Sexcapades: Cul-de-sac Chronicles
When I was 17, I went through a bit of a rowdy phase. I had just come out of the closet, and living in a small town in NZ meant that my gay awakening required online experimentation. I spent my time online behind faceless profile pictures, whilst chatting to other faceless profile pictures belonging to guys from nearby towns.
One weekend, I stayed at my older sister's house in Auckland. I felt a wave of relief knowing that the way I walked and talked in public was less likely to be dissected by my peers. This led me to be a bit more confident on a specific app that I will not name... Grindr. I found a guy that was keen to meet up. Sure enough, I waited for my sister to go to sleep, and I rose from my couch bed that she had made me. I crept across the living room, scurried out the door, and checked my phone to find the message: “I’m in the white Volkswagen golf.”
Although I had my learners license, I didn’t know a thing about cars. In the pissing rain I wandered up and down the street until I found the car, hopped in, and was promptly met with the charming yet alluring “Hi”. I caught his gaze, and swiftly became aware that although this was the same man from the pixelated and highly filtered picture he had sent me, there had clearly been an extensive time jump since.
Regardless, here I was. 17 years old, in a city I did not know my way around, and in the car with a stranger that was an unknown number older than me. He asked me where I wanted to go, and my first instinct was to say, “I don’t fucking know! I’m not from here!!” But instead, I said, “I don’t know, wherever, lol”. So, as a true gentleman would, he found a beautiful dead end of a cul-de-sac, where he put his mysterious white car into park. We awkwardly got out of the car and moved to the back seats. There was something beautiful about the lack of foot room, McDonald's bags, and empty cans of Cruisers that added to the ambience. As an attempt to set the mood, he went back to the front seat, chucked his keys back in the car, and resumed the radio back to The Edge.
We began exchanging hand jobs, which was far from enjoyable, and became far more unenjoyable when he whispered the suggestion: “Do you want to go out onto the footpath?” Without thinking, I innocently responded, “Why would we want to do that?”, which was met with “Why not? it’s hot, it’s risky…”
I declined and resumed giving/receiving the best either of us could muster considering the circumstances. When I finally finished, he reached over me to the glovebox and gave me a pamphlet about fuck knows what, which I cleaned up my dignity with and chucked out the window. Legend has it that pamphlet is still in a random gutter of a Glenfield cul-de-sac.