When I was enduring post-breakup depression for the first time in high school, I did what any other gay guy would do––downloaded Grindr. Unbeknownst to me, I thought that apps such as these were for finding boyfriends, not for hooking up. After making my bio, it confused me to see that most profiles were stocked with shirtless, headless torsos instead of faces.

I guess guys saw me as fresh meat, since my inbox was immediately popping with what seemed like countless new messages. I was met with the word “hey,” sexual come-ons, and best of all, unsolicited dick pictures.

After a few days, I finally got a message from a decent-seeming guy named Jordan. I found out that has was also a senior from a nearby high school, and that we both knew some of the same people. We talked for a good week until I asked my friends what they thought. With their reassurance, I took off after our study group to drive halfway between our hometowns to meet up with him at a Starbucks. I always thought that those were the best spots to actually meet someone for the first time.

It was right before APs, so I was prepared to meet this guy with my workbooks on the table. Jordan walked in and found me where I told him I would be, and it all started out pretty normally. We talked about school, what clubs we were in, and what colleges we hoped that we would end up in, as it was nearing application deadlines. I thought that I finally found a catch, until the train stopped in its tracks.

“So are you a top or bottom?” he asked me suddenly. I was caught off guard, having gone from discussing academics to sex. I answered his question and tried to hone the conversation back to where it originally was.

Everything picked back up where it was before, and I brushed it off as a slip of the tongue. Yet, it ended up happening several more times after he seemed to grow more comfortable conversing with me. We would go from talking about life and what we wanted to do when we grew up, to him jumping in and asking when I lost my virginity and how many guys I had been with, among other questions. I’ve always been a pretty open book, so I answered his inquiries, but it got weirder when he shifted our entire discussion to sex.

He asked me about my gym, since it was right next door to us. He asked about how hot the guys were, especially the “daddies,” and he told me that he needed to sign up after I told him that there was a good amount of people who fit the stereotype. He continued to tell me that he got with guys pretty often on the app and that he had a regular thing going on with a guy in New York who bought him Chipotle last weekend before fucking him.

I don’t know what disgusted me more: his intent to get with me at that moment or the fact that he bottomed after eating Chipotle.

I tried to hightail it out of there after that, and I had to stop him from kissing me or following me to my car by running out. He asked me if I wanted to see how big his car was too before I bolted, and while I was naïve enough to think that there was hope on Grindr, I wasn’t dumb enough to fall for that trick. I told him that I would text him, since what I also really wanted were more gay friends, and I still had hope that he could be an okay person.

Fast forward two days later. I’m talking to my mom at 11:30 at night, and I get a text from Jordan. He told me that he got off work, that there was a super hot daddy right before he closed up who he wished he could’ve pulled into the bathroom with him, and that now he was bored. He proceeded to ask me if he could come over, and I said that I was going to bed. That was the day that I learned to never use Grindr again.

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