Like Letter #1

Andy,

You can relax. I’m not going to say anything I haven’t already said. But I’m putting it in writing so I can remember how this started.

Last night you said, “Ask me a question.” I squirmed in the dark and moaned, “Why? I’m about to crash.” You said, “Because I want to know you better.” So I sighed into the pillow and mumbled, “Okay.” Then we volleyed questions and answers back and forth until we drifted off to sleep. That’s all I can think about this morning. It’s a little vignette I can roll around in my head and smirk over. And even though it happened in the darkness of your bedroom around midnight and my eyes were closed the entire time, the memory is colorful. I want to keep it vivid and spectacular and I want to see it from every angle. I might have been tired, but in those few minutes before sleep, I had just enough energy to appreciate how we got here.

You needed a website for your mom and dad’s company, so you contacted my agency and set up a consultation. My co-worker Aaron asked if I wanted to sit-in on a potential new business meeting, so I snatched up my padfolio and sauntered over to the conference room. That’s where I first saw you. You were tall and skinny, and not my type. Still, I found it difficult to look you in the eyes. I felt compelled to make you like me, so I seized every available opportunity to make you laugh. And when the meeting came to a close, I handed you my card and shook your hand. Then, I returned to my desk and waited for your email requesting a follow-up meeting. Two hours later, my phone bleeped and I saw a text message from an unknown number that read, “It was nice meeting you.”

Halfway though our first date, I felt the spark. I felt it in my stomach and on my skin. It was the kind of feeling you hear the Best Man describe at a rehearsal diner. The sensation that — when you listen to someone else explain — sounds mythic and elusive. But there it was; circulating through me while I watched you try to smile with half a shrimp poboy hanging out your mouth. Full disclosure: I’ve felt the spark before. But it didn’t feel like that one. And the sentiment was only muffled by the voice in my head saying, So this is what it’s like and He’s the guy.

I’ve experienced whirlwind romances before. They’re all ego, and reckless behavior, and insecurity, and white-hot passion that needs to be kept over a flame or else it frosts over. This isn’t like that.

It’s different. You’re different. And not just because you have that weird thumb deformity.

You’re too good to be true, and I would never say that to someone or put it out there for the entire world to see, but this isn’t just a story for my blog. Speaking of my blog: I will continue writing about my dick, and other peoples’ dicks, and stories that make good stories, because I don’t take any behavioral meds and I don’t go to therapy, and this seems to work for me.

My best friends are waiting for me to get bored and my mom is crossing her fingers and lighting a St. Jude candle on her nightstand. As for me, I like you. But the like is deep and roomy, with enough space for you to teach me to speak French and for me to teach you how to dance.

Like,
Ryan

Let's Talk About Straight Guys Who Want Gay Guys To Blow Them

Last night, I was sitting on the couch watching RuPaul's Drag Race and enjoying a lovely Michelob Ultra when I received the following direct messages on Facebook from a complete stranger:

Now don't get me wrong; I'm super flattered by this. And even though I made the choice to protect this person's identity, let me tell you that he is a fucking knockout. He's massive and juiced up, and he's extremely attractive if you like meat heads. He's the type of guy most of us would call gross, but then totally fuck if we could guarantee no one would ever find out about it.

THAT BEING SAID: What an asshole, right?!

Him: "Hey, I heard faggots like to suck off straight guys, and I'm willing to give you the opportunity because I'm hammered."

Me: "Oh, golly! You mean it? Jeez, what an advocate you are. My people really can't get enough straight dick, and I'm glad you're stepping out of your comfort zone to take one for the other team. Really, I don't know how we'd function as a community without heterosexual men looking to get their rocks off. As if there aren't enough dicks to go around between us. They should build a statue in your likeness and stick it next to the bust of Harvey Milk. This isn't audacious or insulting at all, though I'm happy to hear you're sorry. But there's really no need for that. I'm sure it was just a drunken lapse of judgement. You seem like a sweet guy that any girl would be lucky to have. Oh, and next time you have a '1 time offer,' just take moment to consider all the people you've lied to your entire life. Especially yourself. And thanks again for throwing us a bone. Ha! Get it? Dick joke."

I feel like a lot of people might have questions about this straight male/gay male misunderstanding and its implications, and I'd be glad to discuss it with you. If you'd like to talk about it, direct message me at facebook.com/ryananthonyrogers.

And no, I'm not going to tell you who he is.

And no, I'm not going to blow you.

Here's What You Do

Meet him at a place you won’t be ashamed of when you tell the story later.

My friend met his boyfriend on Grindr, but he tells everyone they met at a coffee shop.

Don’t be like him.

Instead, go to places that don’t embarrass you.

Better yet, just avoid places that don’t fit the way you picture it.

You might not think you have control over how you meet people, but you do.

And when you meet him, you’ll know you’re supposed to be meeting him.

Maybe you’ll feel it on your skin, or in your dick, or in your stomach.

But somehow, someway, you’ll know this is happening for a reason.

And don’t lie to him.

Pamela Meyer taught me “strangers lie to each other three times within the first ten minutes of meeting each other,” so try not to do that when you meet him.

You don’t have to be clever or charming right now, so just focus on telling the truth.

And if you feel like asking him out, do so.

When you go on your first date, ask him questions.

Speak respectfully of your parents and be humble about your success.

Don’t get hammered.

Also, don’t fuck him.

Also, don’t even kiss him.

If you want to text him the next day or see him again, do so.

Over time, take notice of the way he talks about others and the way he treats members of his family.

His family might not seem important in the beginning, but his family is very important.

And when you’re with him, you’ll know you’re supposed to be with him.

Remember that feeling on your skin, or in your dick, or in your stomach?

That’s going to keep happening.

It might make you feel woozy or a little nauseated, but don’t freak out.

This isn’t a feeling you can just conjure up at will, so just ride it when it’s inside you.

When you’re ready to say “I love you,” do so.

Then say it every day after that. Even if you only say it to him while he’s asleep.

Buy him presents for no reason.

Learn to cook the things he likes.

Every now and then, put on music and slow dance with him in the living room.

Get to know his sense of humor and make him laugh often.

Make a big deal out of anniversaries.

When the two of you are at party, look at him from across the room and wink.

Draw pictures for him.

Write bad poetry for him.

Create a paper trail of your relationship.

Read and reread everything.

Your friends will always be there for you, so don’t take a big stance about how important your friends are for the sake of making him feel like he’s second-tier.

Don’t put your relationship on display. It’s only for the two of you.

Also, don’t fuck other people.

Also, don’t even kiss other people.

Forgive him when he pisses you off.

Trust him.

Don’t plan on breaking-up.

But if none of this works out, don’t ever say mean things about him to other people.

The world does not need to know how angry and disappointed you are.

Years later, after you’ve dated and fucked and made new memories with other men, remember him fondly.

Tell him you love him, even if it’s across time and space.

Whisper, “I love you,” and let it travel backwards over the days and months that rose up like mountains between the two of you in another lifetime.

And when you’re ready, write a list of the things you should have done differently.

Go back to the start.

Go back to where you first met him.

Give your younger self a checklist of items that might lead to a future in which he is still yours.

Because somewhere, you haven’t found him yet.

But you will.

You will find him again and again.