16 December 2014


So I finally met up with Coopie, the adorable Anderson Cooper doppelgänger I met on Grindr.

After I fell into an assortment of baked goods upon seeing him holding a cabbage in my local supermarket, I decided to take the next step and take Coopie out of my online world and into my real life world.

So I messaged him a simple nondescript, 'Hey'. So fucking original and I wonder why I'm not a published author. It took Coopie an excruciating 3 days to respond to my monosyllabic greeting. Mind you he hadn't been on for 9 days. Can you imagine not opening Grindr for 9 days? What have you been doing all this time? Much confusion.

So I am not sure why Coopie took 3 days to get back to me, but I have a theory. I changed my profile picture to an actual picture of myself. And when I say that, I'm not saying that I'm catfishing The Anderson Cooper, I'm just saying I think we are all at times guilty of a little creative licence when it comes to choosing our Grindr pic. Like this is kind of me and because it exists in photo form it must be true. When we all know the likeness to you is the photographic equivalent of a satisfying end to Serial. Just not possible.

Once I hadn't heard anything from him I quickly changed it back to my greased up thoroughbred beach look and what do you know he messaged me.

It's tenuous I know and hardly a theory I could argue in court, but I kid you fucking not, the moment I changed my photo back to the shirtless beach shot in Mexico, I got an instant response.

Which doesn't really make sense because he would see the message trail, but whatever, it's what I think.

OK so we meet. Can I just say, girlfriend has also been using a little creative license re the Grindr pic. Me thinks Coopie has seen a few sunbeds in his time...

So we go for a drink in a local bar. It's a weird few moments when you realise you don't have the luxury of time to respond to a question as you would when you are online. I couldn't sit there and think of a witty retort. I had to actually come up with something ASAP. It was like being in an improv class. It's also weird when you have had intimate photos of his erect penis beneath a bed sheet sent to you and you have to concentrate on those awkward getting to know you questions whilst thinking about them. I just wanted to grab his arm and whisper, "I know how big your dick is."

At this point I would like to add something. This was a date. Not a Grindr booty call. We had decided after 2 months of on and off chatting to go on a date rather than just a shag. It did seem like an odd choice with the said shots of Coopies crotch still saved in my phone, but our chat had been so unconventional, why give into a stereotypical, easy, quick Grindr hook-up. I also think that we had both been around long enough to appreciate - and actually miss - the old fashioned way of getting to know someone. Oh my god I sound like some old queen stroking the thinning quiff they've held onto since the age of 22 saying "I remember when you actually had to call them."

So we had a few drinks and then decided to eat. Conversation flowed so well. It was actually hard to have an awkward silence because he was so fucking interesting. An architect. A keen cyclist. Dog owner. Came out when he was 38, left his wife who he is still friends with. I know. They share custody of their daughter. I know. The shared custody is easy because he designed a house that has two wings - one wing for him, one wing for the ex-wife. I know. And the daughter is gay. I know! She's 14! I know! He thinks it's a phase, but well, glass houses and all that Coopie!

I had to play it as cool as I possibly could without my head popping off.

He seemed so normal and adjusted it was almost off putting. It also seemed as though he had bypassed all the angst that I had experienced growing up gay because essentially he was straight until the age of 38. I'm sure it's not as black and white as that and probably there was quite a bit of inner turmoil that dominated his earlier life, but I couldn't help but feel kind of annoyed at his smug life. He was now enjoying the spoils of a fabulous gay life with all the foundation laying benefits of a heterosexual one.

I shook off these disgruntled feelings when he held my hand as we walked back to the high street. I felt invincible with him.

I wonder if his former straight life means he's a top?

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