Short horror stories

real paranormal

A Different Kind of Grindr 

I've only told this story to my closest friends. I haven't even confided in my sister (for fear of the obvious shame). Please buckle in because this tale needs to be told in length.

I went to college in a Chicago, which has a large gay community. Now, gay men are true champions of leveraging technology to their sexual prowess. Grindr was on the map as the go-to hookup app years before the straights got into a tizzy about Tinder. I normally used Grindr to expedite getting my rocks off, but I was having an off-week and decided to use a platform that's more to the point: Craigslist.

I posted a listing looking for a hookup with a good-looking, slightly-older man, and within a few hours I settled on a fit 30-something. This was a Friday night, and he agreed to pick me up at my apartment building. Then he would take me back to his place and we'd fool around.

He picks me up at my nearest intersection. He's just as attractive as his picture, yes, but something is off personality-wise. I can only describe it as he was a little "off," but he wasn't "off" in a slow or stupid way. In fact, it was the total opposite. He was incredibly nice. His voice was kind and light, but there was something too practiced behind it. In retrospect, the more I think about it, the more it feels rehearsed, calculated -like a razor blade hiding in a Popsicle.

He asked me a little about myself, but then he didn't respond when I would ask him the same questions. He'd just smile and laugh it off. What I did manage to get out of him was that he worked in real estate (remember this).

He had told me earlier through email that he lived on X and Y street. I wrote this off as a blip originally because these 2 streets ran parallel, and he essentially told me that he lived in the middle of the road.

We were in his car for about 8 minutes when he had already passed these 2 streets by a few blocks. I lived in a popular, walkable area, and at this moment I told myself, "You can get out of the car now and you can run home. You're still close enough," but I ignored my gut. I told myself that I was over analyzing this.

We get to his place after a 35 minute car ride. We're out of the city and in a neighborhood. Right away, his house is clean. But again, it's too clean. Everything was so polished, nothing out of place. There was a Dexter-level of cleanliness to it.

We go into the kitchen, which was in the back of the house, and after a minute or two of more awkward conversation, I wrap my hands around him and kiss him.

Except he doesn't "receive the kiss." My lips make contact with his, but his lips remain flat and at-rest. There is a moment of pause, and he smiles against my kiss. This wasn't a friendly smile; this was a "knowing" smirk. He tells me this is his first time, and he's very, very nervous. He excuses himself and RUNS down to the basement. The stairs down are next to the kitchen. They are not a straight staircase; they turn at a right angle halfway down, which prevents me from seeing what's downstairs.

He's down there for a good 5-10 minutes. I hear stuff rustling around -metal things clanking together. I yell down to get him back up. The sound stops. No reply. It starts again.

I run to the bathroom and lock the door. I think about jumping out the window (it's a ranch). I text a friend. He's tells me to get out. But I don't want to offend my host.

There's a knock on the bathroom door and he says to meet him in the bedroom. The kitchen is next to the bathroom. I consider pocketing a kitchen knife.

He comes back up and we finally start fooling around. He won't kiss, and he keeps telling me that this is his first time doing this. The weird thing is that he's oddly comfortable with my body, and he is actually good at gay stuff. He gets very aggressive at one point. I looked around the room and spotted a blue, glass vase. I tell myself that I can use this as a weapon if need be.