Adventures in Internet Dating

This series examines my plunge into the world of internet dating. I had my share of pitfalls as well as my share of triumphs and discoveries about myself.

Part 1: The Let Down

As I ventured into the gay dating world, I was filled with apprehension. I didn’t want to get mixed up with anybody who didn’t respect my boundaries. Although things with Cowboy Mark ended for related reasons, my optimism for a relationship with Anderson dwindled as he began rehearsals for another show and there was no time for me.

I felt a little bit selfish not being more patient—not waiting around—but after 3 weeks of not seeing him, I was lonely. I needed a change.

That’s when Hunter came into the picture. Hunter had come into my office months earlier. I had just gotten back from Canada and he’d stopped by to take care of some business for school. He had his suspicions of me and tested the waters.

“Canada, eh? I served my mission in Alberta. And last summer I lived in Toronto on Church Street?”

“Really? Isn’t it great?” I exclaimed as he sat across from me in my desk.

His bright blue eyes twinkled a bit with curiosity as he probed. He described in detail his experiences living amongst the drag queens, clubbing, and the annual gay PRIDE parade.

I was cautious. I knew exactly what was going on, but I played coy. I wasn’t ready to be that open at work. I wasn’t that ready to flirt with another guy in public. I smiled. I blushed. I did not—however—let on that his advances—his bashful grin, his directed gazes at my reaction to his more pointed descriptions—were making me very happy deep down.

It was all lost on me, I suppose. We both left it at curiosity for a couple of months. I met Anderson and Cowboy Mark and learned my lessons there while he went on his own journey in a new school with new people.

Then, running into him one day, I came out to him. I explained that I was closeted-ly coy that day and that we should hang out sometime. As we found out months after that exchange in my office, it was an interesting transition for both of us.

“I don’t know why I even suggested we go to Olive Garden. It doesn’t make sense to go on a date somewhere I eat and work on a daily basis even if the food is pretty good. You’d think I’d be sick of things like everything else,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been a difficult transition here. That’s all.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Friends have been hard to come by and everyone’s just interested in sex. They’ve lost touch with a part of themselves.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t believe in the Church anymore—I’ve even asked that my records be removed—but that doesn’t mean I have to shed all of my morals and sleep with every guy I see. You can’t abandon the spiritual because everything happens for a reason.”

By this point, I had forged an identity as an active, gay, dating Mormon and this really struck me. He might not be LDS anymore, but he was in a place that I respected. Spiritual and confident. It was really endearing to find someone that valued that balance in life and was actively pursuing a relationship. That moment really moved me. There really were other good guys out there who had been through this without “losing touch” or becoming bitter in some way. I pulled up all of the shields and defenses I had down. I’d already found blonde, blue-eyed Hunter cute, but at that moment, my heart got a little caught up in the possibility of a serious relationship with him. In that moment, he became one of the few people in that inner circle who could ask me anything and receive a completely honest answer.

“I haven’t really figured out this gay thing yet, you know?” I said as we finished our dinner. I want to have everything, but know that I can’t. It’s not often you run into somebody like you.”

“That’s very true. Especially here. That’s part of the reason I’m leaving.”

My jaw dropped (figuratively speaking).

“Leaving?”

“I’ve prayed and meditated and this isn’t where I’m supposed to be. I only have a few friends here and I don’t think my major’s working out like I thought it would….”

I slipped into a mild funk of disappointment—frustrated in part that I could get worked up over him so easily and then be let down just as easily.

I think he sensed that as the waitress asked about the check: “Together or separate?”

“Separate,” he said without any of the ritual, gay-date hesitation.

We were just friends.

In consolation, though, Hunter offered a bit of advice as he walked me to my car: “I’m sorry we didn’t get to hang out more. You’re even cooler and cuter than I’d thought. I’m only saying this because it’s helped me, but I think it would be a good idea for you to try using the internet to find guys. Not one of those skanky, hookup sites. Something honest and open and rated PG-13.”

I was a little dumbfounded. It was as if I had failed at dating. That’s what desperate, horny guys use. Was I that desperate and out-of-control? Coming from anybody but him—someone with values and integrity—I would have been offended, but he meant everything he said and cared for everyone he knew, so I took the plunge.

End, Part 1.

AfterMARK, Part 9

Misfire

The shock of getting busted for parking didn’t wear off very easily. Sure, I’d laugh at it in conversation with Cole, but it was really my first brush with danger. What if I’d gotten fined? What if the officer had been one of those psychos?

Things with Anderson did take a toll whether as a result of the incident or because of our schedules. Conversations grew infrequent, but we remained in contact.

Meanwhile, conversations with Cowboy Mark continued at a steady pace. Often, he would text me about the beautiful autumn weather or a line of poetry and I would think, Geez, he’s the perfect guy: sensitive, manly, sincere… but not for me.

On our last date, my mind kept going back to the original Mark—the one that had remained so perfect in my mind and heart for so long. To say that I would ever feel exactly the same about any other Mark (or any other man, for that matter), would be a lie. Just as I believe every individual is unique, so is every relationship.

We found ourselves at his place. I’d come over to watch TV with him and little did I know we were in the midst of the World Series. He sat in the recliner as I laid on the couch. Between innings, I ran upstairs to grab some drinks, noting again his ability to be a manly gay man in the details of his house:

Light beer was his drink of choice. Cowboy Mark’s kitchen embraced a “rooster” motif (for reasons that might take you a moment to process). And the living room where we found ourselves watching the game was also thematically decorated with photos of wildlife and pieces of taxidermy.

Although, I tried as hard as I could to appreciate baseball, I found myself falling asleep after drinking a Diet Coke. A few hours later, I awoke to find myself in his bed. As much as I love cuddling, I was not prepared for this. I immediately tensed up and searched for excuses. It was an awakening of other sorts as well.

Getting up, I woke him and explained uneasily, “I need to get home. I have a paper to write early tomorrow.” And like that it was over—the text-messaged lines of poetry subsided and we started avoiding each other at the gym.

It turned out my dreams for an atypical, manly guy were short-sighted and that my first love was still casting a heavy shadow over my love life and perhaps always would. My first love had become the standard every other man, whether that be this other Mark or Jack or Anderson, in my life would be measured against whether I liked it or not.

End of Series

The title AfterMARK references a TV show from 1983-85 called AfterMASH, a spinoff of M*A*S*H which was a pun on the word ‘aftermath.’ The problem with many spinoffs is that they are more about the old show rather than the new characters or situations presented. This was the aftermath of Mark.

AfterMARK, Part 8

Playing with Fireworks

Weeks after our first date, Anderson and I finally found time to go on another.

Just as with Cowboy Mark, dinner and a movie seemed like a safe bet. Relatively little planning, opportunities to converse and cuddle, etc. made the date an ideal situation for two busy GMBs.

I took a courageous step and took him to a local restaurant. There was a mystique of being out in the open and on a date in public yet almost completely closeted. Was I being stupid? Impulsive? Bold? Rebellious?

No one I knew was there, but surely someone who knew me or my parents was. In a way, a novel sense of normalcy encompassed the act of going to a local restaurant in the company of couples who had frequented it for well over five decades.

In a way, we are the same, I thought. Their married, seventy-something, heterosexual dinner dates seemed just as valid as our own, and as we ordered I imagined the couple across the room doing the same thing half a century ago. His peppered mustache and hair turned jet black and her purple-tinged grey reverted to its former state—a mousy, reddish brown.

In fifty years, no one will look back on this date and turn his nose at it, I wondered as they left. Where are they were off to? Maybe home to watch the same movie or perhaps to spend the night in each other’s arms like that night I shared on the stage with Anderson?

That night, we meandered through a number of topics at dinner(although limited mostly to theatre and television), and I realized that there was an undeniable physical attraction. The sensation of his stubbled face against mine and the ever-present tone of kindness in his voice made me smile at an instant. The differences in age and intellect didn’t seem to matter as much as I thought it would.

An hour later, we found ourselves in a park watching the moon rise over the waters and the movie Penelope on my laptop. As it got cold, we retreated to my car to finish the movie.

As we watched arguably one of the most timeless kisses in cinema history (with James McEvoy—arguably one of the most handsome men of cinema history), our hearts began to pound and any conversation we had at that moment is now well-forgotten.

All I remember is his hand pressing against my cheek gently drawing me closer to his stubbled face. We both smiled briefly as we closed our eyes and I joined him in the now-reclined passenger seat.

We threw our jackets in the backseat. My arms found their way around him. He put his arms around me on the small of my back.

Starting on our sides, we turned and I found myself on top of him. I felt the warmth of his strong, slightly-calloused hands. We paused holding each other and holding ourselves back.

“We need a breather,” I said. And with that, we stopped, catching our breath and recording the moment. It was like we’d both run the hundred yard dash and collapsed on each other.

We resumed and traded places.

My hand grazed his face as we closed our eyes again and I drew his face towards mine with a slight giggle. In a few moments, we were right back to where we’d started when suddenly there was an explosion.

“GMB, you need to move.”

“What?”

“Get out from under me.”

In an instant, I moved to the right side of the seat without a second thought.

He stood there for a moment holding himself up above the seat momentarily. He sighed in the most subdued way he could.

“Could you hand me my jacket?”

I did and asked (in the most understanding way possible), “Did what I thought just happened really happen?”

Blushing a bright red as he tied his jacket around his waste, he nodded.

“But we weren’t even…”

“I kno—”

At that very moment we saw a bright light—not in the sky or above the lake, but in my rear view mirror. I quickly returned to my place in the driver’s seat and he took a few deep breaths.

Red and blue lights flashed for a moment as our hearts began to race again, then we heard a tap on my now fogged-up window.

“Sir, could I ask both of you two to step out of the vehicle. You realize you are trespassing here after dark.”

My heart was pounding just as fast as moments earlier, but for different reasons. The officer walked around the car and could read the guilt all over Anderson and the jacket tied around his waist.

I wondered what he would do. Would this become my first noted instance of discrimination for being gay?

“I’ll need to see your IDs.”

I immediately pulled out mine and saw my temple recommend peering out from behind a business card.

“Please wait in the car.”

We did (for what seemed like an eternity) in complete silence.

“Have a good night and drive safely,” he said returning our licenses, then driving off. For whatever reason, he'd let us off with a warning.

Minutes later, the night ended with a quick uneasy goodbye hug.

End, Part 8

AfterMARK, Part 7

Sushi

A set of hopes and dreams tied to a single name—Mark—and here I had met another who was clearly interested in me.

Despite meeting at the gym, my prospects with Cowboy Mark were by no means superficial. We’d connected on an intellectual level. The magic of the tale was only enhanced by the fact that we’d met in a gym locker room, stereotypically a trashy environment for meeting guys.

The next day, I started reading from the Oscar Wilde volume and found my mind constantly returning to how the book had arrived in my hands. Finally, I gave him a call.

“Hey, it’s GMB from the gym,” I said, struggling for words. “I wanted you to know I’m enjoying the book.” Who says that? I thought to myself.

“Let me give you a call in a bit. I’m having dinner with my grandma.”

He grew more interesting with each interaction. It was as if my desire for an atypical guy to come along had finally materialized. He was rugged yet appreciated the arts. He was romantic, but not corny. It was hard to get past him just being that guy I'd wondered about at the gym, though.

After a series of text messages, we worked out a date. Something simple and sweet. Dinner and a movie. For a solid five minutes, we went through that familiar dialogue:

“What do you want for dinner?”
“I don’t know. What are you in the mood for?”
“I don’t know. You decide.”
Etc.

My hands tied, I was finally forced to make a decision.

“Sushi it is.”

As I drove into the parking lot, I saw him there sitting on the tailgate of his pickup. He looked quite content swinging his legs back and forth as he waved and then effortlessly pushed off with his arms, making his way over to greet me.

We hugged and then made our way inside. Perhaps more than any other guy I dated, he made efforts to be the knight in shining armor. He opened the door for me, pulled my chair out and waited for me to sit down. We ordered and despite my limited sushi experience, it was clear he was only there because I suggested it.

“I’ll have the orange salad. There’s no fish in that, right?”

Our conversation quickly turned to work and school. While I was finishing up my last year of university, he was in a stable job for more five years managing a local business. Then the conversation trailed into the personal.

I told him the story you’re all familiar with—coming home from a mission, having a sudden epiphany, meeting the first Mark and the breakup.

“I’m in a different boat completely,” he said. “I didn’t grow up Mormon, but when high school was over. I ran away. I ran as fast and as far as I could to Florida and then to Pittsburgh.

“I’d known since I was six years old and had to get away. I had to find a place where I could be me. After a few years, I was confident. I was secure.

“Then everything fell apart. Mom called and she could tell something was wrong. I couldn’t tell her over the phone, so I stopped everything. I got in my truck and drove. I drove and I drove until I arrived at her door.

“She was happy to see me, but in tears. I sat her down and told her. She cried and cried, but at least I was there.”

In a way, the story was tragic. He was so matter of fact about it and composed. He was who he was and I really respected him. He’d been through his share of life lessons. I was glad he shared, but somehow I felt more distant.

Dinner quickly passed then we went to his place to watch Stardust. We laid there on the couch holding each other. I began to wonder if we were just too different to be compatible, and if I was even attracted to him physically. Had I fallen for the story of us meeting or a name rather than the actual man?

End, Part 7.

AfterMARK, Part 5

“A Certain Masculine Intrigue”

“Think of it as your own personal Brokeback Mountain…” Cole teased.

I really wasn’t sure what to think and for that reason my face was bright red. Cole laughed for a while at my expense. It wasn’t so much the fact that I’d met another boy that week. It was the fact that he was a sort of anti-stereotype stereotype.

“So this cowboy… where did you meet? You know I’ve got best friend privileges to all of the details.”

“Okay. You know I’ve been somewhat of a gym bunny lately. For three months, I’ve managed to faithfully go and keep off that weight. I go, I jump on the elliptical for an hour or so.”

“Right. And that’s where you get a lot of your reading done.”

“Precisely. I might check out a guy or two, but I have my textbooks there to study. Well, this afternoon, as I was getting into the locker room, I set my books down and changed.”

“Ooh!” he poked, slightly melodically.

“Hey. I’m not even to the good part…. Anyways, I turn around and this guy is checking out my books—naturally Mark Doty and Lucille Clifton are on the top. I’d noticed this guy before and he’s got a certain masculine intrigue about him.”

“How so?”

“I’m not sure how to describe it. Has anyone ever caught your eye but you never figured out quite why? That’s how it is. Sure he’s good looking and has personality, but there’s something more to it and I figured it out today.”

“I see. So you were in the locker room…”

“Yeah. We were in the locker room and he leans over to me and says, ‘I guess you like poetry.’ and of course the answer in fewer words was a definite yes.

“I couldn’t believe where this was going. Despite being a total amateur my nostrils picked up on the faint scent of flirting in the air. He’s hitting on me? He’s hitting on me!… kept rolling through my head as the conversation shifted to something way more obvious.”

“Like what? Project Runway?”

“No. He started telling me what a big fan he was of Oscar Wilde and commenting on the rumors of his torrid affair with Walt Whitman on a visit to the states. In the moment, the thought of two great literary minds in passionate embrace was enough to make my pulse race.

“ ‘It was nice chatting with you,’ he said, on the way to the parking lot. ‘We’ll have to talk more later.’

“He left it at that and I went off to do my work out.”

“That was a lame story. I thought it actually went somewhere or had a date or something.”

“It doesn’t end there. Just as I was reaching the climax in my workout, I looked up to see his face strewn with dimples. His hair was military short and he was in a pair of track pants and a tank top.”

“ ‘I have something for you,’ he said, placing a book on top of the others I’d brought: The Complete Short Stories of Oscar Wilde.

“ ‘Thank you,’ I said. It was the only thing I could think of at the time. ‘How do I get this back to you? And what’s your name again?’ ”

I was shocked, delighted, and slightly weirded out over his response:

“ ‘My number’s on the inside front cover…. And my name? Call me Mark.’ ”

End, Part 5

AfterMARK, Part 3

Now… it’s Complicated

The next morning, I faced my first bout of Post-Date Stress Disorder (or PDSD). What was I to make of a cuddle session with someone who was supposed to be my friend? I wondered what I would do when he called or texted. Was it still supposed to be normal? Would it get weirder?

Jack didn’t do or say anything out of the ordinary. Regular “How was your day?” small talk continued along with witty banter about web comics. Things weren’t off too much, but they were definitely off.

As problems with his roommate worsened, Jack decided it was time to move out. As a friendly gesture, I offered to help. That’s what friends do, right? I told myself.

“You know, I could really use a pickup,” he texted me. I offered my father’s truck and we worked out a time the next day.

Seeing as neither of us is particularly muscular, the move took a little more effort than you would think. Loading up everything from the tiny duplex, we made our way over to his new place. Upon my entry, I was taken aback at how beautiful the whole thing was. Vaulted ceilings. A real fireplace. A breakfast nook! It was beautiful.

The evening ended with a hug and a warm-hearted goodbye.

Things continued more normally than I could have ever anticipated. There were even some friendly on campus run-ins between classes. Later that week, after a bad day at work, he offered to take me to dinner and I only slightly hesitated as I agreed to it.

Going into it as a real date definitely helped. Even as the waitress at the Chinese restaurant seated us in the same room as a guy from my stake on a date of his own, I felt oddly at ease. We talked mostly about school and the beginning of a new semester.

“It’s about the same. I keep busy with 18 credits and work. It makes me feel accomplished and like I’m actually going somewhere.”

“That’s good. How’s the new roommate situation working out?” I asked.

“It’s the regular struggle. I’m still getting to know them.”

“How is it living with a bunch of gay boys?”

“It got crazy last weekend, but my room’s far enough from the chaos to get away.”

I laughed off his slight discontent with the situation as the check came. He snatched it despite my protest.

“You helped me move. I owe you at least this.”

Moments later, we found ourselves at his place. We sat there on the couch continuing our conversation. Our bodies, however, were speaking their own language. We found ourselves moving closer to the center. Usually wary of any tactile contact, I found myself touching Jack on the arm, looking into his eyes (blue as the night sky), smiling, and laughing at his jokes.

Then, in an instant, he pulled away, looked at me, and smiled before going in for a kiss. It was sweet and reminded me of my first taste of romance with Mark.

I flashed back in an instant to the kiss that had felt like:
a singer’s first standing ovation,
a swimmer’s first broken record,
an author’s first book sent to print.

Would you ask any of them to take that piece of their lives back?

It was a feeling engraved upon the tablets of memory standing up to the elements and other tests of time. Every kiss would be compared against that one. It wasn’t quite that same warm sensation. An awkwardness came between us akin to the irritating, clunky friction of our teeth repeatedly bumping into each other as we made out.

The chemistry slowly dissipated from the room as we found ourselves staring each other. He faced me on my lap. An awkward silence preceded a forgotten excuse to get home and the night ended.

What followed was not glamorous. Our run-ins on campus consisted of greetings and now-awkward small talk and we never looked each other in the eyes again.

In the coming week, however, I stopped worrying about the awkwardness as two more men entered the picture: an actor and a cowboy.

End, Part 3.

Clue: AfterMARK references something from 1983-85.