On the Rebound

According to Wikipedia, someone who is on the rebound "is popularly believed to be psychologically incapable of making reasonable decisions regarding suitable partners due to emotional neediness, lingering feelings towards the old partner, or unresolved problems from a previous relationship." I don't know about all that mumbo jumbo psychological hoopla, but I do know one thing: I was horny and I needed a good distraction. And a good way to remedy that is to go out on a pseudo can-we-skip-the-getting-to-know-you-I'm-trying-to-forget-about-my-ex-and-I'm-very-horny date. Look no further because the Internet can cater to your every need (seriously, it can...have you seen the stuff on the Internet these days?).

I figured it was time to test the waters and get my feet wet in the hopes that I wouldn't drown in three feet of water. And the saying goes, "there are plenty of fish in the sea." And trust me, there are plenty of men to go around in San Francisco, so the possibilities are endless. Needless to say, I was a bit rusty in the dating department, so I closed my eyes, held my breath, and pulled a name out of hat (or so it felt like it). I met him from gay.com. He seemed nice enough and cute enough, so we made arrangements to meet for a bite to eat in the Castro (like, oh my gawd, how gay is that?).

At first it was awkward and a bit uncomfortable, but we both managed with small talk and the getting-to-know-you bit. After dinner we decided to grab a drink in hopes to break the ice a little more. We chatted more freely and our conversations became more candid as the drinks went down. We got to know each other a little better and became a little touchy feely. I could feel his eyes lingering on me, so I returned his gaze with my glossy, alcohol infused eyes. After the third drink I was feeling pretty damn good (and I'm assuming he was too), and the next thing I knew his tongue was down my throat, and I didn't do a damn thing to stop him. In fact, I returned the kiss, and we made out right there at the bar like two horny teenage boys who couldn't wait to take their clothes off! After a few minutes of intense kissing, I was completely turned on and ready for second base (how square is that?). And then he popped the question: "would you like to come back to my place?" It's been so long since someone has asked me that, so I was a bit speechless at first. But my fourth (or fifth..) drink said... yes, yes, yes!

After a of night hot and heavy petting, he drove me back to his place in San Mateo, which is only a hop, skip, and a jump away from San Francisco. He showed me his cute one bedroom apartment that came fully equipped with a pool, tennis court, and one adorable dog. By this time we both felt more comfortable with each other so we immediately went straight for the bedroom and starting making out. One thing led to another, and before I knew it we were no longer wearing clothes. There we were naked and going it at it, except this time we weren't two teenage boys. It was hot, exciting, and brand new. I could feel my heart racing as we made out naked on his bed. The only thing that struck me as odd was the fact that his dog was sitting quietly next to the bed watching us with the most strangest look. Talk about three's a crowd! I brushed it off because I was still buzzing from the drinks and, not to mention it was the first time I had sex in two weeks. In the gay world that probably meant two months...

About an hour of kissing, licking, and sucking, and mutual masturbation, we ended with a mediocre finale. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. It was what it was: just plain old sex. As we got ready for bed, he snuggled up next to me, and his dog joined in by practically sleeping on my head. I couldn't help but think that the dog was jealous of my presence. I knew there was no way in hell I was ever going to sleep, not to mention it wasn't even my own bed. And sure enough, I tossed and turned all night. At one point I woke up with the dog's ass in my face, and I decided that was the last straw. I got up and slept on the couch in the living room, and in the early morning I crept back into his bed. He didn't know I was even gone. However, the dog didn't seem too pleased that I found my way back to the bed.

When morning came we had another go at it (still, nothing to boast about), and then I took a quick shower. I thought he would drive me back to the city, but told me he wanted to take me out to breakfast. I thought it was a nice gesture, and I knew it would cure my monster headache, so I said yes. He showed me around town for a bit, and we finally got around to eating breakfast. After breakfast we walked around for a little more and I had this nagging feeling that I knew what was about to come next. "Do you want to hang out for a while?" And then... "Maybe we could take a dive along the coast or something." Or something? Great, now I felt cornered and practically obligated to join him and his peeping Tom dog! I thought that if I said no he would make me hitch hike back to the city. I put on my sweetest smile and said I had other plans today; he didn't seem too distraught, but I could tell he was disappointed. We drove back making small conversation, and when he dropped me off we said we'd keep in touch, but we all know where that leads. And sure enough, after about a week or so, we talked less and less until we talked no more. It was probably better anyway because he was just my rebound guy. I didn't run into him again, but San Francisco has a funny way of bringing people back into your life whether you like it or not.