I’d only just downloaded the app that morning, my picture being approved a few hours ago. It didn’t take long at all to find a guy less than five miles away from me, his dick pic landing in my inbox minutes after I asked him “what was up.”

It was a good dick pic, too. Really good. He was lying down on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, hard dick aimed up at the ceiling with his thumb pressed at the base. The floor-length mirror leaning against the wall helped paint the full picture.

Plus, his room was clean, which gave him major bonus points.

I sent Mr. Anemone a picture of the growing bulge in my khakis and had him sharing his location moments later. He lived in Midtown, not very far at all from the quiet suburb I’d recently bought a house in. It would take me ten, fifteen minutes tops to get to him.

Shit. Did I need to bring beer, wine, tequila? Was it rude to show up at someone’s house without anything with me? No matter how anonymous this someone might be?

I had a feeling that most guys prowling through the app didn’t care about anything except the dick I walked in with. Still… I should bring something. If not as an offering, then as a way to get myself drunk for the night ahead. My nerves were starting to ratchet up the more I thought about the fact that I hadn’t been with a guy in a while. I started thinking back to my first time. It was in college when one of my fraternity brothers and I had to share a bed. We never talked about it again, even though I often thought back to it, remembering how it felt to have our two bodies sliding together, our arousal so intense that we both came twice that night.

It was the night I realized I was bi.

I dated around and got with guys and girls but my next serious relationship wasn’t until I was with Heather. Dated her for a while, planned on proposing, found out she was meeting up with her ex-boyfriend on her “business” trips, and broke up with her shortly after. One of my good friends, Ashley Lamb, was there to help me pick up the pieces.

Except she did such a good job of it that we ended up together.

About a year into our relationship was when I dropped down on one knee, ring in hand. I had felt pressured by our friends and family to lock things down. I thought Ashley wanted the same thing. Except, up until then I could sense something had been a little askew. I thought maybe a ring might be able to fix it.

Wasn’t the smartest idea I ever had, but it also wasn’t the worst.

Imagine my surprise when she said no.

(I wasn’t actually that surprised).