The Asshole Who Had a Point
I pulled an asshole move. He called me out for it.
Tall, handsome, and true to his profile picture, he stepped out of his car and smiled. The picture of a nice guy.
Striving to emulate the gracious host, I held open the door as he walked inside. We made ourselves comfortable. It was awkward — hookups like this one usually were. He sat on the floor — I grabbed a bean bag. College décor at its finest.
We’d met via Grindr. A hookup app for gay men, we knew what we were getting into. Sex wasn’t just a fun add-on — it was the whole point. Why else would I invite a total stranger to my place despite soft-cringing at the thought of hosting friends I genuinely enjoy being around?
When I’m on Grindr, I’m only as cute, friendly, and flirtatious as I need to be. I’m looking for someone who’s interested — but not too interested — in a casual fling.
And because Grindr in constantly swarming with men like me — ranging from the insincere Eh, Maybe If I’m Drunk Ghost to the hungry-hungry Horny and Desperate Hippopotamus — I’m careful to weed out the weird-good from the weird-bad. I’m methodical. Slow. It takes weeks before I find someone I’m comfortable meeting in-person.
I’m a picky dude. Thus, the effort.
However.
Here’s the catch: Ninety percent of the time, I would rather call off the entire week-long endeavor than make the first moves IRL. Insofar as I’m concerned, if he doesn’t wanna knock over the first domino, then we’re just not sexually compatible. Unfortunate, but wisdom that has generally holds true.
After two-plus hours of sitting around, chatting about blah blah blah, I’d grown impatient. And a little worried. Why hadn’t he made a move? I’d dropped the breadcrumb trail. Wait…
Prolonged eye contact, check. Subtle insinuations, check. Less-subtle insinuations, checkity-check. I’d showered and tossed on my nicest exercise gear — sleek, yet casual — and my breath smelled like mint toothpaste. Not that he’d come close enough to notice.
Yep. The trail had been laid.
Fuck it, I thought. I’d spend weeks searching for this guy, and I really didn’t want to start over. Maybe he was worried I’d freak out or something if he touched me, and he just needed a stronger signal.
So I gave him one.
I patted a chair. “Sit here,” I said.
Blinking, he complied. With a little adjustment, I made myself comfortable in his lap. Him being, well, huge — well over six feet — it wasn’t even a tight squeeze.
We chatted a bit more. Flirted. Here it comes, I thought. The second domino.
Minutes passed. My excitement drained into something I couldn’t quite place my finger on. Not impatience…not anger…not apathy…
As I wrestled with the unfamiliar feeling, the man whose lap I’d stolen stopped talking. In the ensuing silence, the feeling within me barreled up my esophagus and burst into the space of my empty, quiet apartment.
“Hey. Are you going to…do anything?”
I blinked. My cheeks turned hot. Had I said that? Me? But it sounded so…so…
Petty. Insecure. Irritated. Needy.
Behind me, the man stiffened. His breathing stilled. The silence stretched. I knew I’d fucked up, somehow. But rather than apologize — frankly, I wasn’t sure there was anything to apologize for — I grasped the frustration I felt and armed myself with it. Sure, I might’ve been petty, but I had left the trail. I’d done my due diligence. Surely, that deserved something.
“Hey,” he said. Heated. “That’s passive aggressive bullshit. If you want something, ask for it.”
I opened my mouth to respond, bit nothing came out. There was nothing to say.
Shit. He’s right. I’d been ready to flay this guy for not making moves, when I hadn’t even had the guts or the decency to ask him for it. He wasn’t the problem, here — I was.
He wasn’t the asshole — I was.
Mortified, I took a moment to compose myself. The same feeling that prompted me to speak up now prompted me to lash out. Make him hurt. Blame him for making me feel like a complete and utter idiot. Because he had a point, and points, when delivered on a sharp tongue, hurt.
Instead, I apologized. Then, stumbling over my words, I did as he said. Politely as I was able, I asked, hesitant, if he would, um, that is, would he please make the first move?
He thought. The part of him that composed my backrest relaxed.
And he did.
