Odd Man Out
What I wish I knew about LGBTQ+ dating when I was 18.
Story by Jack Taylor | Illustration by Tristan Bedell
Putting it simply: Feeling inadequate is like watching everyone laugh at a joke when you don’t catch the punchline.
Growing up gay at a Catholic school, I begrudgingly accepted that my dating life would not begin until I started college. For a while, I had been content with passing my teenage years immersed in Young Adult fiction that showed boys my age coming out of the closet and falling in love. But beyond those pages, my chances of embarking on a novel-worthy romance seemed stacked against me.
While my family was exceedingly supportive, society conditioned me into thinking my life was pointless until I had a romance to brag about.
The hours I spent romanticizing about what could be only made the fiction inside my head more dangerous. Those fantasies were much sweeter in comparison to the reality I encountered when I began to express myself.
After high school graduation, I looked around and realized I had missed out on a special high school experience, one that could not be found in any class lecture or assembly. Most of my friends and peers had some sort of dating experience, whether it was a cute coffee date or hooking up. Meanwhile, I hadn’t even had my first kiss — let alone held hands with another boy.
All I had under my belt was that time a friend from theater camp ‘accidentally’ sent me a nude picture of himself while I was in theater rehearsal. Not the kind of romance that one writes home about.
In moments of wallowing, I imagined a future of isolation — sitting alone on a park bench, feeding ducks with no one to keep me company until I died alone. While it may sound melodramatic, I felt that if I didn’t change myself, no one would want to be with me. I told myself that the person who has zero dating experience in their 20s is never gonna land a relationship, right?
I decided I needed to bust my ass the summer before college and catch up to my peers, lest I permanently be the odd man out.
What started with good intentions of finding a nice boy, turned into a panicked race to date and have sex which rapidly consumed my life that summer. I did what I thought was natural and signed up for dating apps like Tinder and Grindr. While it may be called online dating, I soon discovered that those platforms offered a version of “dating” I hadn’t expected.
I decided I needed to bust my ass the summer before college and catch up to my peers, lest I permanently be the odd man out.
I entertained visions of being swept away on romantic dates to Paris like Carrie Bradshaw in “Sex and the City,” yet I found myself lying to my family to have second-rate sex in random men’s houses and public bathrooms. I must have seemed like a social butterfly, but I couldn’t shake feeling slimy and dishonest.
You can’t really tell your mom and dad about a hookup with a guy who starts the conversation with “u up?”
Lying and hooking up became second nature, and yet the fact that I couldn’t land a serious partner crushed me. I started to believe that because I am short, or not wild enough, guys were simply not interested in seeing me past an initial hookup.
You can’t really tell your mom and dad about a hookup with a guy who starts the conversation with “u up?”
Inadequacy spread like a virus, and that feeling drove me to perform sexual acts that not only ruined my mental health but put my sexual health in jeopardy. When someone feels alone and the only outlet to quench that feeling is by hooking up, they will do just about anything without thinking of the consequences.
I soon started to feel like a piece of sushi on a conveyor belt, simply waiting for random men to come and have their pick of me and discard what was left.
As awful as it sounds, it wasn’t until I had unprotected sex and faced the fear of contracting HIV that I realized I had to think smarter about how I interacted with men.
There’s no shame in hooking up with men online. Let’s be clear about that. I would be lying if I said I have completely turned the page on that chapter of my life. I still get horny like everyone else, but now I feel more mature and prepared for casual sex and the current dating culture.
Since hitting what felt like the rock bottom of the dating pool, I started reflecting on the choices I had been making in my life. What started as a quest to find love had quickly turned into a constant charade of lying to my friends and family, which in turn hurt myself more than I anticipated. It began to feel like I had been living a double life, where those closest to me didn’t know the real me.
I soon started to feel like a piece of sushi on a conveyor belt, simply waiting for random men to come and have their pick of me and discard what was left.
It pains me that I willingly put myself into situations that I knew I shouldn’t be in, all because I wanted to feel desired by a man. And I’m not alone. When your online feed is littered with random torso pictures, the sense of community starts to deteriorate before your eyes.
It’s well documented but rarely discussed, that gay men often struggle with loneliness and suffer from depression. Growing up, I saw little representation of LGBTQ+ characters in the media. I was too young to watch “Will & Grace” and shows like “Glee” hardly depicted what life was actually like for gay people.
This issue of insufficient representation is felt by everyone within the LGBTQ+ community. I imagine it’s difficult for my straight friends to realize how frustrating romance can become when there are so few accurate depictions of what LGBTQ+ people experience.
Everyone has their fair share of growing pains and awkward sex stories. But the truth is, LGBTQ+ people go through the wringer in romantic relationships because we are often not given the privilege and space to experiment in our teens.
As to what changed in me, it’s hard to say. I guess I grew tired of intentionally putting myself in situations where respect and dignity were not on the table.
While I still hook up with men, I now speak up for myself, and not to be crude, but I make sure my needs are satisfied, too.
I also have come to embrace the advantages of being alone. Having time by myself can be extremely refreshing, and while I am by no means an introvert, a little solitude and journaling have allowed me to sort out what I need to work on in my life.
Quite plainly, life has more to offer than romance. I now know what to expect when I go on a date and that a hookup is, more often than not, simply a hookup. The unrealistic conquest to find love as soon as possible places immense pressure on our generation — as if there is something wrong with finding your partner in your 30s or 40s or at any age.
I am only 22, which in the grand scheme of life, is still incredibly young. Now when I dream, I picture a rewarding career, spending time with those I love and traveling to new places. My search for a lover is no longer the top priority.
There’s more to life than dating and men, and while I still catch feelings here and there, I no longer spend all my time dreaming about relationships.
I guess it just took me a little longer to discover that the person who can truly make me happiest is myself.
