Grind'r Stranger : The origins of Evil !

Preliminary

Thirty-six feathers and still single. It's not that I have not had many opportunities to settle down, but I have to admit that the idea scares me. Dedicating the rest of your life to someone else unconditionally is a hell of a task.

And yet, a part of my soul longs for a tender morning caress followed by a kiss with questionable breath as I tremble under the gentleness of a loving hand. Unfortunately for her, I trust only my mind, which, I still admit, often leads me into a primal debauchery.

From this experience comes a rule: never the same guy twice. And as our dear Valerie Trierweilerr said so beautifully to our good François Hollande: "Thank you for this moment".
Excuse my lack of politeness! It's my business to reveal my life without introducing myself.
So here I am: Ilan, son of an Algerian immigrant, born in the middle of a pile-up on the A55 highway between Vitrolles and Marseille. My father died instantly, and my mother breathed her last as the fireman rushed into her bowels to retrieve me. To the world, I became the sulfurous Maître Chems, a criminal defense attorney notorious for his roster of clients with questionable morals.

My type: dapper, muscular, elegant. It does not matter if he's dumb as a post, after all, it's not the brain that gets sucked out. As for me: neither Bogossitude nor Mochitude. At first glance, I do not get antagonized. This must be due to my eagerly studied coldness.

The beginnings of my flirtations date back to the summer just before high school graduation. I had no doubt that I was attracted to men. No identity trauma. But. I was anchored in my loneliness until I found the website Caramail in the meanderings of the Internet.

The principle was quite basic: lounges like "Gay from the Rhone river," then all you had to do was enter a general ASV (age, gender, city); and like Tinders, you selected profiles based on the information you collected. From a simple dirty talk to the exchange of pornographic images, I experienced my first feelings. I was fifteen years old, and as I write these lines I realize that I was in contact with predators. Of course, I indicated the majority.

There came a time when the virtual no longer satisfied me, then I decided to take the step of the first time. At that time I could not even imagine that a relationship between men could be anything other than carnal.

It was the day of my first day in high school. As soon as I got out of class, I rushed to the computer, which would soon be occupied by my adoptive father until noon. Knowing the procedure of asking fifty rabbits for lack of courage, it took me no more than ten minutes to find a suitor for fornication who was ready for a quick fuck in the wild. Not glamorous, I must admit. A little gel, a whiff of perfume later and I am on my way to the meeting place, which is not far from my godparents' apartment.

We had exchanged our photos before: the guy was a metrosexualized gay from the 2000s, clean and well endowed. While I waited, my heart pounded. As if to calm myself down, I fumbled with the condoms in my back pocket, with which I knew nothing.

Finally, after endless minutes of waiting, the black Golf IV with tinted windows that matched the description pulled into the parking lot, right at my height. Feverishly, I lunged for the door. It took me less than a second to realize that it was not the man in the photo, but a gray-haired, female authority figure in his sixties. His car was locked, it started. I had only one desire...to run away, but I was petrified. Not daring to upset him for fear of what might happen, I took it upon myself, despite my revulsion, to share that moment.

Sometimes I wondered if that one moment of my intimate life had determined his chaotic path?
Now I am sure of it. Good thing!

Now that we have met, it's time to get to the heart of the matter.