Occurring before Memorial Day, I hooked up (supposedly) with a nice-looking, bear. It was not a very pleasant introduction as I had fallen from the escalator after being shoved by a bad mannered child 2 minutes after this fellow helped me. We simply talked and walked to the food court as I imagined his clothes unraveling beneath my eyes. He was clearly gay. We talked about insignificant facts about our lives (he was sharing information about his aunt Edith while I talked about the number of bristles attached to my toothbrush) until we reached the topic about sex. He claimed to be a bottom, surprising me to an extent. I tried to contain myself but I just had to. I asked which sex position was his favorite. He smiled, eyed me in a sexual gesture, and whispered "missionary" into my ears. My jeans tightened. I wanted to strip him off his clothes right there and then. I wanted to lay him down on the Subway counter so I could have a taste of his footlong and set his ass on the Panda Express rack to munch on his Orange Chicken. I breathed heavily and looked down to my crotch. Constricted as it was, the meat was still trying to fight the balls as I switched my glance to the Italian chain-restaurant behind him. Tension thickened the air. It was difficult to breathe. I looked at the face of my watch and then jumped at the sound of his voice. "So... How big is your dick?" he questioned. "6.2 inches, sir" I quickly responded. His amused face soon melted into pure dissatisfaction as he stood up in a menacing fit. He left his food on the table and walked away with an annoyed stare. Why did he act the way he did? Is my penis not long enough to prod his ass to ecstasy? Is there a button inside the anus that can only be reached by an 8 inch pole? Oh, woe is me.