Part 4
It's September now, day 30something since I got fucked. I stopped actually keeping track around the 4th day, but it's hard not to divide my life into BC and AD around this. 
There should be other split points. Other moments of greater significance. Leaving home, getting a job, graduating, but instead, this is my milestone. 

(This is also as good a time as any to mention the fact that when I got fucked, there was this weird moment where I was told to "open my mouth" and he leaned over and spit into my open mouth. He also later asked me to "I don't usually let guys do this, but you're special" spit into his mouth. I have determined I Do Not Care for This at all, but evidently I taste "good" (Cardamom! For fresh and fragrant breath!) I want this detail recorded for posterity. Ya boi is "special")

But it's September (day 30whatever) and it's 4 in the morning. I can't sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night, and out of curiosity, out of idleness, out of habit, I downloaded Grindr. The app I Should Not Have.
I still had pics (nudez) left over from the last time (shitty ones, turns out gross ass basement apartments don't come with good lighting or photo opportunities) and I say, "let's see what's out there" And swallow down (increasingly easy as I lose my gag reflex) the knowledge that this is a really fucking bad idea. 

So I go online, I post a picture, I wait for it to get approved, write something stupid and catchy ("Make me your bitch" has at one point been my line, like I would have any idea what to do if they did) and I fill out my stats and wait. I know the drill by now. 
Picture confirmed.
I start tapping, and messaging the guys who catch my eye. A couple come back, the less hot ones, mostly, and old guys from 4 miles away start predictably chatting me up. I used to parry back with jokes. That seems cruel now, so I just ignore them. One of them is hot. We chat. We sext in a clunky, mostly picture way that is very, very Grindr (you would think being gay permanently damaged the language centers of the brain). Fine, the pics are pretty hot, and another guy, one I messaged the last time (before I shut myself down, and deleted the app) who remembers me and is very into my ass, has started chatting with a little more skill. Good enough.


Hot old guy is starting to get pretty damn concrete, and I'm getting nervous. And I'm pleased by that, and a little embarrassed.
The guy who likes my ass has started talking about dirty underwear. I am Not Into That, and I'm pretty sure he's catfishing me (his profile pic is ripped, he has not sent me one shirtless pic. As if there were a muscled gay man on earth that modest) but for some reason, I go along. Why do I do that? Why am I doing this at all?
I cycle back through, there's a cute guy (a HOT guy, ripped and short, just like- fuck- I'll ignore that, not now) and he didn't respond to my last message.

He's worth a little embarrassment though, so I follow up my last "Hey" (I gave up on quality openers a long time ago) with a face pic. Lots of guys are weird about that. Not enough time in the closet, I guess (as if that's the only reason you wouldn't want your face as the headline for what's essentially an "I'M DESPERATE FOR SEX" message board).
Sure enough, he responds in less than a minute (the pic is from a set I randomly took (for the purpose of seducing boyz, so maybe not that random) during golden hour, and it's the best I've ever looked in my life).


He asks me "what's up" (eloquence, the gay virtue) and I tell him I'm "looking for someone to fuck me. Lol."
He likes that. They always like that. 

You can almost smell the lust floating off the screen. And Fuck Do I Get High Off That.


That's what I'm here for. I'm not looking for love or really even for sex, I'm looking for someone who will look at me and want me, who will make me feel fuckable. I'm here to get drunk off the power, off the ease, of making people feel that way about me. Of making people lust after me. 
So he's into me, and underwear catfish is into me. This is shaping up to be a good night. And oh hey, a weird-photo profile, but he can actually hold a conversation. Fun. Novel.

And it turns out short boy is damn fine. Like, a YouTuber with the body of a Ken doll but with a real dick. And, I, shit am I actually going to get fucked tonight? 
He asks for ass pictures, I oblige, I always oblige. This is going very well. Catfish underwear is turning in for the night. I promise him I will wear the underwear for days (I will not, Not Into That). And Ken doll asks for another face pic. 


I assume (based on no data) that boys don't like it when you send them pics that were clearly taken at the same time. That is not good data for making sure you're not hopping into bed with Quasimodo. 

I don't have any other pictures of my face, other than one of me posing with a shittyish self portrait I drew at the art museum (it has orange lips and holes punched through itself because I Don't Like Me Anymore).
So I take a selfie. I don't care for it but, he's seen my ass and if this takes to long the jig is up, so I send it.
And he immediately vanishes. He blocked me. 


And I laugh (I also agree, personally) but then the joke fades. And I start feeling like shit. This isn't the first time I've been rejected. But it's only the second time the door was slammed in my literal face.

I never used to look at myself and think about what I looked like to other people. I considered myself objectively, like a portrait, or a statue, and I noticed flaws, and positive features, but I never considered what other people saw. What was standout, unusual, what they might be looking for or like or be disgusted by. That wasn't the point of me. I was all personality, the face was an accident.

And then all of a sudden it mattered. It mattered a lot, more than anything else really, and my eyes were opened. I found out I'm better looking (maybe? Or maybe Grindr is just more desperate) than I thought. I started more actively considering my appearance (good?). But I also started measuring myself. And I don't measure well.
Am I in his league? Is his hair better than mine? Is my hair Bad? Are my clothes, is my skin? Are my arms, what about this flab on my stomach? Will he see? Will he notice? How can I keep him from telling? He's better than me, he looks better, he is better, look how pretty good eyes are, his hair, his shoulders, his legs, look how bad mine are, why am I so fucking gross, how can I fix this?

Grindr, bitches.

I shut the thing off and go to bed, but I can't sleep. I'll check it three more times during the night, and never go back to bed. The one time I doze off I wake up sick to my stomach and I don't try to fall asleep again. I've never had trouble sleeping before.