Sunday, 31 December 2017

Grinding Poetry: queer men and hookup apps (& websites)

In this blog we want to collect poems (and short prose pieces) written by queer people (mostly men) in reaction to hookup apps (and websites), the likes of Grindr, Scruff, Daddyhunt, GuySpy, GROWLr, Mister X, Hornet, Randy, Gaydar, GayRomeo, Buttheads, Manhunt, and any other app or site that you know but I may have missed. 

Multimedia material (e.g. visual art, sound, ...) is also welcome . 

If you have any piece on the topic, would you like to share it with us? If you don't, would you like to write one and contribute it to this website? 

To submit a piece, email:

Copyright of each piece remains with its author.

These are the contributions so far: 

Look forward to your submissions!

Wednesday, 11 January 2017

GRINDR: A PROSE POEM by Ernesto Sarezale

He put me off when he wrote: “You are a great guy. But you shouldn’t use the headphones you have on your pic.” “Why?” “Because they’re pink!” I almost blocked him. But I counted to 10. Such hot guy would not normally want to hook up with me. I typed in a hurry “if you don’t want to meet…” He replied in an dash: “I do want to meet”. And we met. But it was not easy. First he said he could not accommodate. I typed: “I can’t at my flat ‘cause I live with my parents. If we meet, we have to have sex on a couch at my uncle’s unfurnished flat.” So he soon changed his tune and he said he could host. When I got to his place, he was shifty: “You know, my flat was untidy.” But that’s not the only thing that annoyed me about him. Half way through, when he was about to give me a blow-job, he stopped and he asked: “Are you clean?” I wondered when was the last time I had had a shower. Did my willy smell? He explained: “Are you tested?” I got what he meant. “Yes,” I said. Which is true. It was six months ago. But I didn’t tell him when because he didn’t ask. I almost lost my erection. Gladly, his sucking was ace. I was soon stiff and ready. When I came, he came shortly after me. And he annoyed me again. He sprawled on his bed, breathing deep. “I feel so relaxed,” he said without looking at me, “it feels so good!”. He overdid it, rapt in his own satisfaction, he was almost falling asleep. So thoughtless.


It was sweet, must be said, that he never compelled me to remove my shirt. He said nothing  the moment his hands touched the body-shaping vest I was wearing beneath. I had put on weight over Christmas and was feeling self-conscious about the width of my waist. It’s good that he did not see me with my top off because body-shapers are made for white people and look very awkward on my dark skin tone. It would have been hard to get rid of that corset anyway. He was happy to simply strip me off my pants. He wasn’t all bad. I loved how he stroked my face stubble with his thumb. And when I asked him, post-coitus, “what’s that thing over there?” he stretched and jumped out of bed. He showed me with pride an award he had won as a student back home. He looked back at me. He got close. He crouched and kissed my soft cock. I warned him: “It will get hard again…” “That’s OK,” he replied. And I was reminded of how, earlier on, in the thralls of passion, when almost against my will I shouted “Daddy!”, he looked at my eyes, put his ear on my chest and said: “Your heartbeat sounds just like the overture of Rigoletto”.  

Sunday, 8 January 2017

WINDOWS by Serge Neptune

A trill rises from the murky pits of my computer’s audio system, 
with the same indiscretion through which trees tickle a scorned window. 
The trill is familiar, heard it lots of times, once turned my head, 
Planetromeo’s blue website winks at me, cheeky.
I took as a sign the two times I tried to install Grindr in my phone, 
the app crashing both times, therefore never really used it.
Planetromeo doesn’t crash. Planetromeo is an old faithful friend.
The pc window whistles out another window which whistles out 
your message, an intriguing summary of our first meeting. 
Your ass has made a very good first impression.
Few things count more than a good first impression.
We decide to meet and I pour myself in the cold streets,
Mouth steaming, heading to your studio flat in Hackney.
Upon discovering I would mark you, that my jaws
were thirsty for bruising, my lips willing to suckle and scathe 
you showcased delight on your face 
like an expensive watch from a Selfridges’ display.
We undress each other in a rush, the rush mellows.
You hold my head still, implore my lips to stop,
Cause you might come already.
Turning me over you push me down, my nose sinking 
in the pillow, my nostrils filled with linen, ignoring the stink of ratpiss.
You lift my snow-white bum cheeks, 
Face my narrow opening which mirrors the loneliness of both.
Not long after we start, I beg you to dig deeper 
and harder and faster inside me
Yet what I really mean is I would like you
to hold me tight and kiss me sweetly and never let me go,
but I don’t translate feelings well, they are a language
I’ve never really learnt to speak.
We grow incandescent, and once you let your river 
flow down to the wrinkles of my navel, we grow apart.
You came three times in a row and I didn’t even notice.

On my way out, I melt with the fog, I fold one of my sleeves
In a naughty shape. The Overground’s card reader beeps me welcome.
Somehow, a weird feeling remains, 
All the windows I encounter looking down at me
Are dressed up in a smirk.

Monday, 2 January 2017

MASC-U-RIM-ITY by Stephen Jackson

I didn't know quite what to expect.
I've imagined how I'd hoped it would be
but with pornography as inspiration 
my imagination may have spiralled into absurdity. 
Reality somehow retains originality.
I certainly was not expecting coffee and cake with a stranger.
I was expecting all strangers to be on time. Some never turned up.
Two were punctual, excluding myself, one was hosting and the other I'd met before.
A soldier.
But he didn't recognise me at first.
I'd grown a beard since.
I consciously ignored any awkwardness as I undressed.
With my face between his cheeks
my tongue reacquainted itself with his pleasure and my dick inside him, 
a handshake of sorts,
familiarity returned.
But in a strangers bed.
Who didn't wait for us to cum.
He wiped himself down, sprung off the bed and nonchalantly packed his gym bag.
He said we could continue somewhere else.
This was no time for a commercial break.
On the street, I felt confused
the soldier evaporated into the lazy summer Sunday afternoon.
The stranger who arrived late caught my attention and we recounted the details over cake and coffee.
My beard needed a wash.
I could wipe away cake crumbs with a napkin but it retained a particular scent. 
Not sugar and spice and all things nice 
nor whatever little boys are made of.
This smell is what men are made of:
a mature, intimate, addictive fragrance.
He went to meet his friends 
and I went to the gym.
Opportunity buzzed in my pocket
as I approached the turnstiles.
And my phone guided me to Elephant & Castle.
His flat was a little too tidy for any lasting friendship to bloom between us. 
This was purely help to unload.
Pleasure was impatient under the weight of foreplay's frustration.
He was slight enough for me to flip him over with one hand. 
I pulled his hips towards my face and dived, tongue first into his inviting crack.
After ten minutes hearing noises they usually make, he pulled away and said, 
"I'm really sorry, I don't think we're connecting."
He slipped on his underwear 
and raised his eyebrows as the waistband snapped against his youthful hips.
Perhaps to break the silence as I dressed.
Back on the tube to the gym.
I could smell two guys asses in my beard.
It didn't occur to me that other passengers might too.
I could smell two distinct flavours of masculinity.
I don't think other passengers made the same oldfactory observation.
I thought I needed to wash my beard
but deadlifting behind the squat rack
my line of vision inhaled the natural rise and tightening of shorts
as he lowered himself to the floor and
I wondered if another lick of this oldfactory puzzle would help answer 'what smell makes a man?'

Thursday, 13 October 2016

A POEM by Zia Álmos Yeshua X

just be yrself hot yeah clean just hawt REAL real hot yeah just MASC hot hung sane sorted yeah prefer would only with REAL m8 femmes fats no no no asians no blacks caucausian BIG HUNG yh real masculine not for mr. right now non-scene queens screaming yeah? yeah REAL MEN don't like like girls else I'd be with a yeah worked out healthy yeah negnegneg GYM FIT REAL LAD MUSCLE fun MUSCLE MUSCLE MUSCLE HUNG MUSCLE MUSCLE interesting genuine MUSCLE older tend to go for MUSCLE I'm not racist it's just a type from? just a type from? fun grrr from? type tatts like ink big hairy coupled chest no twinks BEARDED yeah yeah beards tatts but we all know he's slept with half of london str8-ginger yeah-acting yeah 100% be I real man just like my men to MEN real men just a type it's no fats no femmes its no fats no femmes no asians all these camp queens I'm just a normal not like all those just a normal like a normal just like a normal like a guy like a man I'm just like a guy but I'm gay and just I imagine you lying on top of so I can't breathe you crush all thinking from me and i think "this is ok, please end please stop" and I think of how much hope I had when I first saw two men kiss on a dancefloor it broke my heart I damn near cried from the fucking hope of not feeling like the world had to be so fucking hateful and dull that dullness no longer had to be a fetish but we keep asking where are our fathers went out for smokes or stayed in for disappointment, and when can we fuck them, suck the milk of their approval worship the light thru the windows, stained and kill our brother I think I'm bored of being tedious but how tedious is that so mostly I say nothing or a lot of nothing looking for HUNG tall muscle cub sweaty chem sesh yeah t/b top am hard-fucking rough top dom bottom will leave the door open RAW kiss me one more time before you leave HUNG?

eevee on grindr by Nik Way

i downloaded grindr just after pokemon go was released so naturally i pretended to be my favourite pokemon, eevee 

convo 1

OMG a pokemon!
imma catch u

um no thx

what u already got an owner?

no I’m a wild grasser for lyf
also not down with the whole capture
n imprison pokemon just to make em fight
against their will. ya feel?

Lol im talking to an eevee


Face pic?

Theres one on my profile

No, real face pic

Look Im an Eevee so thats my face

Ok then im articuno

Omigod ur so rare
amazin to meet u articuno

yeah n this water and flying type is flyin away

articuno is flying / ice bro

and u never gonna fuck me

err that took a weird turn but sure
im okay with that

[sends a pic of his butt and then blocks eevee]

convo 2

R u into older bottoms?

imma pokemon so dunno what
that means fam soz


Look this is me

Ur a cartoon???

Imma eevee

my husband and i r into BDSM

Good for u

u wanna be spit-roast & whipped?

Pretty sure interspecies pokemon
bestiality is like, well illegal m8

im 63

congrats im level five
u must’ve beaten a lotta gyms

u do chems?

does rare candy count?

ur not takin it srsly bye then 

convo 3

eevee is ma fave
caught one today

congrats fam. treat it well or
i’ll come at ya like a gyardos usin dragon rage

what u want to be when
ur older eevee?

dunno. happy would be nice but
ill settle for well fed

what u wanna evolve into

urgh well that’s a lot of effort u feel?
like for half of em I need to find magic
stones which are rare af and the rest
I need to become good friends with a trainer
during the day or night like no thx not worth
it just to get a glam mermaid tail or whatev

what made u make this profile
like why be eevee

I am eevee

ok but the guy behind
the profile why pick a pokemon
on a gay hook-up app?

for the lols. on here ppl either get the joke
or they have no idea whats going on. its just
for my own amusement.


I guess its also a reaction to the shallowness
of this thing like ur just scrolling through a face
mosaic thinkin ‘I could do better’ judging ppl
on their eyes or abs n like i cant do that
I dont think i can put my face up for judgement
n not get like knocked evrytime someon doesnt
reply cos i know all their goin on is my face like
thats too personal to broadcast to every other
gay guy in the area, on a place where ur very presence
means ‘i am alone’. so i have my fun bein an eevee
to avoid rejection and the lowering of self-worth
that comes with it

wanna suck my dick?



She said that road was closed
When a car fell through the pavement
Because everyone here knows
Rome is built on many layers

Streets on top of streets, centuries deep
I was half-listening to her but I was also
Checking out a guy in tightly fitting jeans
She said, ‘He’s not gay, he’s just Italian.’

Those telltale signs don’t translate here
Even body language was foreign to me
Back home I can suss men out speedily
With successful subtlety but here in Rome

My gaydar flashed left right everywhere
With many layers of miscommunication
So I turned to my trusty iPhone
For some serious investigation

I log on to Grindr; iPhone gay sex finder
Yep, ‘there’s an app for that’
I didn’t come to Rome for this
Random sex isn’t something that I miss

Almost a year without a one-night stand
This certainly wasn’t planned
But it was a welcome surprise
When he popped up on my iPhone screen

(Location 24 metres away)

My friend who grew up here said
She didn’t know anyone who was gay
Yet for two years this hot gay man
Has lived in the apartment above her

So I guess this guy knows how to
Keep his business undercover
But then came me and my poetry
Shamelessly, I expose late-night iniquity

While my friend slept, up the stairs
I crept to meet this man of mystery
If you’d asked before, I’d’ve said for sure
My days of sleeping around were history

But as he opened his apartment door, what I saw
In his wise eyes made me feel differently
How did I feel such heat for a complete stranger?
At 2 a.m. we meet, discreetly, and I feel no danger

We were smoking a spliff and listening to Radiohead
Next thing we were kissing and I was giving him ____
We had instant rapport, I felt so relaxed
There’s nothing I’d change if I could go back

And when he said he was coming to London
Clapham to be precise, my first thought was
To déjà vu this rendezvous would be nice
To walk on pavements cars don’t fall through

To speak loud and public with body language
But then I thought of why I had done this
And what I wanted to achieve. I had nothing
More to give and nothing I wanted to receive

From this ancient city where new technology
Found a tender moment in close proximity
Because now this night is eternal like Rome

And in this poem I can take Leonardo home.