My Big Gay Time Machine
Getting out of a 17-year monogamous homosexual relationship is like waking up from a deep coma. I am alive in an entirely different era than when I was last single in 1997. I have taken a big gay time machine to a new world – full of Grindr, Scruff, OKCupid, Tinder, Hornet, and Jack’d, to name a few. There is nomenclature that didn’t exist before I partnered up. When I was a twink, twinks were called “chickens,” and older gays were called “trolls” or “chicken-hawks.” The term “daddy” only referred to a sugar daddy, and not in a desirable way. At least I’m a “daddy” during a time when daddies are considered hot. That’s a trend I’m going to ride. Literally.
So there I was, several months into my separation from my ex-husband, and shopping at Bed Bath & Beyoncé in a highly emotional state. I wanted all new sheets for my brand-new mattress, so in a carefree fashion I threw heaps of them into my shopping cart. I chose black to symbolize the death of my marriage, because it was the most dramatic way to go. Weeks later, I realized that being newly single with black sheets was probably one of the worst ideas in gay history. No one needed a black light to observe how fun my weekend was – just a set of eyes. My friends always tell me they’re doing the “walk of shame,” but fortunately I only have to do the “wash of shame.”
Shame is something that is powerfully present in the gay community in 2015. People never used terms like “a sea of torsos” before smart phones came along and made our interactions a lot more stupid. We ascertain if we have chemistry with someone based off the same exact conversation, which goes like this:
Bored. Horny lol.
sure, trade only.
The rest is determined by how well those pics are received – and heaven forbid he’s not photogenic, because then it’s “Bye Felicia.” HOW RIDICULOUS IS THAT? I know I’m not the first to mention this insanity, but from my perspective it’s all new and I think it’s crap. I had to give myself a quick 101 on modern gay culture and figure out how to “brand myself.” That’s what it is. That’s what we’ve done to ourselves. We’ve fu*king branded ourselves.
Are you masc? A dom? A top? A power bottom? Not sure? Oh, well you better figure it out quickly, or you’ll be eaten alive like a small cow caught in a school of piranhas, or worse – be ignored and fade away into nothingness. Gay people have enough pressure to deal with from society itself, so why are we putting additional pressure on ourselves? We need to stop beating ourselves up. We need to stop fetishizing ourselves over and over and over again. We’re not characters – we’re people, and I want to date some of you!
At the very least, our most precious assets (our penises) should be kept a secret until you actually unearth them in person. But no, there are no such things as private parts for adults anymore. Part of me understands this need to see the D – I’m in no way a prude. But I can remember when it was a complete surprise, and sometimes it was better than Christmas Day. Now we have galleries of penises to show and compare with our friends. Even if you haven’t directly sent someone a pic of your D, if you have one out there, everyone’s seen it.
I’m not necessarily complaining. I’m just venting and adjusting, and having to do so quickly. I’m sure in a year I’ll revisit this article and think it sounds old-fashioned. By then I’ll be able to discuss what it’s like to date as an actual gay dad, which already horrifies me to no end. In the meantime, I’m putting my brand out there on display, just like everyone else, with a big sign under me that says “not looking.” And we all know what that means …