it in person?”
He signed off and rushed to my house in a cab.
The instant hook-up went well. It was one of those one night stands that felt different– not sleazy at all. At 3 a.m. we were both desperate and lonely, yet we made love. There was lots of kissing, tongues went way inside the mouths, shaking, quivering of the legs and arms. I had waited so long to meet him, perhaps I had fallen in love on-line.
“Do you know, this is really good,” he said in the middle of having sex, with sweat dripping from his gorgeously thick Dominican eyebrows. “You know, I’ve banged a lot of ass, papi– but do you know what? It hasn’t felt this way since I made love to my wife. It feels just like a wet pussy, papi.”
I wrapped my legs around his neck and smiled.
“You are married?” I asked casually, laying with my arm behind my head, as if in the middle of a wheat field, looking up at the clouds, not affected by his deep thrust at all– with the exception of the pure pleasure he was delivering to me inside.
Our love making and fantastic sex went on for a long time, almost every other night.
When I wasn’t with Shawn, screwing him on weekends, I was with my on-line buddy download more of the good stuff. Ours was only casual sex. I would never allow our on-line relationship to go further than that. I loved Shawn too much to emotionally attach myself to latinjock69, the man with the body of a god.
“Horny here too. I just want to lay there for you again,” I sent while telling Shawn on the phone that I was going to bed and to call me tomorrow and to stop demanding that I spend every moment of my spare time with him.
“Stop trying to control me Shawn. I told you, I don’t want a monogamous relationship again.”
“I know. But I love you and I want to be with just you. Are you on-line?”
“No. Goodnight, Shawn.”
I had other needs.
“Yes. See you in about an hour?” I typed to latinjock69 while placing the phone in its cradle.
“Make it a half hour.”
“You got it.”
The clothes came off and we went to it. There was no need for casual conversation or small talk. We were fuck buddies. Our relationship served a real purpose.
Sex is like cooking. Sometimes we want something fast, greasy and easy– like fried chicken. On other nights, its better to serve a zesty linguine with white sauce. It’s all out there for sampling at cooking.com.
Seeing him this evening was nice. I know I still got it and he still craves me, like a spicy chicken wing. But I’m married now and have cooking to do.
Ivorycheeks has logged off for good and the name will be retired in literary history alongside names like Huckleberry Fin, but I sometimes pull out that old file– ‘willass’ and give it away for free.