Hey. I'm Duff (actually, that's what everyone calls me. My real name is Peter, but when I was in school, we all called each other some form of our last name. You can probably figure out what mine is, LOL).
I'm 49 years old, and a big guy. Yeah, I have a few extra pounds on me, but I'm physically big. All over (wink wink, nudge nudge). I played defensive line for the football team where I got the name Duff. That's also where I began to realize I preferred men to women - by about 100:1 - and I also learned that when I had sex with men, I liked to in charge. And I found it pretty easy to take charge, too. Not gonna lie: during those "formative years", I think I met ten bottoms for every top. And if any of you readers remember your college or university days, you'll remember that for all the stuff we said, we valued quantity over quality. Back then, I woulda chosen meaningless, hot sex six nights a week over a meaningful relationship one night a week. It might be a main reason I got to the ripe old age of 48 without wanting a permanent relationship.
So, some of you will realize I said I was 49, and I didn't want a permanent relationship until I was 48. Is there a typo? No. I'm here to tell you the story of my budding relationship with Robbie. (Lots of name changes in this story: Robbie's real name is Steve, but when I "met" him, he said his name was Robert).
This is all pretty confusing, right? Ha ha. Well, I'm gonna start unraveling it for you. And myself. It's really not ver complicated. Robbie - who, by the way, is in the bedroom, spreadeagled and tied down, with one of my bit gags in his mouth- and I met on one of those apps. And here's how it happened. (If any of you have had similar experiences, feel free to tell us about them. You can even use fake names).
I wasn't looking for a steady relationship when I joined the handful I did. I was looking for some fun. It's not always easy to find what I'm looking for. My screen name gives it away, doesn't it? Yup, "Roping Top." And that "Top" part is absolute. Again, no 90/10, 80/20, etc, for this guy. I'm in charge, there are ropes involved, or it doesn't happen. Ya can't argue with what you like. But of course, you have to get used to realizing you may not have a truly big pool of selections. That's what I was experiencing when I signed up for these sites. I live in what is arguably the biggest city, people wise, in the world. Good old NYC. And even in NYC, as bar culture has dried up, I'd see the same people, time after time, when I went out. Yeah, the sex with some of them was really, really hot. Not so much with many of them. But I hadn't found "the one." What I like in a man probably factors into that. I want someone younger than me, but not younger than about 35. And remember that phrase we all banned from our vocabulary: "straight looking and acting?" Yeah, I'll fess up. That's what I was looking for too. A fit, straight looking "dad" type. No facial hair. No tats (I have a few. My sub won't). I could give you some examples of guys who'd fit into my favorite molds, but I'll save that.
I described myself a little bit before. Here's some more. Blue eyes. My hair is prematurely gray. I'm hairy: if I don't shave for three days, you'll think I'm on my way to a full beard. And I said: I'm big. I stand at 6'3". Some of you may think I left out the most important feature. You'll get that later because Robbie kind of had heart palpitations when he saw what was going into his mouth the first time... (That's all you'll get about that for now).
So, I did what my young friends told me I needed to do on these social apps: I included a picture - an HONEST one - and wrote a profile. I laughed when I heard some of the language the young'uns wanted me to use. I was more direct: the profile said almost exactly what I said about myself above. And then, it was like fishing: you toss out the bait, and see if anyone's biting.
Some old pop song contains the line "too many fish in the sea." Well, yeah, that's what I found out. I got messages, looks, cruises, etc, from people all over the world. Some of them I recognized right away as people from the local bars. I'd write back to them and include a message like "Jerry, how ya doing? The red moustache bid gave you away," or "Greg, tell me the truth: how many specialists in the medieval period of Asia are there out there?" Then there were the guys from thousands of miles away. I got a LOT of those. And, lots and lots and LOTS of guys who were awfully cute, and looked like I'd break them in half if I got my cock in them. There was one guy whom I REALLY liked: half Japanese, half American. DARK black hair, handsome face, told me he was an experienced slave, started calling me SIR right off (good start for him), and sent me nude photo after nude photo, and I reciprocated. Two problems: one, he was working in the middle of Europe, and he wasn't looking to relocate. Second - and this was a biggie - he wasn't into monogamy. I mean, what he said he liked was to serve as a sub for one Master for about a month, then move on to another, and yadda yadda. Maybe come back to a Master who had used him again, but nothing permanent. GOD, do I wish I could've changed his mind. I had more than wet dream about Toshi, up until things started with Robbie.
So, how did they start? Well, one day, when I was checking my profile on one of the sites, I had been "checked out" by someone who, according to the app, was "1000 feet away" from me. He didn't leave a message or anything like that, and his profile name wasn't promising: "curious str8 guy." He didn't say much about himself in the profile, only that he was a submissive with women, and he was looking for tips on how to be better at it. He thought gay subs could tell him.
I HOWLED when I read that. Right. Yeah, we have forums for straight guys who want to say "Yes Mistress" to their wives. If we do, I don't know about them. But what made me laugh even more was that he checked out MY profile. Now, if there were ever someone who was NOT going to give you advice on being submissive, it was yours truly. And finally, there was the final part that really p'd me off.
You know what's coming: NO PROFILE PICTURE. "Screw that," I just said to myself. Yeah, I have (or rather, I HAD) a fantasy about dominating a straight guy, maybe even having a regular thing with someone. Again, those of you who are as familiar with these apps and sites as I am, know how many "str8" guys are on, scared as rabbits, looking for afternoon encounters, weekend adventures, so on and so forth. PLEASE. I remember an expression my grandmother used to use: "shit or get off the pot." That's how I felt about all of that. So, I snorted, and ignored him. Yeah, he may have been right in the neighborhood, but that could've meant he was on his way to some sports bar with his "bro's" , or just feeling horny, who knows (Later, Robbie told me that he copied my photo from the site, and he'd pull it up and jerk off to it before he went to bed. Now THAT's a way to woo a man, huh? LOL again). I had no time for this.
Four days later, I had another hit from him. Still 1000 feet away. I almost wrote something back to him, but GEEZ. Then I got three more, over the course of two weeks. The last one came in at a time when I was in a particularly foul mood, having to do with OTHER guys on that site, but I took it out on him. I wrote a snotty answer back in which I said, among other things "If you don't have the balls to have a photo, then you probably don't have any balls. I don't date eunuchs. Look it up if you don't know what it means."
It took three days until he answered, but he did. "I'm scared shitless, Sir, but I'm not stupid. I know what a eunuch is and I assure you, I'm not one of them. As for a photo, if you had asked I would have sent one. Steve." Yeah, he sent a photo. Shirtless, in jeans, and without a face. Now, to be honest, from what I saw, he had a good body: sort of a runner's build, some lean muscle on his arms, and he had picked a pair of jeans that indeed, let the audience know, he had balls (and a cock). His nips were a little on the small size, but as a nip conoisseur, I could live with them (the smaller the berry the sweeter the juice and all that). He gave me some more info. He told me he was 6'1", 185 pounds, had curly brown hair, brown eyes, and was single. "If you want to know anything else, let me know" is how he ended the email.
I was intrigued. Wouldn't you be? But DAMN it pissed me off that he didn't include a facial shot. So I wrote back "Ya know, I've never bedded a man without a face so, I think this is a waste of both of our times. Nice jeans, though." I waited another week before I got an answer. This time, he answered "I have a very responsible job and I'm not out. I'm nervous about people finding out." Well, I was in my apartment at the time, and I laughed for a good five minutes. Granted, where I live USED to be the center of gay culture in NYC, although that's changing. Still, if you're a single guy, living 1000 feet away from where I live, people will assume what they will assume. I wrote back again. "When was the last time you went to an affair for your 'responsible job' where you brought a woman anyone believed you were dating? When people find out where you live, what do you think they assume? Trust me, Steve, if there are any people out there who actually think you're straight, you should push them out of your life. They're way too stupid for someone with a 'responsible job'."
Three guesses what happened after that. He blocked me. I figured that out when I didn't hear back from him for another two weeks, and found that his profile had disappeared. I was having drinks with a bud one night, and I told him about it, and how I figured the guy had just dropped the app. I didn't know about blocking, but my friend did. "Well, sounds like you scared him off, Duff. Wouldn't have been the first time. Let's see." He went onto the site, and looked up "curious str8 guy." There he was. "Yup, scared him away too, Duff. What happened? You run out of gay guys to scare, not you're working on straight ones?" I laughed. "Yeah, and if you believe he's straight, I'm wearing a fucking garter belt." My friend (Aaron) has a droll sense of humor. He responded with "well, to be honest, Duff, you might think about that. I mean, or a girdle or something like that. Things are beginning to sag." Aaron is a good friend. He could get away with that. And I told him that his new toupee' reminded me of an overcooked veal cutlet.
Well, Mr. "I am curious but I'm yellow" must have screwed up his courage because a couple days later, there was another hit from him. He was still 1000 feet away. This time he sent a whole photo: not a nude, but clearly a photo he had taken at his office. He included a message. "You win. I thought about it. You're out there, everyone can see what you're about, Sir, and you deserve better than you got from me. So, here's a photo. Please don't ask me to sent a nude, Sir, I just can't get my head around that. I hope you like what you see. Sorry for insulting you and being a dick head (P.S. My secretary knows what I'm doing and she told me I was the dick head. She's right. Steve). "
Objectively, no one would have said that he was hot. But he WAS handsome. He was smiling in the photo,and you could see his face really clearly. His hair was a little long and unkempt (still is. I'm trying to decide how I feel about that), but he dressed well, he seemed to have a few freckles, nice cheekbones and - a very important feature for me - a set of good, full lips. His ears were nice and large, and he didn't carry his shoulder halfway up his neck the way so many guys do. He DID give off a sense of confidence. If I didn't know that he was submissive, I wouldn't have guessed it.
I wrote back. "You're a brave boy. A handsome one too. Feel like getting a coffee or a drink sometime? We must live, what, 3 or 4 streets away from each other?"
Radio silence followed. "FUCK THIS" I yelled after I found myself checking for a return message from him - again. I think I checked every day for three weeks, and every day I checked three or four times. I had settled into my familiar pattern of having one nighters with guys I met on the apps. Some were really a LOT of fun, but there was always "something" that made me think "Steve would be better." I guess I WAS intrigued about the idea of breaking in a straight man, and he DID check off just about all the boxes on my "what I like" list.
You ever hear someone say "NYC is really just a small town?" Well, I think it's a big city made up of small towns, like my neighborhood. I do all my shopping in the area: don't need to go to the box stores or far away to get anything, and one day, I was picking things up at the local pharmacist. I was chatting with one of my favorite cashiers there, and then out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone who intrigued me. He was a little obnoxious, but sometimes, especially for a DOM, an obnoxious attitude makes a guy hotter. I heard the other clerk tell him "I'm sorry Mr. Stevens, but your doctor hasn't put through the refill yet. I can call him and see if I can make it happen. I heard him say, in a raised voice "WELL ISN'T THAT YOUR JOB?" I was about to say something about his attitude, but when I looked at him I thought: "Geez. He looks like he could be Steve's brother. " Then some of my remaining neural cells began talking to each other. The clerk had called him "Mr. Stevens", my boy's name on the app was Steve, I knew he was trying to be as discrete as possible.
Yeah, it was "Steve." At least I thought so. Now, had I been insistent, I could have pushed one of the clerks to tell me his full name. That would have compromised them, though, so I decided to do something else. I had some time to kill and I made as if I were looking at some of the merchandise in the store until he left. Then I started following him. He made a first stop. "Interesting," I thought. The stop was at one of those places that essentially serves as a mail drop off and pick up for folks. When he left, I followed him. There are two really big, REALLY expensive apartment buildings in my neighborhood, and he walked into one of them. I saw the doorman greet him. It was the kind of building where someone with a "responsible job" would live. (I work in theater, but not in the glamorous part. I'm the foreman of a crew that builds the sets, fixes the stage, etc. I wouldn't need to be at work for a few hours. Yeah, it was Saturday, but the show must go on, and my assistant foreman was on a vacation with his family).
"He lives at 299" was what I thought. That was the address of the building. I wondered if Mr. "Responsible Job" lived in the penthouse or maybe in some shabbier digs. It didn't really matter to me, because I had what I needed. I waited until Sunday, and then thinking that someone with such a responsible job probably had a bunch of equally obnoxious friends he hung out with on Sunday. "2pm is probably a good time to rattle his chains," I thought, and I went on the app, found his profile and wrote "You never answered my message about a drink or coffee. Maybe I should just park myself outside of 299 12th Street, and introduce myself to you. Don't be surprised if some of your neighbors recognize me. I've fucked at least five guys who live in that building. By the way, is Gustavo still a custodian? You can ask him about the mole on his left thigh." What Robbie told me, later, was that he had to leave his friends (yes, they were out drinking, at a straight sports bar), run to the bathroom, and get his act together. "You scared the shit out of me," he told me later, and my answer was, well typical "Good. Because eventually I FUCKED the shit out of you," (And I did. Be patient). On Monday, I got an answer from him. "Sorry, Sir. Work has been insane. Yeah, I live at 299. I don't know how you figured that out but I'm not gonna lie. Is there a convenient time? Steve."
"HA HA. I flushed out the fox" I told Aaron the next day. And now, it was HIS turn to wait. I made him wait for a week. I wrote back "How's it feel, straight man? Someone's making you uncomfortable, pretty much the way you made that woman uncomfortable in the pharmacy. So, two things. First, knock off the bullshit with your name being Steve, Mr. Stevens. Second, meet me in front of your building on Sunday, 3pm. If you have plans, change them. You're having a drink with me, and we'll take it from there." His answer couldn't have pleased me more.
"OK, Sir. My name is Robert." I think I licked my chops in anticipation at least 100 times. I began to think about how I wanted to reel this fish in. And I got to work.
The way the neighborhood is laid out, most of the traffic on 12th street comes in one direction. I figured he'd be watching that direction and I was right. I came from the other direction, so his back was turned to me. "NICE." I thought when I saw him: a tight pair of corduroys, a business casual shirt with a subtle checked pattern, that hair: his unruly hair, which kind of charmed me. He had his hands thrust in his pockets and that, of course, made his pants even tighter and showed a part of him I hadn't seen yet: his ass. It looked, well, inviting. I clasped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"We finally meet, Robert." I said in a big voice. I could feel a shudder go through him, but I did something that usually calms nervous guys down: I gave his shoulder a squeeze. He turned and he was smiling.
"Nice to meet you, Sir. I hope I don't disappoint you."
He didn't that day, and he hasn't since then. And now, I'm thinking: is my "the one" a converted straight guy? I'll tell you more, next time around. Now, though, I can tell from his moaning that Robbie is getting really horny. See, I left a favorite porno of mine on the computer where he could see it. Time to go in and give my boy a little fresh meat.