Okay, you're out.. well mostly anyways (sorry Granddad). You're new at this, and so is he, and that is so fucking obvious. Like it's hot, at first anyways, like you two are stepping boldly into a brave new gay world. Except then you stop in the bedroom and you have to wonder- has this guy ever fucked anything, like, ever. This is the guy that will make you settle for a handjob. On the third date. With the lights off and his socks on. Handjobs are for teenagers, gentlemen. It's a cock, not a loaded handgun. Get in there or go home and update your OK Cupid profile.
Hokay, this might sting a bit because you already know it - this guy is too old for you. Look, I'm not judging; much to my current (female) partner's dismay I have slept with men twice, even three times my age (I took cab fare out of his wallet while he slept as if I didn't feel enough like a rent boy that morning). Seriously though, where'd you guys meet? Your kid sister's graduation? Your dad's swanky country club... bathroom? He tapped your shoe, didn't he? No, no, no, this is the new millenium! You guys met on Grindr or Growlr or Craigslist (bonus points if it was after midnight at a hotel you couldn't normally afford to stay at). Look, the sex was good. Like really good. But then he mentions he's into watersports or extreme bondage or whatever you're not into. Look, you weren't exactly gonna marry your dad's local politician golf buddy anyways.
So you've finally settled into your own skin (after many cold showers and unnecessary morning self-shamings) and you're in "the scene" now. He's cute. Like really cute. Like you could pick him out of an Occupy crowd and say "I want to fuck that guy. Him. Preferably in his apartment and like, right now." Problem is, you'll have to wait. The sex is good, so good, but he spends more time at protests and gay pride rallies than rallying your body to climax. At his best, this guy will make you feel important, proud, like you're a part of something- like you're really making a difference. At his worst, this guy will wake you up at 6am to march on the NC Capitol building again as if those fucking bigots inside are going to change their minds because you're suddenly on top of a statue kissing him - and in the Tuesday paper.
Sorry Granddad, you are gay and accidentally an icon for human rights. But this guy is literally going to kill you with this civil disobedience and shame you to death if you don't go along. But you have a 9 to 5, and calling in sick only works until your boss sees you on the lifestyle page of the News & Observer tongue kissing a man while mounting a statue of Charles Aycock (ayyyy). You support the movement, because you're a rational, decent human being. But you're no John of Arc. Moving on.
Okay, this guy is ripped. And that's hot. That's really hot for you. He's a top and he's looking for some boy pussy. And that's a good thing at first... but between his rugby team and his Super Squats™ and the fact that you're coming into work every morning limping like a wounded puppy, man, do you really want to be used like this every day? Yes? Me too, for like 3 days, maximum. This is the one that you do the fade away on. He still texts you pictures of his admittedly impressive dick.
That dude just straight up loves dick.