Ben’s bedroom was situated on the 5th floor in the southeast corner of his apartment building. Which is why, he told himself, the last three years that he’d spent living in this 1-BR unit had forced him against all odds to become a morning person. The hot July sun began streaming into his room at 5:00, and by 6:00, sleeping (let alone keeping any of the covers on) was all but impossible. Yes, purchasing blackout curtains seemed like a good idea, and it was an item that occasionally even popped up on Ben’s long-term, when-I-get-to-it to-do list. But the apartment was so shabby and falling apart as it is; curtains seemed like an extravagance. Chunks of yellowed plaster flaking off the ceiling. A single window unit air conditioner that was positioned directly over the bed and only barely up to the task of making the room slightly cooler. A charming clawfoot tub in the bathroom that would have been more charming were its feet not so uneven on the floor that the whole tub rocked if you weren’t skilled at keeping your balance while taking a shower. It was, in other words, something of a dump. Admittedly, this is not a conclusion one would ever reach if one were to see what Ben paid for the place, but.. such is life in the nation’s capital.
It was ten minutes after 8 on a Saturday. Too early to jump out of bed and start the day in earnest (there was just no need). A perfectly good time to pull on a pair of shorts and shoes and go for a run on the Mall, perhaps, but 1) it was already unbearably hot for such an activity; and 2) Ben hadn’t been running in months and had no desire to see just how out of shape he’d gotten. He instead poured himself a glass of water from the bathroom sink and shuffled out to his living room. Last night’s frozen pizza leftovers sat on the coffee table. The paper bag that held the Chipotle takeout from the night before last was also still sitting on the counter next to the refrigerator. And the new underwear he had impulsively bought off an Instagram ad two weeks ago sat in an unopened package on his desk. Ben opened the package and tried on one of the two pair of briefs. $32 plus shipping for some brand he had never heard of, but the model was hot, and insta had managed to snag him in a moment of weakness. Olive green with yellow piping and a bold white stripe across the front. He checked himself out in the mirror that hung on the living room far wall and was sufficiently pleased with what he saw. They were low cut, with good shape in the back. Ben didn’t work out with any discipline or regularity, but he was tall at 6’, and he was blessed with decent enough shoulders that framed his body well. Everything else about his physique that hung off the shoulders was fair to average, but his shoulders were nice and they gave the illusion of being a Gay who was Good at Fitness. The summer had given him a nice tan, too, Ben having spent last Sunday laying out on the roof deck pool at a friend-of-friend’s apartment complex in Navy Yard. He had more or less evened out out his tank top tan lines. He needed to trim his chest (“manscape” it, if one wanted to sound like a Ryan Seacrest metrosexual from 2007, but Ben hated that term for exactly that connotation). But trimming was work, and there were no tantalizing social engagements on the horizon that would necessitate it.
Ben picked up his phone and reflexively opened Grindr in one, unthinking motion. The usual same faces and torsos greeted him. His friend Noah, who lived two blocks away and was seemingly always on the app at all hours. The bronze but grainy and poorly lit abs belonging to Sergio from across the street — who Noah had hooked up with once and said it was awful, but otherwise Ben had never actually spoken to Sergio (or his abs). Closest among them was the smiling face of Lawrence, at 40 feet away — Ben’s neighbor down the hall and up one floor. Lawrence was in his mid-50s, Irishy pink in complexion, short and slightly overweight, with what little hair he had having long ago turned a wispy gray. Unlike Ben, Lawrence didn’t bother with any window unit A/Cs in his apartment, and consequently from early May to late September, Ben only ever saw him in a white a-frame tank, beads of sweat scattered across his pasty flesh. Honestly from where Ben stood, Lawrence seemed too sweetly benign and too pickled from a lifetime of drinking cosmopolitans at the Townhouse Tavern to ever have a sex life, so what he was doing on Grindr Ben could only guess. But what did Ben know. Ben had many, many years of life ahead of him before he was ready to join the ranks of the paunched and fleshy daddies at Townhouse cosmo happy hour. Or not. In reality, Ben was less than two decades from being just like Lawrence (albeit taller and with air conditioning), so there was no need to judge.
A toned, white torso in a blue speedo messaged Ben, and his phone made the familiar Grindr noise. Noah had once referred to it as the “bongo-ping-pong badum sound,” which Ben had always liked.
Personally, I think Eartha Kitt was the far superior Catwoman, but you do you
This was a gentle negging reference to Ben’s Grindr profile, where he had listed “Julie Newmar fan fiction” among his tongue-in-cheek (but calculating and carefully chosen) interests. The 1960s pop culture call-out was, admittedly, far too pretentious for Grindr. A better profile might quote a single line in a Miley or CRJ lyric and leave it at that. But Ben liked his indulgent attempt at giving his profile some personality with the IYKYK wink-and-nod. Virtually every message he ever got simply ignored it or just said “who’s that,” so when someone took the bait and offered up a clever response, Ben admired the effort. It was a tennis serve that got returned; a chance to play a game to see who could amuse the other more. And it was an improvement over the rote volley of hey / what’s up / into? that usually passed for conversation in the app.
Ben smiled at the faceless white torso’s message and wrote back.
I mean.. don’t get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for Eartha’s purrrfect supervillain chops. The woman rocks a cat suit
Maybe that was enough to keep the convo going? Ben took a drink of his water and settled in on the couch. He liked the contrast of his new green underwear against the neutral gray tone of the couch cushion. But the couch otherwise scratched a little and felt uncomfortably warm against his bare skin. He cycled through his usual phone apps and waited for a response. He checked Insta stories.. Snap stories.. looked up his FindMyFriends to see if anyone who was sharing location with him might have spent the night somewhere other than their own bed. No response from Torso yet.
Ben switched back to Grindr and looked at the guy’s profile again. 5’10”. 155. 34 (give or take, Ben assumed). On prep. Vers top (that meant nothing). Looking for chat/right now. Hmm. Ben looked again and then realized the guy had multiple pics in his profile. Swiping to see more, Ben let out an involuntary yelp. He saw a face pic, and omg.. It was Graham. Ben knew this guy. To be fair.. “knew him” was maybe too strong a statement. They met once. Ben’s coworker Gary (the only other 30-something gay in the office, and one who Ben never really cared for, frankly, but a gay coworker is a comrade in arms, nevertheless) had invited Ben and Ben’s work wife Megan (at work it was always Ben&Megan. Benemegan, if you ran it together) out to a happy hour at Duplex for his birthday. That was.. geez, it must have been six months ago now. The happy hour had been an awkward and stilted dud of an affair (much like Gary himself, it should be said), and Megan bailed after the first drink, leaving Ben waiting with another hour to kill before the friends he actually wanted to see that night would be out somewhere ready to meet up. But then Gary’s volleyball team friends showed up at the happy hour and among them was Graham.
To say that Ben had a crush on Graham would be overstating things considerably. But Graham was charming. And funny — with loads of personality to spare, certainly when compared to Gary. And he had perfect teeth (Ben was a sucker for good teeth). Ben had only barely said hello to Graham that night six months ago at Duplex, and there may have been a lingering hug with a bicep squeeze in there as well, but that was it. Mostly Ben just remembered that Graham was chatty and friendly and had put everyone at ease in what was otherwise an awkward circle of people, many of whom didn’t know each other that well and were staring into their drinks.
In truth, Ben didn’t remember anything Graham had said or shared about himself that night. If he was honest, Ben actually knew Graham from Insta. He had gone down the multiple rabbit holes of who-shared-a-beach-house-with-whom at Rehoboth or Ptown, and who-was-tagged-in-which-kickball-team-photos or volleyball photos so, so often. Graham was a recurring character in all of it. Blond and carefree, pale but muscular in a doing-the-post-twink-thing-just-right sort of way. Pics that didn’t reveal *too* much but frequently conveyed the attitude “I know how to have a good time and spend my summers with a cocktail in hand and wearing as little as possible.” Gorgeous in a speedo. Smiling with those teeth. He was very pretty, and Ben was attracted to pretty.
LOL I’ll say she does. Sorry I fell back asleep
What’s got you up at such an early hour?
I’m Graham, btw
Graham had finally written back, three messages in rapid succession, after having gone silent for the last 20 minutes. Ben paused over what to make of the introduction. Did Graham remember that they had met once? Was he just trying to be polite by assuming Ben might not remember? Ben’s face was visible in his profile, and he linked to his twitter account, so if Graham had done even a minimal amount of clicking and stalking he would have figured out that Gary was a mutual friend. But Ben didn’t want to assume. He replied.
Eh. Thought about going for a run but then decided my couch was too comfortable lol. And I’d have to put on clothes, which just isn’t happening (upside down face emoji)
I’m Ben
Yes, the reference to “putting on clothes” was a shameless come-on, but a mild one. Ben much preferred banter to obviousness. He would not debase himself by saying that he was up early because he was “horny, lol.” Or worse yet, “feeling h-word” (this is Grindr for fucks sake? Why did people talk like that?).
Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ben. Lived in DC long?
Well that answered that, Ben concluded. Graham had no memory of him. But his slightly stiff and formal phrasing came off as endearing. And what’s more, he had completely ignored the “Oh me, I’m just sitting here naked” subtext of Ben’s last message. Which.. is fine, of course. Chatting is just chatting. And there was no reason Graham should actually remember him. They only met once. Not everyone was as good at stalking friends-of-friends-of-friends on the internet and piecing together webs of gay DC friend groups like Ben so often did. Maybe less charitably, not everyone was as creepy about trying to catalog and identify everyone as Ben was.
About four years now
The conversation was in danger of running stale. They would run out of stuff to talk about very soon, and neither would have the energy or interest to actually keep the text volley going. Which again, wasn’t a problem. It was fine, really. Graham was pretty, and seemingly a good conversationalist, but Ben didn’t have any other designs on the morning. Though his underwear did look pretty hot. And as he adjusted himself, he realized he might in fact be more h-word than he was ready to admit, given the early morning hour and the fact that parts of him were still waking up.
Nice. Welp.. I’m in need of iced coffee and a bagel, so gonna head over to Stella’s I think
Graham had given him an opening. Or an out. Like, yes, he was clearly tying off the conversation and just trying to end it. The “gtg, see ya!” nature of his message was almost overly polite, by Grindr standards. It was considerate. But Stella’s bakery was literally around the corner from Ben’s apartment. It was crawling distance, if one were so hungover as to need to do so (as Ben had been, on occasion). In an impulsive and reckless move brought on perhaps by the heat, but also probably by his new underwear, Ben wrote back.
Oh Stella’s! That’s right on my block. Feel free to swing by and say hi, if you’re so inclined :)
It was bold. Absurdly so. But it had already been established that Graham had no idea who Ben was, so the risk of coming on too strong or being thought too desperate was irrelevant. (was there even such a thing as “too desperate” on Grindr, besides?) Ben told himself there was no harm in being shot down, and anyway.. he was horny enough at this point he was going to jack off soon, so might as well try to make it a team effort if he could. He hadn’t woken up wanting sex. Hadn’t even been thinking about it, honestly. He was supposed to go to brunch with Megan in an hour. But he’d been low-key stalking Graham for months, and it was purely serendipitous that Graham should message him out of the blue like that. Ben knew who Graham was, but he was curious to know more. Getting him naked and in Ben’s bed was as good a route to familiarity as any.
Thought you’d never ask. But don’t put on clothes on my account, certainly :) Address ?
And he accepted! Ben sat upright on the couch, all of a sudden much more awake than he’d been even seconds before. He messaged Graham his address, and Graham said he’d be around in 30. That didn’t leave just a ton of time to do what they were going to do before meeting up for brunch with Megan. But so be it. He’d push Megan off if he needed to. Lord knows he’d accommodated enough of her over-involved, exhausting quests for dick in the past. She could spot him this one. Ben clocked the smell of the leftover frozen pizza sitting on the coffee table. That needed to go. There was more cleaning up that he’d need to do.. suddenly the apartment appeared messy and disordered. The instinctive need for everything to be tidied because someone (anyone!) was coming over… the haunting influence of Ben’s mother was never far off.
Ben lifted his arm and smelled himself to see if he needed a shower. He didn’t really have time for one anyway, if he wanted to clean up first. And he wouldn’t be able to shave (or rather “manscape”), not that that mattered. It was hot, and his apartment was already probably in the low 80s, but he was fine. He had been told once before that his sweat actually smelled good, which.. Ben didn’t want to put a lot of stock in. But just speaking for himself, he liked the smell of body. Of men. A shower was unnecessary. And he’d just start sweating immediately afterward anyway. Such was summer in DC. The sweat was an ever-present lubricant for flesh-on-flesh. Making bodies glisten in the heat.
Ben put on gym shorts and a shirt with deep cut-off arm holes and ran downstairs. Experience had taught Ben that meeting a hook-up on the stoop outside his apartment was generally the better move, and helped set him more at ease. At least see the person on the street first. Have some semblance of a conversation in the open public air. It lent an atmosphere of .. if not “class” exactly, then maybe.. quasi-respectability. Then invite them up. It beat buzzing them in and having a stranger knock at your door like the maintenance man.
Graham approached Ben’s building a short time later on his bike and offered a casual “hey” as he unstrapped his bike helmet. Ben told Graham he liked his bike (which was true. It was a fixie). Graham commented that the line outside Stellas was already long. Pleasantries exchanged, they made their way upstairs. As Ben opened the door to his apartment, he took stock of Graham. Graham From Insta was in his apartment — here, in Ben’s innermost personal space. Graham was blond. Very blond, in fact.. with eyelashes that looked wiry and yellow. His nails were painted white, but badly chipped and not recently tended to. He had a gold hoop in his nose that must have been new, or at least Ben hadn’t noticed it in pics before. Graham was, to use a gay term of art, blousy — which is to say that he gave off the energy of a femme top that was flow-y and fun.
Graham reached down to untie his shoes and steadied himself by grabbing Ben’s bare shoulder. “So,” he offered, smiling naturally. “Let’s get naked.”
Ben smiled in return and wasted no time stripping off the shirt and shorts he’d put on not four minutes earlier. He hoped that Graham would appreciate the new olive underwear with yellow piping and white stripe, but not notice them so much as to comment on them. He pulled Graham’s slightly sweaty shirt over his head and they began to make out — Ben once again taking stock of Graham’s perfect bleached white teeth.
The sex was .. and Ben did not in any way mean this as a criticism.. ok. It was fun, in fact, and worth doing, certainly. Graham’s body was smooth and pale.. not freckled and sun damaged like Ben’s. But he was fleshier than Ben had anticipated. Less firm, more… boyish. His dick was nice and of average size, comparable to Ben’s own. Circumcised, as was to be expected. But the whole area down there was scraggly and unkempt, which threw Ben off a little. Ben didn’t mind a hairy partner (preferred it sometimes, in fact).. but he liked intentionality about it. Hair should be managed, regardless of where it is on one’s body.
They left their clothes in the entryway and made their way toward Ben’s bedroom. Ben pulled Graham down onto the bed as they continued to make out. They took turns giving each other head and grinding up on one another. The reality was that Ben was horny, yes, and he very much wanted the weight of Graham’s body and smell and sweat pushing up against him. But he was also detached from the experience in the moment. He was thinking about brunch and how he’d probably be late. And about Graham’s instagram account. Any potential window for Ben to bottom that morning had closed long ago, and Ben never seriously considered it. Too much prep work involved beforehand, and rarely the sort of thing that Ben would undertake with someone he was meeting for the first time. Actual D-in-A hookup sex was the exception for Ben rather than the rule, and certainly not first thing in the morning sans alcohol. He wanted to feel the physical, visceral immediacy of someone — the naked skin on skin closeness — but actual let’s-get-down-to-it fucking.. usually made him self-conscious if he didn’t know the person. Perhaps it was his post-Catholic moral compass that interfered. Ben tried not to think about it. Best to return to the present moment and the hot sunlight that radiated off Graham’s naked hips and stomach.
Ben turned over to straddle himself atop his morning house guest, and he watched as Graham’s chest and neck flushed with red. They were grinding on each other with greater intensity now and Graham had gotten fully hard. Ben brought his mouth back down on Graham and finished him off with enthusiastic effort, then brought his own hands to himself to do the same. They had finished within a minute of each other, which Ben appreciated enormously. Honestly, good coordination on timing the finish was 75% of what made a decent hookup, as far as Ben was concerned.
They sat silent on Ben’s bed for a few minutes.. Ben feeling the heat from outside. Ben’s air conditioner was loud but not nearly as effective as one would assume, given the volume. “What’s on tap for your Saturday?” Ben asked not because he was especially interested but more to break the silence. His arm was draped across Graham’s chest.
“Well.. Stella’s is still calling my name certainly. Then meeting up with my volleyball team later.” Graham took Ben’s hand and loosely laced his fingers into it.
“Oh cool, tell Gary I said hi,” Ben said in response — then immediately clenched the muscles in his stomach. Shit.
“Wait you know Gary? Have we met before?!” Graham laughed suddenly. He was far too polite to be weird about it, and his laugh was gentle and warm. But Ben nevertheless felt sheepish.
Ben hesitated. “He’s a coworker of mine. And um.. well yeah, actually. Once. It was a while ago. Sorry.” He reflexively made eye contact with Graham, but still felt embarrassed.
“That’s funny. No, no I apologize — I’m sure they introduced us and I just forgot,” Graham offered as he sat up in the bed.
“Ha, no I’d rather blame it on Gary. It’s his fault I didn’t make the connection earlier that we’d met,” Ben joked. He was starting to feel better about this weirdness. It was an honest mixup or just happy coincidence that they had spoken briefly before — not anything to do with Ben knowing every detail of Graham’s last several months as set forth in a deep back catalog of tagged posts.
“Gary’s a they, you know,” Graham responded, his tone dropping just slightly. “You said ‘he’ and ‘his.’ He uses they.”
“He is? I mean.. they are? They —” Ben paused, not sure what to say next. There was an awkward beat. “I mean.. his name is Gary. When did he — ? At work he’s definitely a he,” Ben realized how bad this sounded. He was seemingly picking a fight that he absolutely didn’t mean to, but he was caught off guard and couldn’t help it. It surely sounded like he was offended by the whole non-binary notion of — whatever. That wasn’t at all the case — not remotely! It just… Gary was so fucking boring, as a coworker. Hell, Ben wasn’t even sure if Gary was out to half the office. His uniform of billowy polos and relaxed fit khakis didn’t exactly advertise the fact. He was too dull to be a “they.” And why wouldn’t Gary have told him? Ben’s thoughts were spinning has he considered the layers of confusion at play in his own head.. though it wasn’t even confusion exactly because, like.. he didn’t care, right? Ben barely talked to Gary anyway. It just .. now it looked awkward to Graham and there was no way to .. oh shit never mind.
“I’m sorry. That’s good to know. Thanks for telling me,” Ben tried to right the ship. He thought he had done a decent job, but he wasn’t sure. It was a small thing.
“Absolutely,” Graham replied with a smile that seemed genuine. The matter seemed sufficiently settled, and the easy, relaxed tone returned to Graham’s voice. Ben was reminded that he knew absolutely nothing about Graham — and apparently nothing about Gary, either. He felt self-conscious. Like maybe it was time to get dressed.
Ben glanced over at his bedroom clock. “Shit, I’m supposed to be at brunch!” he exclaimed. Ben jumped out of bed and ran out to the living room to grab his phone and tell Megan he was running late. The brunch place wasn’t far. He could dress and make it there in 20 if he biked.
Graham made his way back to the pile of clothes he’d left in the entryway. He was again unfailingly polite and full of smiles, but Ben didn’t have time to stop and assess whether Graham appeared to have enjoyed their morning. He was late. Ben hated being late, almost pathologically so. It made him anxious, no matter the occasion. Graham was a good hookup. Smelled nice. Not quite as hot as Ben had presupposed, but.. no matter. No need to exchange phone numbers or anything. Glad to have met.
Megan was already seated with menu in hand when Ben finally made it to Tortilla Mexicana and locked his bike to one of the racks outside. Tortilla Mexicana was not a good brunch spot. The cardboard-sounding name and the Bed-Bath-and-Beyond-meets-Tex-Mex decor should have been enough to indicate as much. But it was never crowded (no surprise there), and the menu was largely gluten free, which Megan appreciated. In truth, Ben just assumed that Megan always chose Tortilla Mexicana for their brunch dates because her gluten intolerance must have become so acute that this was one of the few places she felt at ease.
Ben settled into the booth and looked up at Megan, still slightly out of breath from the bike ride. “So.. we had the talk,” Megan began.
Ben’s mind was still firmly in his bed, the image of Graham’s body and nose ring and the awkward conversation about Gary front of mind. He hesitated a beat too long in his response, unsure what to offer. “Stephanie,” Megan added.
“Oh shit, yeah you had mentioned that. How’d it go?” Ben was doing a bang-up job with conversation this morning. “Stephanie” was actually code for Adam. Adam was a senior partner in Megan and Ben’s office, who Megan had been sleeping with the past three months. Adam was also married. The running joke-not-a-joke between Ben and Megan was that Megan was so paranoid about the scandalous smut-filled texts she regularly exchanged with Adam that she had saved him as “Stephanie” in her phone in case anyone caught a glance at the messages.
“I mean… he says he’s moving to Kansas City so they can be closer to his wife’s family. It’s not until probably the end of the year though.” Megan directed her words more toward the pages of her giant over-sized menu than at Ben. The affair with Adam had absolutely consumed her since early spring. There had always been a simmering tension.. at work happy hours or even just hallway conversation. But lately the whole thing had blown up into full-on soap opera territory. They liked to fuck on the floor of her office. In the afternoon, after coffee breaks. Ben generally thought Adam was a garbage human being (with a baby on the way in a few months’ time, no less). But he supported Megan and felt for the horrendous situation she was in. Fucking a coworker in the middle of the work day had started out as a reckless, tension-filled way to rebound after her serious relationship that fell apart last year. It had morphed into something much more difficult.
“And in the meantime?” asked Ben.
“In the meantime.. whatever.”
Brunch passed without either of them saying too much after that. They were good enough friends who spent enough time together that the silence didn’t feel awkward. It was more just.. empty. Megan pushed her chilaquiles around on her plate. She didn’t have much of an appetite. For his part, Ben was absolutely starving, but he felt like a terrible friend for not actually taking enough interest in her situation. Straight sex just seemed so.. fraught. Too much weight and anxiety involved — like every decision carried momentous consequences. It was adult in a way that Ben’s personal idea of sex usually wasn’t. How did he and Megan even get here, anyway? Literally sitting at brunch talking about an affair she was having with a married father-to-be? It was something that characters in a bad Diane Keaton movie from the 90s dealt with. Or Ben’s parents (also bad characters from the 90s, as a matter of fact). Ben didn’t have conversations like this, surely? At fucking Tortilla Mexicana? But obviously he did.
Ben felt sorry for Megan. Adam was a good guy (or actually not even a good guy.. Ben took it back), but .. ugh. Adam was an asshole, but a very good looking and sexual asshole. The next few months would be rough. Megan would get through it and they’d talk it out over as many brunch drinks as it took. Perhaps not today though. Today Ben just felt at a loss for how to react.
Megan got up from the table. She had a pair of pants to return to Lululemon, where, as was her custom, she would then proceed to buy two more pairs of pants. Ben was frankly relieved that brunch had ended up being a short commitment for his morning. He wanted to go back to his apartment and shower. And then nap on the couch.
As they exited the restaurant, Ben caught sight of a blond head of hair across the street, walking amongst a group of gays in short shorts and knee high socks. Graham’s volleyball team was on their way to a game. Graham was with them, holding hands with Gary and laughing enthusiastically at something Ben wasn’t able to hear. They seemed happy.
Story feels like real life and gives me a window into what it’s like to be gay in one’s 30’s now. I enjoyed it, thank you.