A: I'm suspicious of that phrase. Everyone who uses it is usually about to sell you something.
What I do is smaller. I remember what you told me last time. I text when I said I would. I turn up when I said I'd turn up, having actually read your message rather than skimmed it.
Extra mile is a large claim. Doing the ordinary thing reliably turns out to be much rarer.
A: Barely one, and I'd rather admit it than invent a routine.
I walk a lot. I cook properly most nights, which has done more for me than any gym membership ever did. I haven't lifted anything heavier than a suitcase in years.
If you want someone with a strict regimen and an eight-pack, there's an abundance here and they've earned it.
I'm the one who'll make you dinner.
A: That I write about my own life under my own name. Inching being on here, and including the year it came apart, which involved hospitals and a diagnosis I'm not coy about.
I don't lead with it. I don't hide it either.
It matters here for one reason. I know exactly what it's like to need someone to be kind to you and have no acceptable way to ask for it.
That turns out to be most of what men are doing when they write to me, whether or not they'd put it that way.
A: I run a Dungeons & Dragons game. Badly, with enormous enthusiasm, and I'm the one who turns up with snacks and a spreadsheet.
Otherwise: hiking, cooking for more people than are actually coming, and cribbage, about which I'm competitive in a way that embarrasses everyone including me.
And long walks with no particular destination. I do most of my thinking at the pace of a man who doesn't have to be anywhere.
A: That I have two kids, a mortgage, a doctorate and a government job with a pension, and that none of it is what you'd guess from this page.
That I came to this at thirty-four, after a year that took my life apart, and that I write about all of it under my own name — either brave or a lapse in judgement, depending on the day you ask.
Then I'd stop talking and ask what you do, and actually want the long answer, including the parts you usually skip because people's eyes glaze.
That's the part I'm good at. The listening, not the telling, even though I have my share to tell.
A: No nudes. No mention of sex anywhere on my profile. And I'm not winning in the body department — the competition here is mostly Greek gods and I'm just a regular guy in his thirties who sits at a desk for a living and hasn't been to the gym in a while.
What's left is my face, my smile, whatever I've written on my profile, and reviews from men saying I was good.
Then the unglamorous part. I'm a registered business. A real name, published rates, a booking system, every dollar tracked with sales tax paid. You book a time and the time is yours — no haggling, no vanishing, no deposit into a stranger's account that never existed.
It's the least sexy thing about me and the reason nothing here ever gets complicated.
A: Men who don't know what they're booking.
The ones who spend two weeks writing four sentences and deleting them. Who open with an apology for writing at all.
I'm not the fantasy on the other tabs. I'm slower than that, and most of what I do is pay attention to what you want, and give it back to you.
If you want a body, there are two hundred better ones on this site. If you want to be in a room with someone who's actually listening and paying attention to your needs, that's the niche.