When I was putting the Post-it on Co-worker 1’s screen, he stopped me and said he wanted to show me something. He walked me toward the bathroom. When we got inside, he pressed into me and awkwardly kissed my mouth. I kissed back and slammed him against the wall. He fumbled to get his hands down my pants. I pulled him into the bathroom stall, and he quickly dropped his pants. He said he had this planned for my last day. We locked the bathroom stall and made no attempts to stifle the noise. No one came into the bathroom, or at least we were so distracted, we never noticed.
When we walked out of the stall, we saw a felt pen on the ground. Someone had drawn a few happy faces on the door of the stall. It looked like a half-finished sketch with gaping spaces between the happy faces. I picked up the pen and drew sad faces in the empty spots.
When I finished, Co-worker 1 was still washing up in the bathroom. He turned to me and said, “You know no one likes you here, right?”
I nodded and looked in the mirror. I couldn’t tell if I was smiling or frowning.
DATE: MUSCGUY
Ryan parked his car just a block away from the address given to him. He didn’t want to let MuscGuy know what his car looked like.
He strolled up to the door and buzzed to let himself in. MuscGuy had a deep voice, or the call system deepened his voice, or he purposely lowered it when he answered. “’Sup?”
MuscGuy opened the door wearing faded denim jeans disintegrating at the edges, a hoodie, and an old undershirt. He looked like he’d just woken up after a long shift at a construction site, but he smelled like honey-melon body soap, and there wasn’t a speck of dirt on his perfectly manicured hands.
Ryan was about to comment on his fruity scent, but MuscGuy stopped him with, “So I guess you just got here after work or something?”
“Sorry, what?”
“It’s just you look like you didn’t get time to shower.”
“No, I had time to shower, I—”
“Oh, sorry, I guess that’s just how your hair looks normally.”
Ryan flattened out his hair and took off his jacket. They moved into MuscGuy’s kitchen, which was several different tones of grey and beige. There were a couple of framed posters of Vancouver scenery in varied tones of greige.
“So what do you do?” MuscGuy hovered over Ryan and stood extremely close.
“I, uh, work as a server.”
“Just a server? Sorry, that was rude. I mean, do you want to be just a server, or are you working on something better?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking about going to school. You?”
“I have my masters in Urban Studies, and a masters in History.”
Ryan felt a cold sweat break out over his entire head. “I’m actually going back to school soon.”
“Oh, yeah, for what?”
“Biology or maybe Engineering,” he lied. Ryan’s fingers twisted into knots. MuscGuy noticed, so Ryan flicked them out. MuscGuy walked over to Ryan and began to unbuckle his belt. He kissed Ryan on the forehead, then gripped the back of his neck.
“Do you want this?”
Ryan nodded. MuscGuy lifted Ryan up and carried him to the bed. Ryan didn’t realize how much smaller he was than MuscGuy. Ryan relaxed and let him take control. MuscGuy pumped lube from an economy-sized bottle. Ryan nervously chuckled as he put it to his lips to taste. He hated the way the lube had a sweet taste but knew not to say anything. MuscGuy had a strong grip; he held Ryan tightly in every position. Once he was inside Ryan, MuscGuy gripped his back and massaged his upper shoulders. Ryan closed his eyes and imagined someone else, and then someone else, and continued to shift to another person. His mind flipped to a new person each moment. He opened his eyes, and the image disappeared, floated up. MuscGuy whispered into his ear, “Do you want it rough?” Ryan nodded but whispered “slow.” MuscGuy whispered even more quietly, “I will make you feel so safe” as he tightened his grip around Ryan’s neck. It went on like this all night. At one a.m., MuscGuy rolled over to see the time.
“Shit, you better go,” he said.
“Would it be okay if I stayed the night?” asked Ryan.
“That doesn’t work for me. I have work early in the morning.”
Ryan nodded and put his clothes on. MuscGuy walked him to the door. Once he was outside, Ryan texted him: “Thanks, let’s do that again.” A bubble popped up that showed MuscGuy was writing a text, then the bubble disappeared. The text never showed up.
Ryan sent three more texts the next day. MuscGuy responded once. “Listen, not looking for anything, but if you wanna play again let me know.”
BLOCKED
I took a photo of myself with my wine in the airplane.
See ya later bitches. #vacation #gayboy #toronto #ineededthis
I sat against the window and hoped no one was going to join me. Just before take-off, an older woman sat down next to me, and I let out a sigh. She kept the light on throughout the entire flight as I tried to sleep. She offered me gum, but I ignored her.
When I arrived, I waited for a cab. I turned on my phone and scanned through the nearby profiles. Swiping left, swiping left, swiping left. Too young, block. Too old, block. No face, block. I went through each profile, reading the “about me” as quickly as possible. This guy was not interested in drama. This guy was not interested in foreplay. This guy was not interested in hookups. This guy was not interested in Asians, but he wanted to make it very clear that he was not a racist. This guy was only interested in masc men.
The cab driver looked through the rearview mirror, “You here for vacation or for work?”
“Both, I guess.”
“You a writer?” He nodded toward the unbound scripts piled next to me.
“Yup.”
The cab arrived at the house on Palmerston Boulevard.
“That’s good. Reading is good. My wife is a writer, of poetry. Not here, but in India.”
“Could I read some of her poetry somewhere?”
“Yes, but it is all in Punjabi.”
He told me his wife’s name. I pretended to type it into my phone. I paid the cab driver and walked down Church Street.
When the cab driver asked if I was a writer, I’d lied. It was just something I did. Whenever anyone asked me an outright question about myself, I would lie. If they asked me a leading question that I knew was false, I would say it was true. It was a gag I was trying out. I wanted to see how much I could get away with. I wouldn’t have to worry about consistency either because it was Toronto, and I could easily be swallowed up by the size of the population. I looked around, found the closest Church Street sign, and took a photo of myself next to it.
Made it to Toronto. #funtimes
///
I took a photo of myself in my outfit using the hotel mirror.
Night out. #findmeahusband #gayboy #toronto
A few guys were at the bar looking toward me. I smiled. My server came up and placed a beer in front of me and let me know that it was coming from them. I lifted my glass to them and smiled. The three of them walked over and sat at the open seats around my table, and we were quickly engaged in a fast-paced conversation. They were from here, they said. I told them that I wasn’t but was planning to move here and wanted to try it out. They were working in marketing for separate independent firms. I was in-between jobs but wanted to get into acting. My agent had just dropped me, but I lied and said I’d left her. They asked if they would know me from anything I’d been in. I said, “Just a few commercials … and maybe some of my YouTube skits and videos.”
“Wait, you’re that guy who recorded his breakup and posted it online!”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Wasn’t that kind of mean?”
“Whatever; people are broken up with all of the time.” I was irritated.
“But your boyfriend, he was devastated, or at least that’s what it looked like. I could never do something like that.”
“But you watched the video, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, so
what?”
“Did you share it with anyone?”
“Yeah, I posted it on Facebook.”
“Well, now who’s mean?”
He smiled. I ordered another round, after which the rest of his friends left for another bar. After a few more drinks, he asked if he could take a selfie with me. He clicked a photo and began filtering it to post online.
“Can I tag you in this?”
“Of course.”
We had one more drink before he leaned in to kiss me and ask me to come home with him.
While we walked to his apartment, I took a selfie with him. I was too drunk to properly take a photo; it was blurry and mostly just specks of light from the street.
He pulled me into a hug on his oversized bed. We had a long kiss, and I grabbed for my phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I wanted to take a photo.”
“Of us kissing?”
“Yeah, it would be great for my Instagram account.”
He turned me on my side and kissed my back. I felt the sweat of our bodies pool between us, and I remembered what it felt like to have this. The apocalypse was waiting for us outside, and we would hold on as long as possible.
“Do you want to stay the night?”
“Yes,” I lied.
In the middle of the night, I slipped out of bed and grabbed my clothes. He called out for me and asked where I was going. I said, “the bathroom,” and then sneaked out the back door.
I walked back to the club where the last few men were stumbling out. Cabs were lined up, waiting on the street.
When I was in the cab, I posted the selfie of us kissing.
Toronto Romance #love #lovewins
The cab driver spoke up:
You like going to these kind of bars?
Yup.
Me too, but I’m shy.
It’s good to get out there.
Sometimes I will go to those bars too. And I will hug and kiss a man, but nothing more. They always want more. They always touch me more.
Do you sometimes want more?
Yes, but I’m afraid.
Why?
I don’t want my heart broken. I’m scared. My friends tell me to follow my heart, but I follow my brain. What should I do?
I stopped talking and looked at my phone.
///
When I got into the gym bathroom, I took a photo of myself in front of the mirror with a hand towel covering my bum.
#legday
I checked the photo a few times before I made it to a small coffee shop. 3.2k likes. Not bad in just under half an hour. I ordered two croissants and grabbed a handful of napkins. The server brought them on a plate.
“No, sorry, can I get that to go?”
“No, you stay here, with me.”
“I can’t.” My reply sounded more tired than flirty.
“No, with me. It’s so cold outside.”
He held down the plate with the croissants and stared at me like it was a duel. I imagined him as the candlestick character from Beauty and the Beast. I was the sexy duster that he wanted to woo. I stared back at him. I wanted those croissants, and I didn’t want to stay.
“I need my croissants. I can’t stay; I have a very important business meeting,” I lied. He put the croissants in a bag, frowned, and asked if I would come back.
“Of course. I just moved in down the block, so you’ll see me almost every day,” I lied again.
I’ve always imagined that when you lie, you create another world where that lie exists. Each time I lie, there’s a version of me who goes on to be or do that thing. One of me will go on to live here and go to this coffee shop every day. Maybe that version of me will fall in love with the coffee-shop owner. Settle down. Maybe help him open a second shop. Each lie breaks this world into small pieces, turning into a new story, breaking and turning into new stories until all you’re left with is the small bits. Nothing you can hold on to.
///
The bartender, unprompted, placed a beer in front of me.
“This is for you, you don’t have to have sex with me.”
“Okay, but what if I did want to have sex with you?”
He responded with a confused look on his face.
“Is there, like, a sex amount of beers, or are you only offering non-sexual beers?”
He smiled.
I took a photo of myself with a cute, grumpy look on my face.
Bitches get free drinks. #fuckit
My phone rang. It was my old agent. She talked excitedly about taking me back on. I was hesitant, but she said she had a deal for me and to book a flight home. I yelled over at the bartender, “I’m not going to need this free beer—get me something better than that!”
///
You like going to these kind of bars?
No.
I do, but I’m shy.
Okay.
Sometimes I will go to those bars too. And I will hug and kiss a man, but nothing more. They always want more. They always touch me more.
Okay.
Aren’t you afraid?
No.
I don’t want my heart broken. I’m scared. My friends tell me to follow my heart, but I follow my brain.
I nodded.
So then what should I do?
I got out of the cab.
///
I was invited to a small Halloween house party through a friend of a friend. I wasn’t really prepared for a costume so I threw on a plaid shirt and said I was a lumberjack. It was open bar, so I went pretty hard on the vodka. I kept eying the man dressed as Winnie the Pooh throughout the evening. He was mostly trying to avoid me, so I pushed a little more for his attention, and finally cornered Winnie the Pooh into a conversation:
“I run a small company,” I lied.
“Really?” Winnie the Pooh asked. “What’s the business?”
“I sell inflatables.”
“Like sex toys?”
“No, don’t be stupid. Like inflatable cars to car companies or like inflatable bananas to banana stands. I’m one of the largest sellers in the inflatables world around Canada, or the IW as we like to call it,” I winked.
He faked a smile.
“You know, Winnie the Pooh never wears pants,” I said.
“So?”
“Well, why don’t we try that out in my hotel?” I leaned in to kiss him, but he remained unmoved. I began to stick my tongue into his mouth, but he wouldn’t respond; I could feel his closed teeth with my tongue. He backed away.
“Maybe you should have dressed as Eeyore instead of Winnie the Pooh,” I slurred as he ducked into the kitchen.
I took a blurry photo of Winnie the Pooh from afar.
Dick.
///
You like going to these kind of bars?
Yup. But it’s never busy like this in Vancouver.
Me too, but I’m shy.
Me too.
Sometimes I will go to those bars too. And I will hug and kiss a man, but nothing more. They always want more. They always touch me more.
Do you sometimes want more?
Yes, but I’m afraid.
Why?
I don’t want my heart broken. I’m scared. My friends tell me to follow my heart, but I follow my brain.
I always follow my brain, but that gets your heart broken too.
So then what should I do?
My real and honest advice?
I opened the door to leave.
Have your heart broken.
///
I swiped left, hit the block button, swiped left, hit the block button. One man messaged with the question, “Do you have a hotel? I can’t host, but I think we could have a lot of fun together.”
“Sure,” I replied “come find me.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Marriott, room 432,” I lied. A few minutes later, I blocked him. I imagined him going to the hotel and finding the parallel version of me, waiting for him in a robe. Letting him stay the night.
///
I sat at the bar. When I looked up, I saw a handsome man staring at me. I asked the bartender to send him another round of whatever he was drinking. The bartender dropped off his drink. The guy asked who bought it and the bartender pointed at me. I raised my glass high.
“Really?” the guy yelled.
“Yes,” I hollered back.
The guy grabbed his drank and sat down next to me.
“You must not remember who I am.”
“Oh, have we already chatted online?”
“No. You forced yourself on me two nights ago. I was dressed as Winnie the Pooh.”
I paused and sipped my beer. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“Okay. Well. Either way, thanks for the drink.” He got up and walked away.
“Wait! I’m sorry. Please, just sit down for a drink.”
He looked back at me with a defeated look, which I knew meant he would come back for the drink. He sipped from his beer and walked back to the seat next to me.
“Fine. I’m going to sit and finish this drink with you, but could you at least be real with me.”
“I’m always real.”
He laughed. “Oh yeah, like that inflatable company bullshit you gave me? I know you. You’re that guy with like a million Instagram followers, and you broke up with your boyfriend via YouTube.”
“I was just joking around about the inflatable company. Listen, I’ve had a lot of problems in my life, so maybe I joke around to make up for it or something.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes, like, I have a really troubled past.”
He laughed. “I don’t think you know what a troubled past is.”
“I’ve had a very hard life, nothing you would understand.”
“You don’t know me, and it sounds like you don’t know what a hard life is, and from what I’ve gathered from the very short time I’ve talked to you, I think I can guess that you’re a privileged fucking white boy who was handed everything he wanted in his life.”
“Well, you don’t know me at all, so you’re fucking wrong.”
“Okay, then you clearly have enough time to Instagram every waking moment.”
Everything Is Awful and You're a Terrible Person Page 3
