This page is normally reserved for facetious commentary on my latest ridiculous crush. July's profile features a man of steel who has offered me a valuable new perspective.
There's this guy at the gym. I know his name, but to protect his privacy I'll refer to him as "Don"...short for Adonis. Don is a tall brunet of indeterminate age with just enough tan to maintain a healthy glow. When he steps into the weight room, the sight of his physique refreshes the soul like any other great work of art. No matter how often I swear that each abdominal crunch will be my last, I can usually count on Don to be at the gym to give me another revitalizing glimpse of greatness. Radiant, superior, and elusive, he gives the impression of an indifferent god seeking relief from all of that tedious perfection on Mount Olympus with a walk among pathetic mortal wannabes. He is a shimmering oasis of unpolluted DNA in a desert overrun with gibbering troglodytes.
Without speaking a word, Don lets the missing links of Mecklenburg County know that he is not a native Charlottean. His features bear no trace of the ruddy, indistinct bloat that is the legacy of Southern inbreeding. He also appears to have all of his teeth. You want to go to him and warn him of the danger inherent to public appearances; planeloads of careless, pretty refugees are driven out of town daily, victims of aesthetic cleansing.
Although I regard Don as a friend now, I admit my guilt for objectifying him when we were strangers. I saw him as the perfect modular plaything: a Lego block with a pulse. From his first appearance in his trademark gray tank top and dark shorts, he was my favorite hard-bodied cipher, painstakingly engineered for hundreds of high-octane fantasies. But who wants to be identified as merely an optimized shell that one would toss out after breakfast along with the crumbs and coffee grounds (I mean who not including me)? Today I have the good fortune to know him as far more than a sinewy thoroughbred. He is kind, focused, and magnanimous.
True to my nature, I have tried repeatedly to place Don on a pedestal, but he doesn't let me get away with it. As soon as a heartfelt compliment tumbles out of my mouth, his self-deprecating response helps to reinforce his humanity. We are both struggling to recover from painful experiences, albeit of different kinds (constant psychological versus traumatic physical). Throughout his daily routine he must summon the considerable motivation to get this part bigger, or make that part stronger. He has earned every ounce of iron on his frame, and none of it came easily. Like everyone else he still covets the greener grass next door. Actually he covets the body on the strapping young lawn boy next door...the one who dropped out of high school...the one with longish blonde hair and, at the base of his spine, an exotic tattoo that slips beneath the sweaty waistband of his denim cut-offs...where was I?
Everyone enters a relationship of any kind with a dowry and an arsenal. Two unfulfilled people come together taking turns pulling out items to bribe or coerce the other into satisfying a need. In my evaluation of anyone new, I place way, way, way too much significance on appearance and muscle mass; apparently a majority of gay men are wired the same way. Now that I can't compete on the same physical level of a tanned twenty-two-year-old gladiator, my superficiality has mutated into nothing more than a double-edged blade, sharpening itself with every orgasm. Although I've never been "hot," I had no trouble convincing myself that with each undesirable loss and gain in my head and in the mirror I had gradually lost all of my bargaining power. Instead I lost access to all of the relatively facile tricks I had been relying on to get what I thought I wanted.
No matter what I have felt about myself at any given time, however, Don has always treated me as a peer. Unlike so many before him, he never uses his physical attributes to take advantage of my instinct for subordination. In doing so he gently reminds me that no man, regardless of the condition of the exterior, is better or worse than I am.
America loves a winner, especially when he comes in a magnificent package. My own perception of superiority or inferiority is determined by the amount of energy one spends in assessing, nurturing, and benefiting from opportunity. I have a tendency to believe that Don has had and will have more doors open for him because of his talent, personality, drive, strength, and masculine beauty. My responsibility is to get out there and grope around in the dark until I find some doors of my own. When I do, I can jerk my knobs as hard as I can...wait...that didn't come out right.
Then again, maybe it did.
Ranking (9.0-10): 9.7
(I subtracted points for brief lapses in eye contact during conversation;
I am uncomfortably aware of when and where his eyes tend to drift)
Dollar value of an intimate encounter ($200.00-$1,000.00): >$1000
(The U. S. Treasury hasn't printed the amount of money equivalent to his worth.
Now that we are friends, however, this category is irrelevant.)
Dollar value of voice ($20.00 per hour spent reading to me): Unlimited
(After they lose their friends, families, and jobs, junkies steal to support a crack habit.
I'm just lucky Don hasn't make his reading voice available on a per hour basis.)
Potential for domestic violence (0=make love, not war; 10=dial 911 now!):
2...plenty of room for improvement.
For additional observations about life in Charlotte for single gay men, see the One-Man Show.
The Love of My Life--for the month of June
No Love of My Life for the Month of August
The Love of My Life--for the month of September
Lobby/Permanent Collection/Temporary Exhibit
The Tim Kramer Memorial Auditorium/Topiary Maze
Wellbutrin Cafe/Gift Shop
Audio Guide