Hi! I've never written anything on LPSG before but I thought I'd give it a shot. Writing is actually what I do professionally but sometimes it's nice to write something a little different every now and then. Hope you enjoy! I'll have more parts coming.
The App (1/?)
It was a dreary and rainy that Saturday morning. I woke to the sound of birds singing outside of my window and the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen. As I fluttered open my eyes and sat up in bed, I took in the two presents at my feet. I knew my father must have sneaked in during the night as he had since I was six. That, along with the delicious breakfast, there was no mistaking it was a special Saturday.
I jumped from bed, ignoring the intricately wrapped presents for the moment, and dashed to my calendar. Half of the days had passed, counted with large red X’s over them. One date – that day’s date – was circled with a small balloon filling it.
“Finally,” I beamed, crossing a large X through it. It was my birthday. No longer was I a child. I was eighteen. And unlike other eighteen year olds, there as only one thing I wanted for my birthday.
My phone sat on the dresser next to my bed. I grabbed it and pulled up my apps – the ones I kept hidden from the prying eye. Three in total: a locked photo album, a private browser filled with my favorite videos, and the app. The app.
Grindr.
I had been sixteen when I found out about the app – whispered about in the school hallways. For two years, it sat unused in my phone. That was until that day.
I opened the app and stared down at the sign-up form. It looked simple enough. A username here, a secret email account there. In minutes, my account was created. There was only one thing left to do: upload some photos.
That was where the locked photo album came in handy. Just after midnight, once I had made sure my parents were asleep, I hid away in the bathroom and went to work. All in all, I had settled on four pictures. None of them showed my face. I knew if someone recognized me on the app, they’d tell my parents. And instead of questioning why that person was on the app in first place, my parents would instead reprimand me. So I needed to be careful in my photos.
The four I settled on were pretty standard: a butt shot, a crotch shot with my hand covering, a shirtless selfie with my jeans pulled just far enough down to show off my pubes, and an “artsy” one of me in just a tee-shirt. I thought it was just the right amount of flavor.
With the photos uploaded, I didn’t know what to do. I thought about scanning through the available men but then I’d just get horny. And I knew my parents would be bursting in soon to sing Happy Birthday with a harmonica (my dad’s extra touch). Instead, I sat my phone back on the dresser and started to pick out my outfit for the day.
In my mind, I was absolutely sure I’d be hooking up with someone before the day was over. Of course, it would be my first time, and of course, I would be scared, but a part of me felt determined. The outfit I chose had to be perfect. Apparently, that was a faded Metallica shirt and paint-stained blue jeans.
Finally dressed, I turned to the mirror on my door and fussed with my hair. It was far too dark to my liking thanks to my mother’s genes. And the way it fell haphazardly against my eyebrows was just nature’s way of telling me I should have never used the kitchen scissors for a homemade haircut.
“Honey,” my mother called. Her voice sounded from just behind the door.
I yanked it open and smiled at her. Sure enough, she was with my dad who carried a golden harmonic in his right hand. “Yeah?”
They immediately broke into song. The notes were off-key and it sounded like a seal was being suffocated when my dad blew into his hands, but it was touching just the same. When they finally finished, they each dove at me, demanding birthday hugs.
“I can’t believe you’re finally an adult,” my mother whined into my ear.
“Okay, okay,” I fussed, pushing her away. “You’ll mess up my hair.”
“I wish you’d just get it cut,” she protested in return.
I turned. “Dad.”
My dad rolled his eyes, which were bug-like behind his wide-rimmed eyeglasses. “Let the boy live, Mal. He’s not young forever, you know.”
“Fine, fine.” She turned but not before patting my cheek softly. “I’ve got to finish breakfast. The eggs are probably burning.”
My dad sighed and stepped into the room. “She’d lose her head were it not screwed onto her neck.”
“Definitely,” I laughed.
“So, look. You’re eighteen now. I know you probably don’t want to stay at home all night. You want to go out with your friends, right?” The aforementioned “stay-at-home” was my dad alluring to our annual movie night. On each of our birthdays, the other picked a film and we both watched it without complaint. From the time I was eight until I was twelve, it had been the same. Disney’s John Carter. My dad assumed I liked the battles. In reality, I liked the muscles.
I shrugged. “I don’t really have any plans.”
“Well, you should. You’re an adult. Tell you what…” He fished into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Take this and go shopping this morning. The mall shouldn’t be too crowded. Take my car.”
I accepted the bill – surprisingly a $100 bill. “Dad, I can’t-”
“You can and you will.” He stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed. At the last inch before it latched, he poked his head through. “Make sure you open your presents.”
I shoved the money into my back pocket and sat on my bed. The two boxes beside me were small. My parents had never really been about the size of the gift but what it meant. I opened the first one, from my mom. It was a gift certificate for Barnes & Noble. She knew how much I loved reading. The second box, from my dad, wasn’t anything like it. When I opened it, I screamed.
“What the fuck,” I whispered, pulling the small foiled box out of it. My dad had gifted me the last thing I had ever expected: condoms. At that moment, my shock wearing thin, my phone chimed. It wasn’t a sound I had heard before. I stood and grabbed the phone. On screen, a notification glowed. It was from the app. New message received.
The App (1/?)
It was a dreary and rainy that Saturday morning. I woke to the sound of birds singing outside of my window and the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen. As I fluttered open my eyes and sat up in bed, I took in the two presents at my feet. I knew my father must have sneaked in during the night as he had since I was six. That, along with the delicious breakfast, there was no mistaking it was a special Saturday.
I jumped from bed, ignoring the intricately wrapped presents for the moment, and dashed to my calendar. Half of the days had passed, counted with large red X’s over them. One date – that day’s date – was circled with a small balloon filling it.
“Finally,” I beamed, crossing a large X through it. It was my birthday. No longer was I a child. I was eighteen. And unlike other eighteen year olds, there as only one thing I wanted for my birthday.
My phone sat on the dresser next to my bed. I grabbed it and pulled up my apps – the ones I kept hidden from the prying eye. Three in total: a locked photo album, a private browser filled with my favorite videos, and the app. The app.
Grindr.
I had been sixteen when I found out about the app – whispered about in the school hallways. For two years, it sat unused in my phone. That was until that day.
I opened the app and stared down at the sign-up form. It looked simple enough. A username here, a secret email account there. In minutes, my account was created. There was only one thing left to do: upload some photos.
That was where the locked photo album came in handy. Just after midnight, once I had made sure my parents were asleep, I hid away in the bathroom and went to work. All in all, I had settled on four pictures. None of them showed my face. I knew if someone recognized me on the app, they’d tell my parents. And instead of questioning why that person was on the app in first place, my parents would instead reprimand me. So I needed to be careful in my photos.
The four I settled on were pretty standard: a butt shot, a crotch shot with my hand covering, a shirtless selfie with my jeans pulled just far enough down to show off my pubes, and an “artsy” one of me in just a tee-shirt. I thought it was just the right amount of flavor.
With the photos uploaded, I didn’t know what to do. I thought about scanning through the available men but then I’d just get horny. And I knew my parents would be bursting in soon to sing Happy Birthday with a harmonica (my dad’s extra touch). Instead, I sat my phone back on the dresser and started to pick out my outfit for the day.
In my mind, I was absolutely sure I’d be hooking up with someone before the day was over. Of course, it would be my first time, and of course, I would be scared, but a part of me felt determined. The outfit I chose had to be perfect. Apparently, that was a faded Metallica shirt and paint-stained blue jeans.
Finally dressed, I turned to the mirror on my door and fussed with my hair. It was far too dark to my liking thanks to my mother’s genes. And the way it fell haphazardly against my eyebrows was just nature’s way of telling me I should have never used the kitchen scissors for a homemade haircut.
“Honey,” my mother called. Her voice sounded from just behind the door.
I yanked it open and smiled at her. Sure enough, she was with my dad who carried a golden harmonic in his right hand. “Yeah?”
They immediately broke into song. The notes were off-key and it sounded like a seal was being suffocated when my dad blew into his hands, but it was touching just the same. When they finally finished, they each dove at me, demanding birthday hugs.
“I can’t believe you’re finally an adult,” my mother whined into my ear.
“Okay, okay,” I fussed, pushing her away. “You’ll mess up my hair.”
“I wish you’d just get it cut,” she protested in return.
I turned. “Dad.”
My dad rolled his eyes, which were bug-like behind his wide-rimmed eyeglasses. “Let the boy live, Mal. He’s not young forever, you know.”
“Fine, fine.” She turned but not before patting my cheek softly. “I’ve got to finish breakfast. The eggs are probably burning.”
My dad sighed and stepped into the room. “She’d lose her head were it not screwed onto her neck.”
“Definitely,” I laughed.
“So, look. You’re eighteen now. I know you probably don’t want to stay at home all night. You want to go out with your friends, right?” The aforementioned “stay-at-home” was my dad alluring to our annual movie night. On each of our birthdays, the other picked a film and we both watched it without complaint. From the time I was eight until I was twelve, it had been the same. Disney’s John Carter. My dad assumed I liked the battles. In reality, I liked the muscles.
I shrugged. “I don’t really have any plans.”
“Well, you should. You’re an adult. Tell you what…” He fished into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Take this and go shopping this morning. The mall shouldn’t be too crowded. Take my car.”
I accepted the bill – surprisingly a $100 bill. “Dad, I can’t-”
“You can and you will.” He stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed. At the last inch before it latched, he poked his head through. “Make sure you open your presents.”
I shoved the money into my back pocket and sat on my bed. The two boxes beside me were small. My parents had never really been about the size of the gift but what it meant. I opened the first one, from my mom. It was a gift certificate for Barnes & Noble. She knew how much I loved reading. The second box, from my dad, wasn’t anything like it. When I opened it, I screamed.
“What the fuck,” I whispered, pulling the small foiled box out of it. My dad had gifted me the last thing I had ever expected: condoms. At that moment, my shock wearing thin, my phone chimed. It wasn’t a sound I had heard before. I stood and grabbed the phone. On screen, a notification glowed. It was from the app. New message received.
