The Romance of Grindr
I remember so many details about him—his upbringing, the things he hated about his job, how he sounded reaching orgasm—but not his name.
He had big, moody eyes and curly brown hair. Or was it black? It’s hard to tell someone’s hair color on a smartphone screen, and when we finally met in person I was focused on other things.
He was visiting San Francisco for a tech conference. We had messaged on Grindr earlier that week and planned to meet at a rooftop bar, a quick walk to his bed or mine. I headed over straight from the office, unsure if I would recognize him. All in black. Bright green shoes, he’d texted.
The terrace was buzzing with young people, but they faded into the background as I quizzed him on his faraway life—the complications of commuting across the US–Canada border, the cultural divide between his South American parents and their North American neighbors.
He told me about his last boyfriend, their engagement, and the breakup six months prior. He told me about getting circumcised to please his fiancé; he said that he didn’t care either way.
Our easy conversation made for great foreplay, building trust that’s impossible to form via text messages and profile pics. No matter how perfect someone’s digital persona might be, for me, face-to-face conversation always makes the sex better.
We headed for his hotel. I clutched his hand and kissed him in the elevator, feeling oddly sentimental as I pictured how we looked from the dark street below. As good as the sex was, that moment on our way to his room, so radiant with anticipation, is still more vivid, even months later. I’m addicted to these apps because of moments like that—windows onto infinite potential futures, glimpses into the lives of men I would never encounter otherwise.
Leaving the hotel, as I glided down 30 stories in that same glass-walled elevator I looked out at San Francisco’s glittering skyline and snapped a photo with my phone. By the time I reached the lobby, I’d cropped the image, added a nostalgia-tinged filter, tagged my location, and posted it on Instagram.
The next morning I awoke to a notification that @Westinstfr had commented on my photo: We hope you enjoy your time with us! With a few keystrokes, I responded. It was lovely.
—HUNTER OATMAN-STANFORD