The forgetful Daddy

It was my birthday a few months ago, but I forgot to wish myself a Happy Birthday in the third person on social media, as people are wont to do these days. By the time I remembered it was in my opinion, too late to “thank people for their kind messages and wishes”, even though none were sent in the first place.  I have observed people use this strategy to have up to three birthdays a year.

I am not really surprised by my forgetfulness, not least due to the various stresses of daily life, but also I am now at the age when doubled, would take me over the number of allowable digits in the age fields for Grindr and Scruff. In other words, I am old.

It now takes me longer to remember names of actors I see in movies and what movies I have previously seen them in . When I was younger I could remember all that and more, including their date of birth and any scandal they might be involved in. I was a walking IMDb of sorts. These days, more often than not, if I am watching a movie at home I pause the film – or if I am at the cinema wait till I get home – google them and search their filmography.

The other day on the London Underground a guy said hello to me and said my name. I replied back with an exaggerated “Hello, how are you and long time no see”. I could not remember his name, but I remembered how we met, where it led to, the blow jobs he gave, how my tongue worked his bubble butt in return and the various sex positions we got into on the different hook ups we had years ago, when I was a lot more flexible. But I could not for the life of me remember his name on the spot. And I still haven’t.

Few weeks ago, I was at a house party and just as I was leaving a couple of guys arrived. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself properly but had enough time to say quick hello at the door on the way out to jump into a waiting taxi. One of the guys recoiled in disgust when I greeted him, like I was the Chancellor of the Exchequer telling him his taxes were going up again. He looked familiar, but I could not recollect how I knew him nor could I remember his name. His reaction bugged me for a couple of days before I called the party host to ask for the guy’s name which he kindly provided. His name was Carlos and then it all came flooding back.

Decades ago, when I was younger, fitter, a new(ish) kid on the block and an unethical slut, I unintentionally interfered with some “monogamous” relationships. The stronger ones survived and became even stronger, the weaker ones didn’t. Carlos’ long term and seemingly happy relationship fell into the latter category. Long story short, let’s just say back then if gay marriage was a thing and Matt and his then philandering and now ex- partner were married, I would have been named as co-respondent in the bitter divorce. Come to think of it, I believe I had to lay low for a while during the acrimonious break up. Thank God I did not linger at the party that night.

For me these random bouts of partial amnesia can be quite unnerving and daunting especially when trying hard to remember stuff in the moment. Sometimes I panic that I would never recollect whatever it is I am trying to remember.

Recently, I was deep inside a Grindr hook up and we were about nine-tenths of the way done – with me breathing heavily and sweat dripping from my face onto his arched back, whilst praying that my back and/or knees don’t cease up on account of being in one position for too long – when he yelled, “Fuck me hard, Daddy”. 

Sidebar:

I don’t do role play. Never have and I am not sure if it’s something I will get into in future, but it does not currently feature in my sex life. Role play scenarios such as leaving the apartment door unlocked so that on arrival I find the guy blindfolded, ass in the air waiting for me and when I finish my business, I zip up and leave (I have seen enough Law and Order Special Victims Unit episodes on TV to know that that is not a good idea); The dressing up in leather chaps and wearing a cowboy hat to act out some Cowboys and Indians tripe; The dirty talk about what you are both going to do to each other in bed; And the “consensual non consent” role play, to mention a few, I find downright tedious. Even when I watch porn, I fast forward to the part where the sex begins and if the sex talk continues during the scene, I mute it. Why don’t we just take off our clothes, have a bit of foreplay then get down to business? Boring you may call me, but I think if one’s sex game stood up on its own there is no need to enhance it, like a blockbuster movie with a weak plot being promoted with an exorbitant marketing budget to attract viewers. So, this Daddy/Son thing this guy was getting into, just weirded me out. 

I am not sure if my aversion to role play or maybe it was because I was worried I had forgotten I sired a 28-year-old white man who I was now fucking (Jesus, how Targaryen is that?), but thankfully before I could ask,“Who’s your Daddy?” in shock, which may have been misconstrued as a sign of encouragement by him, my dick went limp and slipped out of his bum thus bringing proceedings to an abrupt end.

Poor guy to jump start things, he tried all forms of dick CPR (alternate sucking and stroking) – but to no avail. Crestfallen, he got dressed and left.

I would like to invite him back and explain myself with the idea of continuing from where we left off.  

But I can’t remember his Grindr profile.