Two Thursdays ago, at 9pm PT, Sabrina Carpenter released her latest album - Short n’ Sweet. It’s a banger of an album, coming in at 36 minutes long (thank you, Sam, for that trivia). One of the songs I have come to love for its pseudo-country, singer-songwriter vibes is “Slim Pickins.”
In it, Sabrina bemoans not being able to find a “boy who’s jacked and kind” so she keeps kissing boys she’s not that into “just to get my (her) fixings” and keeps on “moanin’ and bitchin’.” I think my favorite line of the short n’ sweet song is:
Jesus, what's a girl to do?
This boy doesn't even know
The difference between "there," "their" and "they are"
And it got me thinking about the short trysts and wish it could be more but it just isn’t flings that I’ve had with boys during my tenured dating history here in Los Angeles.
First off, there’s a lot of boys who don’t know the difference between ‘there,’ ‘their,’ and ‘they are.’ And while I love you for who you are, I cannot help but giggle whenever that happens, because as someone who is painfully antagonistic with his grammar corrections in my own speech, it’s funny to know that people don’t really give a care about the proper way to say things (and secretly cringe because I wonder whether we could ever get married).
But it’s not like I really, deep-down care about whether boys know the difference. I think when we date, we think very highly of ourselves. We’re choosy, especially in a city like LA, because we know there are countless options within 1,400 feet of us (usually the furthest guy on Grindr in my grid of locals). And so the little things become big things, even though deep down, we know that they’re unimportant. In much the same way I would imagine Sabrina wouldn’t say no to a future lover just because he used they’re when referring to a group’s possessions, I wouldn’t consider it a deal breaker. But when I think of my dream man—whatever that may be—I like to think he uses near perfect grammar, has a PhD, a ton of money, and likes House music.
But that’s just an idea, just a fantasy. In reality, I’ve never dated such a man, only pieces of that man. Which is probably why that has become my hot Frankenstein, because I’ve chosen the best, most unique parts of men that I’ve enjoyed dating and think putting them all together would make a perfect man. It’s not real, and I assure you, you’ll die alone if you try this out at home. But it’s fun to think about. And it’s always okay to know what perfection looks like for yourself and adjust your expectations for reality.
What gets me in this city of broken hearts is that finding someone you truly connect with is actually quite difficult. There are plenty of nice, agreeable men. There are less men who can understand you for who you are, excite you, and make you feel like you’ve known each other far longer than you have. I’ve only met a few men who’ve made me feel like that, as I’ve only met a few friends who make me feel like that. And it’s so special when it happens because of its rarity.
And that’s pleasant to think about. But the reality of that means that you have to date plenty of men who don’t make you feel like that. Which can be exhausting, not to mention, frustrating. I want to clarify I’m not talking about any one man in general—and I don’t want this signifier to be applied to any of the men I’ve talked about on this blog. But there certainly are men I’ve almost dated that haven’t been up to par with that standard. Men I’ve either had to refuse or accept less than desirable qualities for (i.e. not being readers) in order to “get my fixings.” Those fixings can be sexual, romantic, friendly, or just having someone to do things with. And I’m sure they’ve accepted less than desirable qualities in me for much the same reason. Because as humans, we can get desperately lonely. So lonely that we spend time with someone we normally wouldn’t spend time with because they’re available, they’re attractive, and they’ve got us in their sights.
In this essay, I’d like to discuss how we find ourselves in situationships or flings or whatever name you like in between dating the ones we love, or happen to open ourselves up to love. Who do we date in those moments? Are we dating? Or are we just passing the time?
Short n’ Sweet
What I think about when I hear “Short n’ Sweet” though are those short flings that mean something in the moment but likely will not amount to anything long term. For instance, I was telling a friend about an experience I had recently with a boy who I’ll call Ben.
Ben and I have been fuck buddies for a long time. A long time. I think I was 26 the first time we hooked up, and now at 33, we’ve hooked up off and on for almost 8 years. I’ve always thought he was one of the most attractive people I’ve ever hooked up with, and for a long time, I felt like the regular normie in his circle of insta-hot acquaintances. Which made him feel a little out of my reach, mysterious, and maybe more exciting.
I tell you this to give background as to why I was shocked one day when he invited me to hang out not for a sexual tryst, but a date. An actual date. I confirmed as much by asking him “As in a date?” when he asked if I wanted to come over and watch a movie with him (I’m big on being direct, call it what it is!). He said yes, and so I suddenly had to think about whether I even wanted to date this man. It was a Saturday night, I was still getting over my ex (as you all have read), and none of my friends could hang out. So, I agreed. And a small part of me thought about the fact that 7 years ago, when I was still an insecure, mid-twenties gayby, I would’ve died to even be considered worth hanging out with by someone like him. But is that reason enough to date someone?
We ended up watching a pretty sad movie while eating Nerds clusters and taking one too many hits off his weed-vape. We fucked, and it was good (it always is), but I felt what I always felt when I hook up with him which is slightly disconnected. As though we are going through the motions, we’re experiencing pleasure, but we’re not connecting in any real way. He’s getting his rocks off, I’m getting mine, and somehow we come to a climax even though we’re not fully engaging with the other. I think you’ll know what I mean if you think about the last one-night stand you had compared to the third time you had sex with an ex. You can feel a difference, and that’s what we had.
A couple weeks, maybe a month, later, I found myself without any plans again on a Saturday. Ben messaged me and asked if I wanted to come hang by his pool. This time I didn’t need to ask if it was a date, because I knew we had entered this quasi-situationship which you would call dating if it wasn’t based around hanging out and having sex. I decided to go over, and we ended up getting frisky as soon as I got there (a telltale sign that our ‘relationship’ was based on his horniness and mine) and when we finished, we ended up laying on one of the cabanas at his apartment complex pool.
Now, the reason I’m telling this story is because of what happened next. It’s a situation I’ve found myself in many times. And it always has me wondering what the purpose of it is or why it happened at all.
Over the course of the couple hours we were by the pool, Ben and I were exploring each other in a boyfriend-like way. Meaning, we laid next to each other, touched hands. Told each other funny stories about our friends. I jumped in the pool and he followed me, wrapping his legs and arms around me and floating in the water in my arms. Then we swapped and I was hanging on to him. Our faces were close and we talked intimately about nothing. And I remember thinking, as I looked over his shoulder people-watching the residents at the pool, just how weird it was to be doing something so couply with someone who you weren’t in a couple with. Were we play acting? It felt like it. Because I knew nothing about Ben. I knew he grew up somewhere in the South. I knew he hung out with mostly semi-famous gays in the scene. I knew he liked going to Millenia Spa to jerk off with me in front of strangers. But I didn’t know what it was like for him to grow up. I didn’t know what he thought about when he was alone. I didn’t know who his family was. Yet here I was, holding him as though I’d known him for years and that he was my special someone. He wasn’t, still isn’t, and it just gets me that two people can do something like this. What does it mean?
The story gets more interesting. Whilst laying by the pool, Ben mentioned that a friend of his was going to see Sara Bareilles at the Bowl that night. He looked up the ticket prices and discovered they were cheap, about $30 for middling seats. He asked if I wanted to come. I thought about what my night might contain instead. Sitting at home, getting high, and playing Overwatch. Or I could see one of my favorite singers with a boy I barely knew. I guess I did know him, I’d seen him grow from a mid-twenties gayby to a late-twenties gay man, but I didn’t know him. This would be a date. Or an extension of a day I had with a pseudo-boyfriend. I didn’t know how to consider the request. What ultimately had me decide to go was so that I wouldn’t be alone for the night.
He drove me home. I got dressed in the cutest outfit I could find in 10 minutes. And then we drove back to his place in Hollywood and walked our way to the Bowl. Sara was singing with the LA Philharmonic, and it was set to be a magical night. We found our way to our seats and I put my arm around his back. During the concert, he would squeeze my knee and kiss my cheek. He put his arm around me when we stood to watch her sing. I thought what it might look like to the people sitting behind or beside us. Did they think we were boyfriends? That we’d been together for years? Did they know this was only the second time I’d ever spent time with him in a way that wasn’t sexual? Of course not, how could they know. Some part of me felt like it was deceitful. But who were we deceiving except ourselves.
After Sara wowed us with her vocals, the emptying of the Bowl was a madhouse, so we made our way down to one of the lower tiers to wait it out. Ben ran into a couple guys he knew, a cute gay couple, and we got to talking. They had met a few months back at a party and were talking about the group of friends they shared. We walked with them once the crowds dispersed, back down to the entrance and then beyond to Hollywood Blvd. Whilst walking back we passed by Musso & Frank’s, and I commented how I had never been there.
“Oh, we should go!” one of the couple said.
“Yeah, we should do a double date sometime,” Ben said.
I looked at him. He said it with conviction. But what did he mean, double date? We weren’t dating. It sounded like we were boyfriends engaging with other boyfriends, and yet, we’d maybe hung out a handful of times over the years. Did he really want to date me? Or was this all a show? Were we still pretending? I think so.
I ended up staying the night with him. We had more sex, though I of course couldn’t finish because at that point, I was too in my head about everything. As I spooned him before falling asleep, he said, “I really like you.” And I thought to myself, Do you? Or are you just lonely?
It’s a question I keep asking whenever I date people for a short amount of time. Are we both just lonely? Somehow I think we must be, to feel comfortable pretending even for a short amount of time that we’re a “couple,” a unit. Sure, there are times when you’re dating someone and figuring it out. You’re romancing them, courting them, and learning more about them every day so that you can determine if you want to spend next week with them, or the next month, or the next few months. But what Ben and I were doing was different. It felt like a stopgap in between the lives we were leading from Sunday to Friday. A snapshot day of a snapshot relationship. Could it be more? Certainly. But would it? Most likely not. And for some reason it irked me the next morning when I was leaving, because somehow it feels like a waste. But how could it be a waste if two people spend a pleasant day together lying in the sun, holding each other in the pool, and going to a romantic concert. Isn’t that what life is about? I think so. So why did it feel so empty?
Like I said, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened to me. When a hook up or hang out or even a first date turns into a sort of pretend relationship, in the matter of an hour. Maybe it’s common for other gay men as well. Part of me thinks it’s easier for us to do this because it’s easier for us to live in this type of fantasy. We spent most of our childhoods feeling so alone that we primed ourselves to fall easily into something that makes us feel even a modicum of love, albeit shallow. And I don’t think it’s wrong or bad. It can’t be, not really, because it serves a purpose and makes two people in a hell of a lonely world feel connected. I’ve had moments of wondering if life could be lead this way, between flings and situationships. Short-term relationships. There’s something to them. While dating someone for years certainly changes your life and adds to it, I think dating someone for weeks or just a few months can have that same sort of effect. It’s exciting, you learn something about them, you feel connection. And then it’s over. And you move on to the next one. Or at least, in my experience I do. You remember it fondly, or as a weird but pleasant day. It’s not what most people would define as meaningful. But it still means something.
Bed Chem
If we’re talking about Short n’ Sweet relationships, we have to talk about those that are founded on really, really good ‘bed chem.’ So good that you can even feel it when you first meet. I’ve had plenty of situationships that started because we had really good sex. In fact, a lot of my relationships have started that way, because I’m a big believer in sex on the first date. But when I think about bed chem, I think about those hookups that turn into something more. Or rather, those hookups that you want to turn into something more because the sex is just that good.
I had a past, long-term relationship that began with a Grindr hookup. I remember going over to his house, ecstatic that he had even noticed me on Grindr let alone responded to my message, and we ended up canoodling on the couch. Later when I was on top of him, his legs wrapped around me, I remember he clawed my back with his finger nails. It was so intimate, so passionate. It didn’t hurt, but it felt sharp and lustful. I remember thinking how that had never once happened to me. Like they do in the movies when you see nails dig into the Hollywood lead’s muscles. A year into our dating, I still remembered that first night and how passionate it had been between us. It was part of the reason I even considered going back again and again to his house to continue to have those hookups and, later, to start dating. Because when you feel that type of sex, you know that there has to be something there, otherwise why would the sex be so good?
But that can be tricky. Because not everyone you have sex with is someone you will fall in love with, or even should fall in love with. Something that can be hard to remember when you’re in the throes of lust and passion.
Take, for instance, a recent fling I’ve started with a boy we’ll call Nathan. Nathan ticks a lot of boxes. Smart, nerdy. Lean, fit. Gorgeous brown eyes and a nice smile. We met off Scruff and our first hang together was actually at the Millenia Spa. I know I’ve mentioned that spa before in this essay, but I don’t really want to go into it because it’s honestly a treasured LA gay secret. All you need to know is it’s a Korean spa where, in the male only side, gay guys from all across LA (and the world) come to dip naked in the hot tub and cruise the other men walking around in towels as they go from heated room to heated room. It’s a great place to hang with a hookup, because if you don’t like the guy, there are plenty more to choose from and break the duo convo. And if you do like him, there’s plenty of other guys to ogle at while you rev up for later.
When he first came in to meet me in the hot tub, I noticed he seemed quiet and shy. Handsome, not noticing the guys that ogled him because he mostly kept his eyes down and his attention to himself. I found him endearing and smart. And because the whole situation was sexy, I was more curious about him. We ended up chatting about nothings and all the while I was admiring his body. We spent a couple hours there, slowly getting to know each other more intimately, and he drove me home. He didn’t come up that night, but a couple nights later. And while I had thought he might be a bottom, he ended up topping me even though I had no intention of bottoming when I set out that night (I got lucky, I’m over 30 and should not be doing that on the fly). The sex was earnest and sensual, as though it had been built up since the night we saw each other at the spa, but also as though I had known him for a little while longer than I did. We were very connected, very present, and it was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. I was instantly hooked. If a man could make me feel that good, I mean, surely there was something there.
I ended up texting my friend after to say, “I need to stop falling in love with the men I hook up with.” Obviously, I was kidding, but it’s something I’ve noticed can happen with me when a hook up is that good. Maybe because sex has a level of emotion, even when it’s emotionless, because it’s one of the most intimate things one can do with another human being. You’re naked and vulnerable. So when it connects like that, you start to feel attached. Or I do. And it’s hard to then find a reason not to think of the man in romantic terms, because again, feeling that makes it feel like they know you on a deeper level without even having learned that much about you.
Needless to say, I saw him again. And again. And again. And now we’re at a point where it’s starting to feel like I’m more into him than I at first believed. But is that the sex talking? Quite possibly. When you start backwards like that, going from full on intimate to slowly learning more about each other the way friends and new boyfriends would, it can be a bit confusing. I remember when I was in an open relationship with my ex, you could feel when things with someone new felt more than just a hookup. When it felt like you were knowing someone little by little over the hour or so you met them, and enjoying getting to know them, and there was something about them you knew you could latch onto. Because they were fun, or funny, or smart, and because they connected with you in a way that feels similar to meeting a later best friend the first time. There’s a lot of people like that for you out there, and when you have it at home whilst having a hookup, you know the difference between the two feelings. It’s possible I’m polyamorous, because there were many times I could feel that and wanted to experience more of that person, in spite of being closed off romantically.
In any case, it feels like that with Nathan, and I’m trying to back things up and remind myself it could just be the lust talking. For right now, it pretty much is the lust talking, because I haven’t really let us do anything more date-y than a hangout and sex. Ok, we went to see a movie one time, but that was the first week we hooked up, I was still delulu. Anyway, I guess all this to say, I’ve been in this situation before, too. And in an earlier version of myself, I would’ve had a 72 hour date with him by now. I would give in to that feeling that I want to see where this goes. But I’m not like that anymore. I know the difference, and the difference is in how fast you take things. Going it slow, building up a relationship, learning more before diving in—that’s what’s been most helpful for me in these situations. And so for now, I’m trying to see him sparingly. Hangout with him in other contexts. Not text him or communicate more than a few times a week. Create a bit of distance between us.
But let me tell you, it can be difficult. Just yesterday he was over to pick up a gaming headset I lent him, and in spite of my not really expecting anything to happen an hour before he had to go to work, we ended up making out and naked in my bed. And once again, I felt that same feeling of complete passion as though I’d been craving that all day (I really hadn’t). I guess sometimes it is just chemical. You can be very much clear-headed and yet the sheer complimentary mix of the two of you pulls you in. And then afterward, when you’re showering with that person you have good bed chem with, it’s hard not to let the euphoric feelings wash over you so that you start to giggle and be cutesie because you like this person. So, it’s pretty much riding the wave of those feelings and then later you’re left with the question, but do I like him?