The Homeowner: Roger dodger

By Mike Prevatt

My just-married friends Lara and David invited me to join them on their bowling team. What particularly enticed me beyond trying to justify the expense and commitment was that my friends' team was in a predominantly gay league. Lara said it before I could think it: "This will be a great opportunity to meet some great guys."

Of course, she had to add that I sure as hell wasn't meeting quality men online. She was right, if only because, for various reasons, I've always relied on the Net to meet potential romance partners, and here I am still single. It's part of the reason that I had stayed away from Gay.com and Craigslist.com, two of the most popular online sites for gay personals, this summer.

So what do I do on Labor Day weekend but find myself on those same two websites, looking around for God-knows-what. Obviously, I was feeling kind of lonely. I recall thinking at the time, if someone wants to go on a chill little date, I'm down with that. Or, if someone wants to just chat and see where things lead to, that's cool by me. Or, if someone wants to dance the buttock jig, who am I to contest?

At some point, I sent an instant message to this Asian dude. He just struck me as beautiful. And kind-looking, free from the usual attitude and pomposity. He answered my IM, and so for 10 minutes we went back and forth with small talk. I cracked a few jokes, he typed back the obligatory LOL's, I asked what he was doing that night, he coyly asked back what I wanted to do that night, and before long, he gave me his name (Roger), number and directions to his place. Score!

When I got there, I immediately noticed that he looked hotter than he did in his online pics--which, like, never happens. We sat down on his only couch, which was immediately awkward, not necessarily because sex was impending, but because on the television Julia Roberts was going down on Richard Gere, and frankly, we didn't need the freaky foreshadowing on top of the awkward silence.

Thank goodness for my lack of fashion sense. I had thrown on one of my favorite shirts--a concert tee from one of the first Coachella festivals--and Roger noticed this and said he had gone last year. As it turned out, we had very similar musical tastes--this never happens, either. We grew up on the same bands, we liked the same kinds of house DJs and we both went to a lot of the same concerts while in college.

Our conversation far outlasted Pretty Woman, and at some point we noticed that our conversation has exceeded two hours. We were kind of shocked. I mean, who goes over to the place of some hot guy from on the Net for a late-night coffee klatsch? We had been talking so long, we nearly forgot to have sex. Roger made some comment that he was up later than usual, and I told him that if he needed me to go home, that would be no problem. We didn't have to have sex. But if he wanted to, I was still game. Roger leaned over and kissed me. Hey, we're still gay men--we'd pass up a sale on designer jeans before we'd pass up sex.

An hour and a half later, we were done. As I was getting dressed, Roger asked me if I wanted to go out for dinner later that week--this, more than anything, never happens. I accepted, told him I'd call him, kissed him goodbye and headed back home.

At this point, though, I should have known this was too good to be true. Roger works a lot, so getting a hold of him wasn't easy. He returned all my calls, but it took us a week before we could even make plans. We decided on a Saturday, but when it came, he never responded to my calls, and so we never got to meet.

The next day, he called and apologized, said he was depressed and stayed home all day. Fine, that seemed honest, if only because I'd never heard anyone use that excuse before. We rescheduled for that Thursday night. At 7 p.m., he flaked, saying he was exhausted from work and in a horrible mood, and asked is we could try this again Saturday night. He even suggested this romantic place off the beach. Cautiously but optimistically, I agreed and said I'd call him Saturday to make sure he could still make it. As you might've guessed, I never heard from him again. I can imagine Lara telling me, "I told you so."

While this felt less like a rejection and more like someone not dealing with his personal issues very well, it's just another experience that threatens to break my back. This shit is so exhausting. It's like an obstacle course that keeps adding hazards the closer you get to the finish line. Now I wish I'd accepted that position on the bowling team. I could have put my propensity for striking out to good use.

The Homeowner appears biweekly. Send your comments and nude pics to oughtabeinporn@yahoo.com.