Hopefully My Face Stays Young Too

I have this theory, which I arrived at through a combination of empirical data, personal experience, and watching Mean Girls. 

In middle school, the normal boys and girls went girl/boy crazy respectively. For the next several years, they acted impulsively and naively when it came to "love." Jumping from one partner to the next, they didn't care about each others' feelings because they didn't quite understand their own. But nobody really got hurt because nobody really "got it." Also, nobody in middle school was having sex. (Except that one guy, who I still think was lying. And that one girl, who had no daddy.) It's the same when baby lions play-fight with one another so cutely in preparation for the day when they actually have to slaughter a cape buffalo.

Eventually, this adolescent practice gives way to the real thing. Feelings, maturity, and sexuality coalesce into meaningful relationships. By age 25, everyone is married even though the girls have yet to learn how to clean up their bathrooms and the boys still say "dude."

It's hard not to laugh, and then cry uncontrollably, when I reflect on my own middle school experience. About the same time I started lusting after my guy friends, they started lusting after girls. I felt like Julia Roberts running after that not famous guy running after Cameron Diaz in My Best Friend's Wedding. Of course, I had a string of fake girlfriends to fit in and deflect suspicion, but that wasn't exactly cathartic. My urges were forcibly suppressed, held back by the anti-ejaculative equivalent of the Hoover Dam.

This is where I arrived at my revelation: the reason why gay people are so fucking annoying. We are all emotionally arrested as 13 year-olds. We're boy crazy now because we never got a chance to be cute little sluts in middle school. But since we're at an age where we can act out on our childish feelings via blowjobs, we end up feeling more conflicted and distraught when our impulsive connections don't work out. It's gotten to the point where I can't really ride the metro because every time I see a really hot guy I have this full blown panic attack that can only be calmed by eating an entire french baguette with butter.

I'm not really sad or angry about it. I'm kind of seeing somebody now and he drives and pays so I feel all mature and stuff.

All the Single Men Are Sociopaths

There is a phrase basic people like to put on their Facebook profiles and lower backs, "Live each day as if it were your last." I've adapted it to my situation so that it reads, "Fuck each guy like you'll never see them again."

I say this phrase in my head repeatedly while hooking up with boys (in between silent renditions of Whitney Houston's version of the Star Spangled Banner) to remind myself that we all just want sex, and while I'm being honest, the guy on top of me (not a bottom, just lazy) is not good enough to warrant being done twice. 

Mostly, this has worked out well for me. Like Beyonce empowered me to do via "Independent Women Part I," after it's over I prefer to leave gracefully without the clunky exchange of numbers, job descriptions, and life stories. I've satisfied my needs and for the sake of my conscience would rather pretend our encounter was just a so-so dream somewhere in between the time I dreamed I was in The Help (high) and the time I dreamed we were all lizards (low).

I met a guy several weeks ago that was intent on tampering with my system. He was cute and cordial, inviting me back to his place to "cuddle" and "be innocent." "God this guy is dumb, I can't wait to get him pregnant," is what my drunk-self in-my-head-screamed. 

I sat on his couch waiting for him to get naked while he told me about his job and his British heritage. I was like, "Really? I thought you were Russian. Take off your pants." 

 

But halfway between him telling me how hot I was and seeing his eight inch cock, I found myself wanting to see him beyond this one night. I was excited to tell him that I lived just a few blocks away and I was flattered when he suggested seeing me again soon. I wanted to know his last name. Justin What.

Even so, I attempted to leave the next morning with my hopes in check. As I opened the door he stopped me, "Wait, I never got your number." He recited his for me to put into my phone and I candidly said, "I'll save you as Justin Newton Street so I can remember who you are." He laughed, "My last name's ______."

I haven't heard from him since then. Sent him two texts over the course of three days to no response and figured I would give it a rest. Saw him trolling around on Grindr before I decided to give that a rest too. What I don't understand is that when I gave him the perfect opportunity to do what he wanted to do all along, why didn't he take it? Why did he have to pretend to be interested when he wasn't?

I think his behavior bled beyond politeness into pathological. It's one thing to fake-tell somebody they're attractive and reveal a last name, but it's another to make future plans with no intention of following through. It seems as though he wanted what I wanted - to have nothing to do with each other, but he wanted to be the one to say so. 

I'm not entirely sure when all of this became such a game. And if I'm supposedly making the rules, why am I still losing?