Adding three words to my Grindr profile changed my life for the better: Goran’s story

Image: pexels.com

One look at Jose’s Instagram, and it’s clear to me straight away that he is a typical A-list gay man.

Of course, social media isn’t always accurate or believable, but Jose’s photos show he has everything that matters: good looks. a degree from Columbia University and an expensive house in the heart of the Peruvian capital, Lima. Oh, and a beautiful husband,
But when it rains, it pours. His job in finance sees he makes several trips to Sydney a year. No, I don’t do partnered guys, I tell him sternly when he sends me a Grindr message suggesting we should meet. My profile states that monogamy is sexy, and Jose agrees, despite the partner’s status on his showing he is clearly taken.
Turns out he agrees with most of what I think. Slowly, like an anaconda digesting its latest meal, he’s swallowing me, and I am powerless to resist his seduction.

Surely being partnered isn’t such a deal-breaker, he reasons.

Okay, look, you are an interesting man, but I’m not into threesomes, I say. I’ve tried it once and it didn’t feel right. There is a reason it’s called a double bed.

Like everyone else, Jose’s first line of defence is to promise me: Oh, no, I don’t want sex. I just want to get to know you. And the hubby isn’t here in Sydney anyway. He’ll spend the weekend with relatives in Queensland. He ends the message with a wink emoji.

That Friday I rushed home from work, showered and changed into the best clothes I could find on sale at H & M before heading back into Darling Harbour, one of Sydney’s tourist hotspots and my dating stomping ground.
Jose stood in front of the restaurant dressed in a cream white Versace top, complimenting his chiselled body, which emanates with the sweetness of Chanel ‘Allure’.

He seems too good to be true, but in fact, Jose can’t take his eyes off me, not even to admire the gyoza we are having at his favourite Japanese restaurant. This date is as perfect as an episode of The Bachelor, and I’m pretty certain I’m the last one standing with a rose.
I like the way Jose treats me. He listens with interest to everything I say, asks about my family and laughs at my jokes, no matter how lame they are. I wonder if this is the difference between Latino and Australian men, who seem so closed-off and reserved in comparison.

After dinner we went for ice-cream and ended up walking all the way to the Opera House, holding hands like a couple who have been together forever. Little by little, I started to forget about the fact that he was a married man – after all, he hasn’t mentioned his husband, Luis, once. It’s like this man, who I have only known a few hours is already mine, or at least he will be mine tonight.

The shadow of my naked body sways across the glass window of Jose’s penthouse room, a live action film that anyone in the city can watch for free if they look hard enough.

It’s the best sex I’ve had in years, I think to myself by falling asleep in his arms.
It’s been years since I’ve slept in someone’s arms, and it feels awesome despite Jose’s maddening snoring that kept me awake for most of that night.
“I haven’t felt so loved in a long time,” Jose told me over breakfast, picking at his croissant. “Well, then why are you still with your husband?” I dared to ask, ordering a double espresso to keep me from falling asleep.
“Well, friends, family, investments, house, the car …”

He started to list the reasons as if it were a business deal with a client and not a love bond with the most special person in his life.

Then he takes out his phone and shows me a photo, his screensaver of the wedding in New York. It’s as picture-perfect as all his Instagram posts, which are followed by thousands of adoring lonely gay men who are desperate for just a minute of what he’s got.

Jose’s gesture was meant to pacify me, to make me realise how fortunate I had been to have him for the whole weekend. It was a fairy tale, and I was Cinderella with the wrong shoes. But loneliness does this to you. It makes you accept breadcrumbs and find yourself profusely thankful for them.
When his husband, Luis, returned from Queensland, everything changed. I immediately slid from being the centre of his world to just another guy he had fucked in Sydney.

It didn’t take me long to realise that my supporting role in this fairy tale was effectively over. I had done what he had called me to do: to spice up his stale relationship, which was only surviving thanks to people like me, people who were fooled by flattery and the attention of someone they would never have. Like a used condom flushed down the toilet, I had already spun out of Jose’s life. The couple soon returned to Peru and went on to planning their next escape to France, where more men would no doubt be lining up in front of their bedroom to fuck them.
Meanwhile, I returned to the solitude of my room, obsessively editing my Grindr profile until it read three simple words: monogamous, non-negotiable.

True love is worth fighting for. (Image: pexels.com)

The very thought of sharing a man I love with someone else causes the most visceral, churning pain in my gut. Imagine that it’s the weekend after a hard week at work. My partner and I finally have some uninterrupted time for each other. Rather than going out for brunch, we sit on the sofa and chat with the guys on apps trying to secure sex dates for the remainder of the week.
No, thank you. I’d rather be alone.

Do you know what the word fidelity means? The dictionary tells me it’s the experience of oneness with the other, the ultimate togetherness together-ness. I love to sprout this word when guys some dates ask me what I’m looking for, but this only makes them flee like a vampire that just caught a beef of garlic.

To fight for love, you have to believe deeply inside yourself that love is possible. Meeting gay men, I’ve realised many are in a constant struggle to keep that faith alive. Too often our community takes the line of least resistance. I know this will sound harsh to many, but – to me – open relationships feel like giving up on all the trying. I am not someone who is willing to compromise – not with love at least. And you? You shouldn’t be forced to compromise, either.


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