I met Reynard (not his real name) on Grindr at the beginning of the fall 2015 semester. He was 18 years old, a freshman theater arts major, and in my intro class! I don't hook up current students, so I turned him down.
Then he dropped my class so we could date!
Thinking that he was unstable, I turned him down again.
Last week, a year and a half later, he contacts me. He's transferred to another college about 100 miles away. He'll be driving through town on the way home for spring break, and he wants to stop by.
This time I say "yes."
We've never met in person. We've spoken barely a dozen words. I know nothing about him except the fact that he's driving 100 mils for a meeting he's been anticipating for a year and a half.
Obviously a simply hookup won't do the trick.
I plan the Best Date in the History of the Plains.
I instruct Reynard to meet me at the gay-friendly coffee house in the early afternoon, after lunch, and to bring his jogging clothes.
He arrives at 2:00 pm sharp: cuter than his profile pic, with a round face, unruly black hair, and dark eyebrows that give him almost a Mediterranean look. He's trying to smile, but can't quite make it -- he's almost trembling with nervousness.
We shake hands -- he has a loose, moist handshake.
"I've never done anything like this before," he says.
"What? Gone out on a date?"
"Not with -- you know, a professor."
"Call me Boomer."
We sit down at a little table for coffee and scones, and I tell him about the schedule for our date. I reach under the table and take his hand. He tries to smile.
3:00 pm: Jogging
It's a brisk March day, perfect for jogging. We go to the YMCA, change into our jogging clothes -- I give Reynard a good view of my penis, but he turns his back -- and then go jogging on the trail that goes through the woods for about 5 miles (we just go 2).
This gives him an opportunity to dispel some of his nervousness and chat some more.
Reynard has changed his major twice, first to psychology and then to biology, though he's still dancing. He strikes me as a little flighty, not focused. I tell him that I changed my major eight times as an undergraduate.
Afterwards we shower -- a good time to check each other out, and get some other sausage sightings -- and change back into our street clothes.
The full story, with nude photos and sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood.