A writer's journey of dating and living gay in Seattle exposed.
by Tristan Wilde
In the world of dating and relationships, everyone has a type. Whether straight, gay, bisexual or alien, we all have certain characteristics to which we are attracted in our search for Mr. Right. It’s that automatic code in the human brain that instantly calculates the level of magnetism we experience when seeing another person. The complexities of science aside, it’s simply a matter of preference. Some prefer the guy with the washboard abs and ten-inch dick (the one who can often be found shirtless at the club because his narcissism is his best quality), while others go for the guy with the cute smile and who has the ability to engage in intellectual conversation. There are those who maintain a grocery list of qualifications for the men they date (“…he has to be under 30-years-old, 6’2″, 175lbs, 29-inch waist, two-percent body fat, green eyes, blond hair, seven-inch cut dick, no chest hair, a non-smoker, has less than two alcoholic drinks a day, owns a 2011 or later BMW, has a condo in Capitol Hill…”). Yeah, I know a few of those guys. I often ask them to advise me when they’ve found that particular guy who fits their “list.” To this day, those guys are all single. Still, there are others out there who don’t care if some of the qualities in which they seek in their ideal man vary from the preferences in mind. I’m one of those guys. Now, don’t get me wrong. While I don’t mind dating a guy who might not have every characteristic I prefer, there does have to be a degree of physical attraction. There does have to be a certain amount of chemistry to make any relationship work.
So what exactly is my type? Well, we all have our ideal men. The following is simply the basics of the type of guy to which I’m most attracted. I have very few “deal-breakers” because I try not to limit myself. After all, there is a reason they refer to that perfect person as your “dream” guy. Exactly, you’ll find THAT guy in your dreams. I prefer Hispanic men over all other nationalities. I’ve dated Caucasian men (and still do); however, there has always been something about the Hispanic culture to which I can relate and feel comfortable around. What can I say, I go cuckoo for dark hair and brown eyes. Not to mention, there’s that certain, exotic flair I find a bit sexy. I don’t seek out guys who are a certain height or have flat stomachs; rather, I simply prefer them to be in shape (they don’t have to go to the gym for four hours every day). I’m by no means a “size-queen,” so I don’t care if a guy’s dick measures in at six inches or ten inches (as long as they know how to use it, they’re good). Perhaps one of the sexiest qualities in the type of men I seek is for them to be able to engage in real discussion. There’s no bigger turn-on for me than to have an intellectual conversation with a guy to whom I’m attracted. This is one of those characteristics that is pretty much a must. Some of the deal-breakers? If the guy doesn’t have a job, it’s a no. If the guy has a problem with my being a writer, sorry. Most importantly, if the guy has a problem with anger or violence, it’s a definite, go-fuck-yourself, no. I don’t feel like I’m asking for much in the type I’m seeking. However, if the guy has some of the qualities I mentioned, chances are he’s more my type.
Diego is my type.
Since dinner at his house, the night of that all-important kiss that solidified his feelings for me, I speak to him on the phone, almost nightly. There’s that certain feeling of giddiness each time my cell rings and his name appears. Diego. There’s something about the way I say his name that takes me back to my youth, back to a time when a high school crush took precedence over all thought. I like him. He knows that. He’s reeled me in and I want to see him. Therein lies the problem.
Diego is always busy. He works as a general manager who oversees a local chain of coffeehouses. Like me, his work starts at the time he wakes up and ends shortly before he goes to bed. He has very few days off, let alone two days in a row. And even on his days off, he’s technically “on-call.” If an employee calls out sick, he has to find a replacement or take the shift. If an alarm goes off in the middle of the night, he has to make an appearance to assure things are fine. Always working, just like me. So when is it that we can find a common time together? Thankfully, my schedule is much more flexible. I can write in the evening, get a head-start on an upcoming deadline, and cater my writing time around his schedule. I’m more than willing to do that just to see him again.
A week almost passes when I finally get a text message from Diego that reads: ‘Getting out of work early. What are you doing tonight?’ I answer back: ‘No plans.’ His reply: ‘Dinner at my place?’ My instant answer: ‘Definitely!’ And finally: ‘I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll call when I’m out of here.’
A surge of excitement fills me as I race to my closet to figure out what to wear. Since we’re having dinner at his place, there’s no need to get too fancy. Although, it’d be nice to go out to dinner to a cozy restaurant. I’m a big fan of dining with a date. In fact, I have yet to have a date in a restaurant in this city. Still, I’m not going to complain. I get to see him again. I get to have a romantic dinner, no doubt with candles burning as they did last time.
I work on a new article for one of the publications for which I write (only managing to complete a meager three paragraphs since I have Diego on my brain) and jump into the shower. No sooner than I get out and begin towel-drying my hair does my cell phone ring with the star of the evening. “Hey there,” I excitedly answer.
“Hi.”
I automatically detect a concerned tone in his voice.
“Have you left work?”
“Actually, I have to come back at six. One of the baristas called off sick,” he explains.
Damn! The brimming excitement that took me through my afternoon hours instantly ends. While I’m disappointed by his having to return to work and cancelling our plans, I understand. After all, it’s his job. What can he do? Say no? “Well, that kind of sucks.”
“I know,” he agrees. “I really wanted to see you tonight. I miss you.”
“Well, work comes first. We can get together soon.”
“I might have Tuesday off. I’m not sure yet. I still have to go over all the schedules.”
“That’s good,” I say. “Let me know. Perhaps I can take you out to dinner instead of you cooking for me.”
“I’ll give you a call later, OK?”
“OK.”
We hang up. I quickly realize he didn’t bother responding to my offer to take him out. Is it on purpose? Did I say something wrong? Or do I simply chalk it up to a momentary, technological glitch between two cell phones? Nonetheless, I decide I’ll spend the rest of the day writing and try to shake off the disappointment that our plans for the evening are cancelled.
Then, that moment comes. You know what I’m talking about. We’ve all had them before. It’s that moment when the brain is sparked by an instant thought. I have two types of moments: the creative and the spontaneous. My creative moments tend to occur during my shower. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that I’m isolated and not being distracted by my computer screen. My spontaneous moments happen after my shower, when I’m in front of my mirror and adding product to my hair. Don’t ask. I’m neither sure why these moments often occur in the bathroom nor have I ever had to deal with having a spontaneous moment after having a creative one. All I can say is that as I’m standing half naked in front of my bathroom mirror and adding American Crew gel to my hair, I decide that I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a while. I’m going to call my friends and go dancing. Surely, it will give me a break from the setback at hand. However, since Diego doesn’t have to be to work until the following afternoon, I might just see if he wants to meet up for a couple hours. Sure, it’s not dinner. But at least we can have a drink or two, a dance or three, and I can introduce him to my best friend.
While one should never think a date is ever set in stone, there is one thing I’ve learned that I can count on: my friends. Antonio, along with his partner Trey, immediately agree to go out the minute I offer up the idea. Within hours, we’re at R Place having drinks and joking conversation at a table on the third floor. The dance area is beginning to attract a crowd as the Amateur Strip Show (A.S.S. as they call it) is about to begin.
“Wow, so we finally get to meet Diego,” Antonio hollers over the techno-driven beats blaring from the speakers all around us. I’ve talked a lot about him in the past week and, since my best friend cares about me, he’s always interested in meeting the guys I bring into my life.
“Well, it’s not a guarantee. I text him an hour ago and told him to call me when he gets off work.”
“Which is when?” Trey asks.
“Any minute now.” I grin.
A drag queen walks onto the stage, works the crowd, and announces the first amateur stripper. The DJ above the dance floor (equipped with a stripper pole) begins spinning the latest dance craze as a lanky young man (an anorexic-looking thing) appears. He leans against the stripper pole, moves back and forth to the beat of the music, and waits for the crowds approving catcalls before he begins stripping. As he begins unbuttoning his shirt, my cell phone vibrates with a call from Diego.
I race away from the table, telling the guys I’ll be right back, and begin heading downstairs. There’s no way I’ll be able to hear him with the deafening music and roaring crowd. Since I don’t want to miss his call, I click the “Accept” button. “Hey,” I call into the phone as I make my way down the three flights of stairs and maneuver through the crowd heading up for the show. “Hold on just a sec,” I say. I quickly make my exit through the side door of R Place and am outside with a number of guys smoking and chatting it up with their friends. “OK. Hi.”
“Where are you?” Diego asks. He almost sounds irritated.
“Me, Antonio and his partner decided to go to R Place.”
“Oh,” he said.
“Anyway, the reason I text you earlier was to see if you wanted to come join me for a couple hours and meet the guys. Plus we could do a little dancing if you’re up to it.”
“I wish,” he sighed,”but I’m exhausted.”
I’m not disappointed by his answer. I know he’s tired. It was worth a shot. “I understand. No problem.”
“So, you’re with your friends?”
“Yeah.”
“How long are you guys staying out?”
“Probably another hour or two. They have the Amateur Strip Show going on right now.”
“Joy,” he sarcastically remarks. I know going to the clubs isn’t his thing. He made this apparent the morning we officially met over breakfast. Blueberry pancakes. I can’t forget that.
“Well, I’ll let you go and get your rest.”
“OK,” he says. Then, “Be safe.”
“Of course,” I laugh.
I return to the guys and let them know Diego’s too tired to show up. While they’re a bit disappointed, I explain that he’s been working on and off for about fourteen hours. They understand as any friends would. Antonio tells me that he and Trey have Tuesday off and that it’d be a perfect time to get together for our monthly carne asada tradition. Break out the grill, toss back some margaritas, and enjoy the Mexican cuisine that Antonio has made every month since I’ve been in Seattle. It’s a day in which we close out the rest of the world and simply bullshit over an afternoon of drinks and food. Trey, obsessed with the weather and always checking the forecast application on his phone, adds that it will be sunny that Tuesday. “Maybe you can invite Diego,” Antonio suggests. If my memory serves properly, Diego earlier mentioned he might have Tuesday off. Great idea.
The weekend comes and goes in an instant. I don’t get to talk to Diego too much. He’s working the entire weekend and I focus my attention on an upcoming deadline. For the most part, our conversation is limited to texts. ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Long day.’ ‘I miss you.’ ‘Can’t wait to see you!’ ‘Do you know if you have Tuesday off?’ ‘Still not sure; I should know by Monday.’
Come Monday, I receive a call from Diego. “So, I do have tomorrow off.”
I’m excited by the announcement.
“But, this past week has killed me. I haven’t worked that many hours in a very long time. Almost ninety hours! Can you believe it?”
My excitement quickly passes.
He continues with, “Honestly, I think I just want to chill out and relax for the day. I really want to see you, but I’m just so damn tired. Also, I have to run a couple errands and catch up on the piles of laundry that are overflowing from my closet.”
I do my best to understand. “Well, the guys and I were going to have our monthly carne asada. I thought you’d like to come and join us. It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I know,” he says. “Maybe I’ll feel better tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”
False hope, I tell myself. It won’t happen.
We talk for a bit longer, the usual small talk that doesn’t require much thought. He’s been extremely busy at his job and I’ve been equally inundated with deadlines. I think, can this work between us? Then I’m pulled back to the feelings I’ve developed for him. I feel a connection to Diego. This I cannot deny.
As Trey (and the weather forecasters) predicted, Tuesday proves to be a beautiful day. The sun is shining bright (an occurrence that doesn’t happen often in the Jet City) and Antonio, Trey and I gather for our monthly fiesta. Antonio begins blending ingredients together for salsas as Trey cleans the grill. Mariachi music loudly emits from the surround sound system in the living room of my apartment. I consider sending a text to Diego, but hold off. I don’t want to come off as being pushy. Besides, I know he’s probably catching up on chores since it’s his first day off in over a week.
By 1:30pm, the guys and I decide it’s time to put the fiesta into full swing. Antonio insists that I call Diego. Forget about the formalities within the dating world, the do’s and don’ts. “Just call him already! We still have to get tequila for the margaritas, so he’ll have plenty of time to get over here.”
“I’ll text him instead,” I compromise.
I send Diego a text. ‘How’s it going?’
His response: ‘Good! What are you up to?’
Me: ‘The guys and I just finished prep for the carne. You should come over!’ For the first time, I ended the text with one of those silly smileys that has its tongue sticking out.
A minute later, Diego replies with: ‘I actually decided to take a break since it’s a beautiful day. I’m at Lake Union with some friends.’
I’m instantly flustered. What? Are you fucking kidding me? Thanks for the heads up. As much as my emotions want to get the better part of me and send a snide text, I keep it simple and passive. ‘Ummmmmm…OK. Have fun.’
His text: ‘R u mad?’
Mine: ‘Never.’
Diego: ‘I’ll call you later.’
Me:
No response.
I turn to Antonio. “Well, Diego can’t make it. Let’s go to the market.”
“What?”
“The market,” I repeat. “Tequila. I’m buying.”
After a three-minute drive, Antonio and I are entering the neighborhood market and make our way to the section designated for alcohol. As we pass the few check-out lines, I notice Efrain at one of the registers. He looks up and gives me a quirky smile. I can’t help but to grin back and wave to him.
“You like him, don’t you?” Antonio asks as we begin our search for tequila.
“Yeah, well…he’s nice. OK, he’s cute.”
“He told me that you guys flirt with each other when you’ve been here.”
“I don’t know about flirt, but we’ve talked to each other the last couple times I’ve stopped by.” It’s true. Efrain and I have had several conversations in the past week when I’ve come to the store to buy some produce forgotten in my weekly grocery outing. He seems to be a good guy.
“Bitch, you should ask him out,” Antonio insists. In the gay world, the term “bitch” isn’t offensive. Rather, it’s like saying “dude” to other “bros” in the straight world.
“I don’t know,” I say. “He’s not really my type. I mean…he is, but he’s just a bit on the effeminate side.”
“Whatever!” Antonio exclaims loud enough to draw attention from the other shoppers.
In the world of dating and relationships, there are many types of people available to the single guy. There are the men who can offer the perfect body, often lusted after by many, but not always providing the conversation we expect. There are the sincere and smart guys who can provide lengthy discussion, but might not necessarily have the qualities to fulfill our attraction. But in this vast playing field, there is surely a type for everybody. Sometimes, our ideal man doesn’t live up to our expectations. Still, we cannot overlook those who present us with a characteristic we might not find to be conducive to the ideal man we’re seeking. After all, they could be a perfect match. Why should we limit our possibilities, especially in the realm of love? Diego is my type. And, in a slightly different way, Efrain is my type.
I secretly study Efrain as he scans the bottle of tequila. “Can I see your ID sir?” he jokes with Antonio.
I connect with Efrain’s gleaming, brown eyes as he laughs and looks over at me. “Why don’t you ever ask for my ID?”
“We only have to ask for the ID’s of those who look under 30.” He and Antonio resume their laughter.
“That not necessarily a compliment,” I tell him.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he assures, “you look good.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I offer, “I’ll hand over my ID if you hand over your phone number.”
Efrain’s eyes grow big and a smile ignites his face. “Really?” he asks. The look on Antonio’s face is priceless, since he appears to be in an instant oh-no-he-didn’t-just-do-that type of shock.
“Yes,” I confirm. “Maybe we can get together for dinner soon.”
Efrain asks if I have my cell phone on me. Why wouldn’t I? I think. After pulling it from my jacket pocket, he proceeds to give me his number. He then tells me to call the number. Within seconds, he extracts his cell phone from the front of his jeans. “OK. I have your number,” he confirms.
“Great,” I say. “Call whenever.”
“OK.”
Several margaritas and a fabulous feast later, I notice the time on my cell phone. 10:14pm. I’ve come to the conclusion that Diego isn’t going to call me. Two minutes later, my cell phone rings. Efrain. “Hello,” I laugh.
“How was your fiesta?” Efrain sounds tired.
“Great. I’m a little bit drunk though.”
“It sounds like you had a good time then.”
“Of course I did,” I laugh. “How was work?”
“Exhausting. I’m ready for bed.”
“Well, why aren’t you already asleep then?”
“I should be,” Efrain agrees. “But I was excited to call you. Do you want talk for a little bit?”
“Absolutely.” I cannot help but to smile from ear to ear.
While some of Efrain’s qualities differ from Diego, I realize he is just my type as well. Our discussion goes deep and late beyond the midnight hour.
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The journey continues next Friday, February 15, 2013!
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