When I was young, I didn't know a thing about this "type" business. I knew I liked men, but my taste ran more to loose guidelines than anything specific. Clean-cut was one criteria, although the right bad boy got me hot. Tall, average or short were fine. Athletic or normal body. Shy or outgoing. You get the idea. I was young and my hormones were raging. Nerds, surfers and jocks...front of the line. But like I said, I didn't really have a type. Even an aggie (pickup truck, Wranglers) could do it for me.
When I first jumped the fence into the the land of boys and honey, I dated a couple white guys, including the gorgeous whore who first slid me into home base. Mr. November. Literally. I then met my first boyfriend. I responded to his personal ad, "22, Str8 acting, 5'9", 170." Don't remember what he was "N2," but it was all quite innocent. Back then you wrote letters to personal ads printed in newspapers. Yes, handwritten letters. Think 1991, his was in the Recycler. There were no photos. I didn't know his ethnicity. We talked on the phone for a couple weeks...one afternoon I heard his mother yelling in Spanish in the background. Latino. And lived with his mother. We met and hit it off famously, even though he wasn't quite what I expected. We dated for almost 2 years. From the age of 22 until 27, I dated light-skinned Latinos with the same physical description as J, although most of that time was spent in a relationship with a terrible Salvadoran former US Marine. All my height or an inch or two shorter, clean cut, the "Clark Kent" look.
As a young guy, I was also a magnet for "chicken hawks." These are older gentlemen who pursue young guys or "twinks" exclusively, turning their noses up to anyone near their own age. I briefly dated one when I was 22, he was 34. He looked ancient to me. I saw every line, crack and sag in his face and body. After him, I went for guys my own age as looking at him in good light made me a little nauseous. Friends my own age would go out with older guys with ulterior motive$, not because they were the first things that made their hormones rage. They described it as more of an arrangement than a romance, some up front about their motivation, others hanging out, hoping for gifts. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I'm all for love and always have been.
I told myself that Latinos were my "type." Everyone seemed to have one, so I thought I needed to define my own. I live in Los Angeles and Latinos are what's on the menu. I loved how they put me on a pedestal; the passion, the drama. I thought I was supposed to have a type because everyone else did. People introduced me to clean-cut Latinos because they thought that's what I wanted. Plus...they seemed to like me. I'll never forget the gorgeous 6'4" blond white guy I turned down. What was I thinking?
My number one criteria is chemistry. And I could have it with just about any type. There are two varieties I'd pursue with less enthusiasm, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility. I look for spirit, personality, intelligence, and they have to smell good. Slutty guys are the biggest turnoff and a non-negotiable for me. In a snap of a finger, it's either there or it isn't. Conversation flows, laughter erupts, synergy. It's something you can't force, even if the person falls square within your type, even if your type is 20 year-old Asian boys, you might have it with me...and keep moving. And sleep alone for years.
My last Latino boyfriend had a type and it wasn't me. He liked twinks: young, willowy guys who have the bodies of fifteen year-olds to the uninitiated. He used to call me a "real man," which seemed strange. When I figured out white boy twinks were his type, it all made sense. He threw love over for lust. My boyfriend after him was a white guy with the "gym" body. By this time I'd thrown over my narrow field of vision and returned to my pre-Latino criteria, which allowed pretty much anyone, chemistry the main requirement. I wasn't his type. He liked anorexic 20something Italian boys with the little bolt-on muscles. And he was a slut. Last time I saw him, he'd stolen someone else's boyfriend, one of those Italian boys who threw up dinner after every workout.
Years ago, I had a Latino porn binge. It was amazing...within a few weeks, my field narrowed so much that I'd convinced myself I had to have Latinos and nothing else. Fortunately, I caught my slide in time. I stopped viewing films with said brown-skinned studs and voila, my taste opened more than ever. I couldn't believe I'd almost fallen into that trap. Porn tells our mind that our partners need to look and act a certain way. It's all bullshit.
Three weeks ago, I logged onto Grindr for the first time, an iPhone app where men meet for friendship and sex, mostly the latter. I'm a chatter and I like to tease, I'm not there for hookups. The special thing about Grindr is, the app locates guys close to you, literally measured in feet. A funny thing happened the other day...a guy who wouldn't talk to me on Grindr, I assume because I wasn't the "type" he'd specified...cruised me in person a block from my apartment. I chuckled to myself. Without my stats staring him in the face, with just in-person chemistry, things were different.
I'm going to write a separate blog about Grindr, including meeting an exceptional Italian boy with full-blown AIDS who befriended me...because I was his type. Yes, I took food to his apartment in Tupperware. Yes, he was picking up guys on Grindr for sex, saying the ones who don't use condoms are mostly Poz, especially the young cute ones. He showed pictures from a few months ago when he was 90 pounds and had 1 T-Cell, literally on death's door. Because of my "type," I made a good friend, an exceptional, lonely human being. After we ate, I held him like a baby for four hours, him soaking it in like oxygen. Afterwards, he walked down a flight of stairs without his cane for the first time in five months. He said that in 6 years of hookups, no man had held him like that. He thanked me profusely and said I'd given him healing.
In the internet age, gay men are summed up in numbers. Height, weight, age, dick size, ethnicity and top, bottom, versatile top, versatile bottom or versatile. Our focus is so narrow that we miss scores of opportunities for love, affection, and let's not kid ourselves...really good sex. As we're holed up in our cells all alone, gazing into our electronic devices, we miss out on what could be stellar opportunities. Is it wrong to have a type? Not really, but you might be showered with romantic blessings beyond your wildest dreams if you widen your scope. The person of your dreams could be right in front of you.
When I first jumped the fence into the the land of boys and honey, I dated a couple white guys, including the gorgeous whore who first slid me into home base. Mr. November. Literally. I then met my first boyfriend. I responded to his personal ad, "22, Str8 acting, 5'9", 170." Don't remember what he was "N2," but it was all quite innocent. Back then you wrote letters to personal ads printed in newspapers. Yes, handwritten letters. Think 1991, his was in the Recycler. There were no photos. I didn't know his ethnicity. We talked on the phone for a couple weeks...one afternoon I heard his mother yelling in Spanish in the background. Latino. And lived with his mother. We met and hit it off famously, even though he wasn't quite what I expected. We dated for almost 2 years. From the age of 22 until 27, I dated light-skinned Latinos with the same physical description as J, although most of that time was spent in a relationship with a terrible Salvadoran former US Marine. All my height or an inch or two shorter, clean cut, the "Clark Kent" look.
As a young guy, I was also a magnet for "chicken hawks." These are older gentlemen who pursue young guys or "twinks" exclusively, turning their noses up to anyone near their own age. I briefly dated one when I was 22, he was 34. He looked ancient to me. I saw every line, crack and sag in his face and body. After him, I went for guys my own age as looking at him in good light made me a little nauseous. Friends my own age would go out with older guys with ulterior motive$, not because they were the first things that made their hormones rage. They described it as more of an arrangement than a romance, some up front about their motivation, others hanging out, hoping for gifts. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I'm all for love and always have been.
I told myself that Latinos were my "type." Everyone seemed to have one, so I thought I needed to define my own. I live in Los Angeles and Latinos are what's on the menu. I loved how they put me on a pedestal; the passion, the drama. I thought I was supposed to have a type because everyone else did. People introduced me to clean-cut Latinos because they thought that's what I wanted. Plus...they seemed to like me. I'll never forget the gorgeous 6'4" blond white guy I turned down. What was I thinking?
My number one criteria is chemistry. And I could have it with just about any type. There are two varieties I'd pursue with less enthusiasm, but I wouldn't rule out the possibility. I look for spirit, personality, intelligence, and they have to smell good. Slutty guys are the biggest turnoff and a non-negotiable for me. In a snap of a finger, it's either there or it isn't. Conversation flows, laughter erupts, synergy. It's something you can't force, even if the person falls square within your type, even if your type is 20 year-old Asian boys, you might have it with me...and keep moving. And sleep alone for years.
My last Latino boyfriend had a type and it wasn't me. He liked twinks: young, willowy guys who have the bodies of fifteen year-olds to the uninitiated. He used to call me a "real man," which seemed strange. When I figured out white boy twinks were his type, it all made sense. He threw love over for lust. My boyfriend after him was a white guy with the "gym" body. By this time I'd thrown over my narrow field of vision and returned to my pre-Latino criteria, which allowed pretty much anyone, chemistry the main requirement. I wasn't his type. He liked anorexic 20something Italian boys with the little bolt-on muscles. And he was a slut. Last time I saw him, he'd stolen someone else's boyfriend, one of those Italian boys who threw up dinner after every workout.
Years ago, I had a Latino porn binge. It was amazing...within a few weeks, my field narrowed so much that I'd convinced myself I had to have Latinos and nothing else. Fortunately, I caught my slide in time. I stopped viewing films with said brown-skinned studs and voila, my taste opened more than ever. I couldn't believe I'd almost fallen into that trap. Porn tells our mind that our partners need to look and act a certain way. It's all bullshit.
Three weeks ago, I logged onto Grindr for the first time, an iPhone app where men meet for friendship and sex, mostly the latter. I'm a chatter and I like to tease, I'm not there for hookups. The special thing about Grindr is, the app locates guys close to you, literally measured in feet. A funny thing happened the other day...a guy who wouldn't talk to me on Grindr, I assume because I wasn't the "type" he'd specified...cruised me in person a block from my apartment. I chuckled to myself. Without my stats staring him in the face, with just in-person chemistry, things were different.
I'm going to write a separate blog about Grindr, including meeting an exceptional Italian boy with full-blown AIDS who befriended me...because I was his type. Yes, I took food to his apartment in Tupperware. Yes, he was picking up guys on Grindr for sex, saying the ones who don't use condoms are mostly Poz, especially the young cute ones. He showed pictures from a few months ago when he was 90 pounds and had 1 T-Cell, literally on death's door. Because of my "type," I made a good friend, an exceptional, lonely human being. After we ate, I held him like a baby for four hours, him soaking it in like oxygen. Afterwards, he walked down a flight of stairs without his cane for the first time in five months. He said that in 6 years of hookups, no man had held him like that. He thanked me profusely and said I'd given him healing.
In the internet age, gay men are summed up in numbers. Height, weight, age, dick size, ethnicity and top, bottom, versatile top, versatile bottom or versatile. Our focus is so narrow that we miss scores of opportunities for love, affection, and let's not kid ourselves...really good sex. As we're holed up in our cells all alone, gazing into our electronic devices, we miss out on what could be stellar opportunities. Is it wrong to have a type? Not really, but you might be showered with romantic blessings beyond your wildest dreams if you widen your scope. The person of your dreams could be right in front of you.
