ZOOMDOGGLE

TRUTH OR DARE:
Online Mating

It’s Wednesday, the day Zoom lets you play Truth or Dare with Drew. Think of him as your very own lab monkey. One with a very sordid past and very little shame. Got a question or dare? Send ‘em in and make him doggle for your delight…

TRUTH: Is Adult Friend Finder for real? I’ve never searched it out but it keeps showing up on my screen. The girls seem too good looking; I’m pretty sure it’s spam. —sentinbyrandom@whoreallycaresitsonlyweektwo.com

The Interweb is packed to the gills with spam and scam web sites offering easy money and bigger Johnsons, only one site though claims to have ladies looking for big easy Johnsons: Adult Friend Finder. But is it for real? As it’s been a few months since my girlfriend and I decided to call it quits, I decided there was only one way to solve this mystery.

DOGGLERS NOTE: There is actually another way to get to the bottom of this mystery as the site’s Palo Alto address and phone number are listed, but where is the fun in that? Plus, he kinda missed the boat the last time.

That said, on a recent rainy afternoon while searching for something, er, worth doing inside, I too came across the familiar Adult Friend Finder banner ad. “Meet willing singles in your area now! For free!”

Sign-up was simple. Address. Phone number. Preferred region. Credit card number. Wait, credit card number?!?! My scam-o-meter was off the charts, but as my identity is hardly a thing worth stealing, I decided to give them the digits and see where it went.

Within seconds I, _69MoonlightFucker69_, began to browse. The ladies looking to get it on ranged from naïve (PrincesslookingforMr.Right) to downright bizarre (AmazonWomanseeksgoldenshowers). Yet, despite my current state, and my only being here for research, it turns out I’ve got sort of high standards. CumNplay? Too fat. Bangmyassprincess? Not fat enough. I sent 10 e-mails to the first 10 ladies who met even my loosest criteria and headed out with a renewed sense of optimism. But after two days of hourly checking, and about 1,000 more emails, I gave up. Either the site is fake or I’m ugly.

I was midway though typing my report when the unexpected happened: “QuickNDirT” responded. She said she wanted to meet at her place tonight. Do spam-bots have apartments, or is it really this easy? There has to be a catch, some third nipple I missed or something.

An hour later the phone rang. “Is this MoonlightFucker?” she asked. I hesitated. Truth or Dare Mission 2 was now accomplished, but I was thinking the cure for loneliness was on the other end of the line. “I go by DaylightFucker before 6,” I said.

Self-doubt started to creep in during the half-hour drive to her Long Island abode (luckily, having just moved to town from Maine, I am still, saddled with car). Some of my worries were rational: What if she is a he? Others not so much: If I don’t get her off like she wants, will I be blacklisted on the site?

Before I knew it, I was plowing up the dirt road (cheap shot, I know; the road was paved. It was tight though. One lane but with traffic in both directions) to a small condo in a town I’ve yet to figure out the pronunciation of. The place was nice and, unless she was some sort of super college graduate, a sure sign she lived with her parents.

We made small talk (she was cute, I was nervous), and before I could ask if she’d been hooked by the spam-looking ad too, she excused herself to the bathroom. Family photos and sentimental objects adorned the country-style interior. CSPAN was on the tube. Could “QuickNDirT” be a girl I actually may want to date? Someone I could bring home to Mom?

Visions of me explaining to my Mom how DirT and I met came and went as she walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a silk slip. She shoved her tongue down my throat and started to rub me through my jeans. We continued to kiss up the stairs and into her bedroom. Here’s where things get interesting.

In between kisses, I opened my eyes to see dildos, nipple clamps and various sex toys occupying every inch of the shelf above her bed. “Where’s the red light?” I asked, but either she didn’t get the joke or didn’t care to answer. How is it that Ma and Pa never saw their kitten’s dungeon?

As things became more intimate, I became more uncomfortable. Her hands, obviously well-rehearsed, deftly exchanged vibrating gizmos, clamping apparatuses and lubes in and out of the action—thankfully none of it was in and out of my action—still, how magical it wasn’t. After about 20 minutes, I began to pray for an end.

“You sure your parents are gone?” Again no answer. I was just a scratching-post to her by now (and not a very firm one), when she uttered the best words my mind could have heard at that time. “I’m close.” Sweet relief was near.

Turns out it wasn’t the only thing; just then, her door swung open! Her parents? No.

“Damian, get out!” she screamed as her brother’s eyes met mine. I didn’t know how I should react to his 15-year-old face gawking at us. Do I smile? Maybe give him the double guns? Before I could react he feebly shut the door.

Seeing I was concerned, she volunteered the following:
“Oh, don’t worry about him. He does it all the time. He’s gay.”

The statement raised more questions than answers. What’s his gayness got to do with anything? How often is “all the time” for these two? And what are the odds that Chris Hansen has visited this Long Island abode? I still don’t have the answers to these questions (and that’s just the short list), but I hope I’ve answered yours. The site seems to be for real, even if some of the people on it don’t. What’s next? I choose dare.

—Drew@zoomdoggle.com

ONE LAST NOTE: Over beers with Drew recently he confessed that, although he promptly removed his profile from the site, he did call his new friend back. Not once, but twice. What does this say about him? We didn’t ask and he didn’t tell; some doggles are best kept secret anyhow. Tomorrow a doggle of a more wholesome note.