Another Tinder date, another deceitful guy. This man was at least truthful about his age and appearance in his profile. But he failed to mention that after we ate at an expensive restaurant, he’d bail before paying for his meal. I need to go to the washroom was code for see you, sucker.

I decompressed at Packsers, the most reliably unchaotic gay bar. My weak hearing and the pulse-pounding music clashed, but the place had homey comfort. The club’s sea of men were coupled or had already decided which guys they’d flirt with later in the evening. I was an outlier. So was one other guy.

He was a scrawny, pale, thirty-something. His eyes had an adrift glint, and I felt urged to anchor him. I walked up to him and extended my arm for a handshake. “Jeffrey.”

The man stood there, staring at my hand for several seconds before he took it. “Pinocchio.”

“Cute name.”

Pinocchio smiled. “I have my father to thank for that.”

I returned a smile. “So, why’s a cute guy like you looking so lost?”

Pinocchio spoke figuratively. At least I guessed it was figurative. He said he was once a puppet but became a real man. That must be a metaphor for moving out of his dad’s house, free of the strings of childhood. When he completed his quest to ‘become human’, he’d wrestled over his sexuality until recently deciding he was gay.

“Wow, a real man,” I said, my hand on his shoulder.

Pinocchio blushed. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Come to my place. Show me what a real man can do.”

Pinocchio took a step forward, his crotch brushing against mine. “I’d love to.”

After walking to my place, we disrobed, and I was unimpressed. His hairy chest and defined pecs were nice, but the disappointment came when I looked further down. His dick was only about 4 inches.

“This might not work out,” I said. “Men need to go deep to hit my G-spot. Way deeper than average. None of the guys I’ve met have the dick to really do it. I mostly use an extra-large dildo.”

Pinocchio teared up.

“But we can try,” I said, tinged with guilt and compelled by his sensitivity.

Pinocchio wiped his eyes and got to work. He had poor technique.

“Do you hook up with guys often?” I asked.

“Uh, yes.” His nose grew several inches upon saying that. He tried to cover it, but not quick enough.

“Whoa, how’d you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, hands still covering his nose.

“I saw it grow.”

Pinocchio sighed. “It grows when I…lie.” 

I perked up. “Really?” 

“Yeah. The bigger the lie, the bigger the growth.”

“That’s fucking awesome.”

Pinocchio raised a pencil-thin eyebrow. “It is?”

“You can whisper sweet lies in my ass.”

“What do you mean?”

I took his hand. He held onto it tight. “Your nose could be like my dildo.”

Pinocchio knelt, nose touching my bottom. “I’ve never cried,” he lied, and his nose grew into me. That felt good. He said, “I’ve never been swallowed by a whale.” That felt even better, though I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. It must be another metaphor. He said, “I love The Phantom of the Opera.” I finished.

He came over every few days. 

“You never say the same lie twice,” I said one time.

He grinned. “I want to keep things fresh. Don’t want you to get bored with me.” 

I kissed him on the cheek. “No one’s ever made me feel so good.”

“I like that you need me.”

Time passed, days tangled together, pressing against each other. Pinocchio and I had been frequently meeting up for a year. In a rare instance, we lay in bed with his head on my shoulder in serene silence. His skin warmed me. I eventually said, “Do you see other guys?”

Pinocchio tensed. “Why are you asking me this now?”

My mouth was dry. Why did my eyes sting?

“You’re being weird,” Pinocchio said after a gap of silence.

Whatever this moment was building toward snapped away. I tried to disregard his warm body. “Just curious,” I said coldly.

“I see you more than anyone,” Pinocchio said, avoiding the question. I didn’t press him, and he kissed me. Our clothes went off, and he was in the usual position. The lies he told were so euphorically big that our earlier conversation almost left my mind.

I moaned. “Say something else!”

Pinocchio paused, eyes intense. With his nose inside me, he said, “I love you.”

A jolting pleasure I hadn’t felt before crashed down on me.