Let's Be DLers Waiting For Their Grindr/Scruff Hookup To Arrive

I'm the fuck towels on the bed to absorb shart.

I'm the texting screenshots to my asexual best friend so, when I get murdered, they will quickly know who to after (that would "8isenoughz").

I'm the spritz of JOOP! on the bulb of the living room lamp, "to establish an atmosphere."

Nervously wondering about douche results--one for time for extra security?

I'm the tired douche that needs replacing.

I'm a few sprays of eau de toilette on the hole before I'm good to go!

Checking recent dermabrasion results: not too obviously inflamed and raw.

I'm the look of disappointment (on both sides) when the door is opened.

I'm the Madonna remix playlist on Spotify -- six hours long! Though we all know this whole thing will be over in less than 10 minutes.

I’m the slightly out-of-alignment $20 bill in the stack of cash sitting on the nightstand, along with a bottle of water, which will surely be refused.

Im Mitzi, the five pound miniature poodle, locked in the guest bathroom. I feel sleepy. What was that pill in the meatball my master gave me?

I'm the hope that the lube, which hasn't been touched in six months, is still usable.

I'm the stench of self loathing and contempt.

I'm the double headed dildo, preparing myself for another long, hard night of work as yet another total, 100% bottom arrives at my 100% total bottom's front door.

I am the same bottle of poppers that's been in the nightstand for five years. Might as well sniff vinegar.

I'm the nervous refresh of the Grindr app every 40 seconds to ensure that the distance is actually getting shorter.

I'm confusion when it turns out he brought a cake from Whole Foods.

R16, “ shash-kuh “

I’m the missionary position. I sit on the shelf unused because intimacy is totally lame and getting railed doggy style by endless amounts of anonymous men is super trendy (TV said so!)

I'm the ignored texts from R19. Damned prisspot is always so judgemental!

I'm the mirror in front of which the DLer ever so delicately practices lifted his caftan, presenting hole, and saying "yum!" in a variety of voices - from a coy mewing to a deep growl.

I'm the awkward silence as the trade hurriedly gets dressed to leave.

"I thought you said your name was Tom"

I'm the safe located in a room you would not suspect, camouflaged in a form you would not expect. My contents would surprise you, as well.

I'm the passive-aggressively hidden camera.

I'm the Viagra you forgot to take but see it on the nightstand just as you're undressing. Oh, what to do?

I am the mid-century house in a Palm Springs that has been defiled by numerous renovations with an unlocked door, a dark interior and a hallway that leads to a guy ass-up on a bed.

I’m the index finger going in my asshole and pulling it out and sniffing to make sure it’s all clean and fresh.

I'm the door left ajar, and the neighbor who mistakenly closes it, thinking they're doing you a favor.

I'm the $100 sitting in my pocket ready to give to him AFTER he cums

I’m the desperate plea for him to stay and chat with me after I’ve given him the $75 cash.

I’m the check, re-check and check again of the pictures sent to be sure who’s arriving is the person I was chatting with.

I'm the bedroom door left deliberately open by boyfriend A so that boyfriend (of 20 years) B, who sleeps in a separate room, might awake and walk in and finally decide enough is enough, thus alleviating A of the social guilt for the breakup.

Grindr hookup compliments the tasteful decor.

I’m Godot - the hookup

Only I pronounce it "Gah-DOT"

Because failing education system in most of Flyoverstan

i'm the teddy bear in r25's video, silently watching another bottom settle

I’m the sudden realization that - while we’ve planned to have him sever my penis, sauté it, and serve it to both of us as an appetizer to my eventual slaughter at his hands - I’ve run out of garlic!

I'm the excuses lining up for when both realize the other was using "vintage" pictures of themselves.

I’m the fabric Febreze generously sprayed on his Sunday caftan, and the big dip on the couch cushion where he parks his big butt. And a little on his ankle socks in case they get ‘lifted’.