Welcome to The Cruising Log
Because sometimes the thirst is real, the profiles are blank, the tea is worth spilling—
and the jockstrap you grabbed from the hook in the showers has more personality than most of the torsos on your screen.
It always starts the same way: I’m out and about, minding my own business, rocking a custom-made hat or t-shirt from TURNIP TEEZ that’s loud enough to get me side-eyes at church but tasteful enough to wear on the street. Not just clothes—they’re conversation starters for people who don’t actually want to talk. Subtle signals.
Then it happens. I catch the look. You know the one. That quick flash of recognition, the one that tries to pass itself off as casual disinterest but hits my neurospidey senses like a klaxon. Microexpression. Tick. Tell. Boom.
And I know. I know you’ve seen my profile. You know the hat. You’ve clocked the shirt. You remember the face. You’re the anonymous profile with no pic at all, or maybe just a single torso shot, or a gallery of artsy landscapes and quotes that mean nothing to anyone but you. You swipe silently, lurk curiously, and then—bam! There we are. Same grocery store. Same sidewalk. Same elevator. Your poker face? Cute. But dude, you flinched.
This is where it gets fun. My brain, finely tuned to pick up on the smallest tells (thanks, neurodivergence—you da real MVP), starts working like a horny little supercomputer. Who could it be? Was it the guy by the apples? The one with the nervous smile in the elevator? You blinked. You smirked. You hesitated. You knew. And now I know you know.
And listen—I get it. Not everyone wants to be open. Anonymity can be armour, especially in the world of app-based connections. But if you’re going to clock me in public, maybe don’t do it with the full facial expression range of a telenovela extra. Because now I’ve got a new game: Match That Mystery Man.
So go ahead. Stay anonymous. Keep the profile blank. But just know—if you recognize me and react, I will definitely see it. And later, when I’m back home, scrolling through the sea of torsos and sunsets, I’ll be piecing it together like a crime scene investigator in assless shorts.
I see you, mystery man. And damn, you’re cute when you’re nervous.
turnip HED
