2
CHRIS
"Women," Chris grumbled. Only because he had too much respect for Apple technology, he placed his phone down on the table instead of throwing it across the room. That, and the cost of repairs.
Tom placed his mug on the table. "I know: can't live with them; can't live without them." He sat down at the kitchen table opposite Chris. "So what did I miss that got you so riled?"
"That was Steph."
The rolling bells of a subtle event alert sounded from Chris's phone. He stood up and walked over to the allocated cupboard for medicines, reached inside for his morning dose, and absent-mindedly popped one in his mouth as he did every day at exactly this time and had done for years. "How come you're late anyway?"
"Am I late? I'm not late." Tom nodded toward Chris’s phone. "It's ten o'clock. We said ten o'clock, didn't we?" Tom asked. "I just came home directly from my last job, but it ran over time. I couldn't leave their kitchen in the state it I found it. They had a disaster with their popcorn maker. I don't know how they did it. There were splashes of oil up the wall and black lumps everywhere. Did you know soft white popcorn can be transformed into a black hard rock? It was like charcoal. I suspect they were close to making diamonds."
"You'd be surprised about what I know about popcorn."
"Somehow, I don’t think I would be surprised. Anyway, don't change the subject. Tell me, what did Stephanie say to get you so riled up?"
"We were talking about events that we go to as artists. It's my own fault for bemoaning the fact that I don't have a regular man on my arm. Next thing I know she's all over wanting to find me one. She wants to introduce me to all her gay friends and sign me up to a dating site. She also wants to know what my perfect companion would be like. She says he should be my best friend." Chris tapped at his phone to turn off the alarm before it sounded and reset it for the following day. A routine he could do in his sleep.
Tom blew lightly across his mug of tea, sending the steam billowing across the table. "Doesn't she know that I'm your best friend?"
"Apparently not." Chris swung his hands, open palms up. "It's precisely what I told her. I don't need a companion or best friend, I've got plenty of men who step into that role. What I need is a tiger in the bedroom, and my life is very sparse on those."
"Tell me about it, Chris. Who doesn't want a big rugged bear to ravish them? It’s not about having somebody to walk down the red carpet alongside or having someone on your arm at an art exhibition's private view. It's about having an animal in the bedroom."
Chris chuckled. "That's exactly why you're one of my best friends. Same wavelength and all that."
"So what we really need is to get you laid." Tom pushed his phone into the center of the table; they both knew what that meant. There were a lot of apps designed for exactly that purpose.
"I'm not sure that the casual hookup app situation is quite me, Tom. You know I don't judge anyone who does that kind of thing, but it’s not me."
"Talk about not judging! That’s exactly what you do when you make assumptions about the men who have profiles on there, and say it's not your thing." Tom crossed his arms and sat up a little straighter. "I know you don't judge me for my casual, floozy ways. And I'm honest about it; that's all I'm looking for: a casual thing. But these are ordinary guys on here, just like the men you know in real life. Many of them are looking for the same thing as you. Whatever that is."
Having lost the love of his life in tragic circumstances a few years earlier, Tom wasn't ready for serious dating again. He was getting there, though. Chris certainly didn't judge Tom. Pulling his life together and getting things on track, he'd moved on to a considerably better place, mentally, than a year earlier when he barely had the will to live.
Chris could imagine, within the next year or so, Tom doing proper dating instead of a stream of casual hookups.
"I've already met every local guy around here, so why don't we put in the postcode for your art studio and see what men are around there." Tom opened his phone. He angled it so that he and Chris could look together.
"How is that possible? I thought they were location based in relation to your phone?"
It may have been easier if they’d been sitting next to each other, but they leaned across the table and looked together.
"We'll use a different app. Well, a website, actually." Tom clicked a folder on his screen that took them to a place holding every gay hookup app available — and some straight ones too. He looked up at Chris. "I haven't got them all running at all times. They’d drain my battery."
He pressed a few buttons to activate one of the apps and then refreshed the screen. "Wow. A pretty good turnout for this area. I always knew your studio was located in a gay ghetto, Chris." Tom looked up and grinned. "Actually, I've looked many times when I've been over there, so I’m pretty familiar with these profiles." Tom pushed the phone over to Chris before sitting back in his seat and turning his attention to his hot cup of tea.
"So what is this, exactly? I don't have anything like this on my phone." Chris made a mental note of exactly what app they were using. It wasn’t any of the well known gay ones that he knew.
"It's not a gay hookup app."
Confused, Chris peered across the table at his buddy.
"I kept coming across the same men on those, so I spread my net a bit wider. This is a quick link to a website with quite a diverse catchment."
Chris returned his attention to the phone. Ordered by proximity to Chris's art studio, the closest guy had only one image on his profile and very little detail. Chris scrolled past and on through a stream of headless torsos and dick pics. And some with no pictures at all. He clicked on settings and saw that Tom’s default search was men seeking men, of course, but just for casual sex — no surprise. Chris changed the setting to all men seeking men: a setting that included dating, romance, and friendship.
Most of the images were embarrassingly poor quality, whether due to the low lighting, the reflection of the camera flash on a mirror, or the lack of thought that had gone into the background. A messy bedroom or a dirty bathroom said more about the men than the size of their dick, or their lack of a smile.
"Is it too much to ask that they display a little bit of artistic flair when taking these photographs? My God, Tom. These are the photographs I'd reject and delete from my phone immediately, not put out as some advert to attract potential, um, friends."
Tom laughed. "I know, right. Same with some of the descriptions. Why didn't they get a literate friend to help them? I know I'm only meeting them for one thing, but if they'd communicate in proper sentences, it'd make life a bit easier."
Why would so many men place unflattering pictures of themselves on websites and hookup apps? It seemed counterintuitive to put up such poor quality pictures when you wanted to get noticed—in a favorable way. "Perhaps it's because we're arty types, Tom. If you weren't an actor and I wasn't a sculptor maybe this would appeal a bit more."
"Ex-actor, now a businessman, if you don't mind. My domestic house cleaning empire is my new life. And speak for yourself, Chris. This appeals to me a lot. The pictures might not be up to much, and the description might not be up to much either, but I'm not looking for a writer or photographer, I'm looking for someone who's gonna make my legs ache for days afterward."
Soon, Chris had scrolled back to the geographically closest man to his art studio, the tattooed torso in the white T-shirt.
"I've met up with some of these, and most of these guys have been on here for a while, but this one is new." Tom's finger tapped the phone. Apparently, he was paying attention after all.
The profile in question had little detail and only one photograph. A very muscular guy, wearing a T-shirt that almost covered his ink. Made from a white and thin fabric in a figure hugging cut, it didn’t require too much imagination to appreciate the fit body with Celtic tattoos on his biceps and bulging muscles.
Chris ignored Tom while he slowly worked through the profile and its acronyms. Free. Single bisexual man, 30s, can accommodate. Non-smoker.
While Chris looked at the screen, Tom talked. "Anyway, I've not seen this picture before. He's got a good body and wants you to know it. He's too good to leave untouched. I'll leave him for you, but if you don't want him, let me know."
"He doesn't say much about himself." Chris knew this man had appeared when the search settings were for casual sex partners, but his profile didn't say anything about the sort of casual sex he sought. Many were very specific, so much so that the detail became off-putting. The mystery about the man was as alluring as his photograph. "What's he into? What's he looking for?"
"Does it matter? He might be looking for different things with different guys and not want to specify. It can't hurt to find out," Tom said. "They say you shouldn't judge a book by the cover, but I have looked at the pages of a whole load of these guys, and I'm fairly confident I can now judge them by their photograph. This one would do exactly what I want him to, so if you aren't going to hook up with him, Chris, just say the word."