Devon Hunter

Okay, funny moment yesterday…

I was bored in Atlanta and surfing, so I decided to see who all was cruising on ManHunt. Anyway, this hot, 40-something muscle dude start chatting me up. I was definitely feelin’ it. Excellent strong, natural body. Thickness everywhere: Hefty and meaty, but still toned and lean. Just a touch of silver in the hair. Pretty eyes. I was like, “Let’s do this.”

So, an-y-way! (Yes, you have to go through the fabulous gay process of breaking that word down into three syllables sometimes.) After all the frolicking had been taken care of, what had happened wuz…

“Your pictures are amazing. One of the reasons I wanted to meet you was to see if you were real.”

“Real? What do you mean?”

“Well the photos are obviously professional, and normally that means the person you’re chatting with has stolen the pics or that he’s a RentBoy.”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yeah. But it’s definitely you, and you’re definitely real.”

“Mhm. I’m definitely real.”

“Okay, see you around.”

“Buh-bye.” 

OMG!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I got my ass called OUT! LOL He never bothered asking me if I actually WAS a RentBoy, so I never brought it up. But how funny? HAHAHAHAHA

Quick question: Would I have ceased to be “real” if I had admitted to being a RentBoy? By not admitting the truth he took me for “real,” so how is it possible that honesty would have made less “real” than dishonesty by omission? What does it mean, do you think, to be “real” in this instance?