Singlehood has its ups and downs. Years ago, when cruisy websites like Manhut first appeared, friends blabbed on about guys they were meeting and made it seem like an easier way to hook up.
I joined the free version of Manhunt with a profile staying reasonably true to myself, but in a much sexier way. The pictures were current. My stats were correct. I had everything I needed for some good John Doe style quickie sex.
Guys dropped messages here and there. But they often talked the talk without walking the walk to my front door – I didn’t meet them in person. It didn’t bother me since my own flake factor was probably just as high.
My 20-something attention span waned until one man, BicepRex, shot me a message one day. He flattered me with compliments while I tried to do the same. I didn’t go for the big muscle types; they usually seemed so arrogant and smug that flirting with them only made me feel desperate and inferior. But this guy hit on me first, eliminating any qualms I had with seeking the super-studs.
BicepRex and I exchanged phone numbers and sent texts back and forth to figure out the right moment to meet. He said he could come over after the gym. I was nervous – I’d never hooked up that way.
But as planned, Mr. Rex showed up, looking like he had just worked out – in a good way. His arms did his profile’s headline justice, and the photos hadn’t lied. I invited him in. As he peeked around my tiny apartment, I felt awkward, like a schoolboy waiting for his first kiss.
I suggested we take three steps to my bedroom. Mr. Rex stopped scanning the room and locked eyes with me.
“Nevermind,” he said. “I can’t do this.”
At a loss for words, I wasn’t even sure what he meant. I tried asking him what was happening as he opened the door to hurry out.
“I’m sorry, dude. Have a good night.”
As quickly as he had walked in, BicepRex left me standing alone in the doorway with a blank look on my face. What had happened? Was I too ugly? Did I not have enough money? Did he not like the fact that I had a cat?
My brain locked down the ugly factor. Of course – he had the body of a god while I was a pipsqueak cursed with tiny hands. Not since high school had I felt so hideously ugly. All I wanted was some no-strings- attached fun, and now I felt like my strings weren’t even attractive enough for that.
I immediately turned to my computer and logged back on Manhunt to find his profile. I analyzed his photos to think of every unattractive thing I could. Sure, he had a good body, but he clearly had juiced up to get those big pectorals and ripped abs. And his face wasn’t that great. He had big ears, and his face was long and weathered from all his time spent in tanning beds.
Who was I kidding? I always thought big ears were sexy. I was the pale guy who sat alone in rejection.
For weeks I overanalyzed the encounter. After deleting my Manhunt profile, I coaxed friends to help tell me I was good looking and that other men were just dumb. The mirrors in my home became reflections of why I wasn’t good enough. I would stare for long periods to pinpoint all of the unattractive parts of my face.
That one moment of rejection brought my self-esteem to a new low. For the next year, I could not muster a feeling of confidence without Mr. Rex’s “nevermind” popping up in my mind.
I would never actually know what went through Mr. Rex’s head that night. Perhaps he’d been dating someone just long enough to feel guilty about a hookup. Maybe he’d recently had recently an HIV diagnosis and didn’t know how to navigate a sexy meet-up. Or perhaps it wasn’t about not finding me attractive. Maybe I simply had too-thin skin for rejection.
In any case, the one thing I did know for sure was that I could no longer get my sense of self from guys whose screen names underlined their bulging body parts.
