London, January 2019 — After a nice interaction with Jack, I was feeling lonely as I often do in London. There was another guy near London I had been talking to online, but we hadn’t made any plans to meet up. I hit him up and to my pleasant surprise, he was game. He was at my hotel within 90 minutes.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been to an ethnic Indian or Pakistani person’s house. The most common element I find is a strong smell of spices in a wooden box. I love Indian food especially because of the spices, and even the interesting bento-style cedar boxes they’re often stored in. But all of that together creates a very intense smell that gives me a headache.

Raj’s family was from Pakistan and that’s how he smelled. He had never lived on his own nor been outside of England, nor had a job but was interested in a career in baking. Twenty years old with unruly peach fuzz, thick glasses, tall and very skinny with long hair tied up in a bun. Not like his picture, and while he warned me he was “awkward” it was still not what I was expecting based on weeks of minimal conversation.

We went to the nearest Indian restaurant because it was already after 10p and we figured it would be open. It was.

I had my doubts about the place. Fluorescent lighting. Only one other table had people at it, and none of the customers or staff were South Asian. After we were seated, we could hear a couple arguing indistinctly in the back, yelling and throwing things. I would have left if I knew someplace else to go, but the thought of extending my night with this guy wasn’t worth it. Besides, like a car wreck, you kind of what to see how it unfolds.

Raj spoke very softly. I had to keep asking him to repeat himself, and a few times I playfully told him “speak up, boy!” But then he was practically shouting at me and turning heads in the restaurant. This happened a few times.

While we were waiting for our food, a straight American couple walked in and even though they had a take-out order, of all the tables in the restaurant they decided to sit at the table next to ours.

This was probably one of the most awkward dates I have ever been on. Even moreso than Carlitos in Lima. I know it’s not uncommon in Indian and Pakistani cultures to eat with your hands. Naan and samosas are one thing, but I personally don’t like sauce and grease and rice all over my fingers, especially on a first date. So I used a fork, and Raj told me this made him uncomfortable.

Being a good sport, I tried eating with my hands, but then I went back to the fork after about a minute. I just couldn’t. Raj said “Okay, I guess I’ll use a fork, too”.

I have never seen an adult struggle with a fork like he did. Really. He either had some serious muscular mechanics deficiency, or nobody ever taught him how to hold a fork. He held it in a backward fist kind of manner that made you want to look away. I tried to put him at ease by telling him I didn’t mind if he ate with his hands. So he did.

Our conversation was no less awkward. And our differences were apparent and even stark to any stranger. Age. Culture. Socio-economic background. Posture. Accents.

I understood why the American take-out couple sat next to us. They wanted to eaves drop, and became increasingly shameless about their whispering and snickering at our conversation, especially with Raj alternating between mumbling and shouting at me.

When I tried explaining what “American cheese” does and doesn’t mean, the couple busted out in unrestrained laughter. It took everything I had not to give them a piece of my mind and make a scene. Instead, I sneered at the woman and made direct eye contact with her for about 30 seconds. They toned it down and not long after, fortunately, left with their food.

And Raj was completely oblivious to them as he continued to scarf up with his hands what frankly was less than mediocre Indian food, especially for London.

We returned to my hotel room and Raj looked satisfied and ready to unwind. But the moment the door closed I told him, “Listen, I don’t sense we’re a good match so this should be the end of our date.”

“Oh,” he said as he adjusted his glasses on the ridge of his nose. He seemed genuinely surprised, cleared his throat and said in his English accent, “Well, at least your direct.” He gathered his things, thanked me for dinner and left.

He texted me a week later. I told him I was in Rome. He wrote, “Have you had your ass licked by a hot Italian stud yet?” Unlike Jack, our conversations were never sexual or even flirtations, so the text really put me off. Am I that sensitive? No. Did I appreciate it as a joke? Kinda, but we never got to being that level of pals, so it was the perfect excuse to block him permanently.

I didn’t find any compelling reasons to stay on London. All I got was offers for sex. I checked out of my hotel and caught the next plane to Rome.

London, January 2019 — (continued from part one) I like when boys are forward with me like that. We had already had some sexy chatter and videos back and forth weeks before we met, so the mutual attraction was there. He was very eager to suck my dick, and I did not think this British white boy with practically no lips would be a good kisser let alone give my thick Latin cock a satisfying blow job, but surprisingly he was very good at both. I came in his mouth and afterward he had this “I love making papa proud” look on his face.

The next morning, he was eager to show me some of his computer science work, and to see some of my software development work. I showed him work I’ve done, and I loved how animated he became. He sat upright in the bed and started sharing and asking all kinds of questions about programming. It was super cute.

He’s ideal in many ways, especially his ambition, maturity, intelligence and follow-through. Unfortunately for me, he’s in school for a couple more years and is looking to land a corporate job in England afterward. That’s not compatible with my wanting to hire and travel with him now or even soon. Both of us knew that, but still thought it was worth making the in-person connection.

While he was engaging, he was only an okay listener in that it seemed like he liked to hear himself talk more than listen. Even so, he made laugh. I was complaining to him about someone, and he said things like “What a knob!” I had never heard that expression; it doesn’t work with an American accent.

On the other hand, he was the only reason I made the excursion to London from Paris, and all the expenses of that two-day trip cost nearly $1K to meet a boy for one night (he did not ask for nor receive any money from me; that would have ruined my experience). Part of that is exciting in that I have the ability to do it, and because I never know where it will lead, I feel it’s sometimes worth it to chase these opportunities. It’s good practice on many levels. Plus, I wanted to set food in pre-Brexit London one last time.

On the flip side, that’s a huge waste of money for which I have nothing to show or build upon. It’s frustrating to come so close to what I’m looking for and not be able to progress to the next step. If I were to do it again, it would not be to London because everything seems needlessly expensive for the mediocre quality and service you get. And for all the times I’ve been to London, I’ve never felt particularly welcome there, even with heaps of money.

As if to bolster that sentiment, I was about to have a most unfortunate and awkward date that made me bolt out of London…