I am writing this for boys like myself, boys that do not fit
the mould either because we are not traditionally beautiful or not skinny
enough. Not masculine enough, not hard
enough.
I am writing this for boys like me, boys that believe in love –
even naively so – a virtue that has often landed our little hearts and us in
perfect storms.
I am writing this for boys like me who, because of the church, have
learned to forgive, sometimes even to our detriment. Boys that cannot block their
exes off WhatsApp and other socials, and boys that struggle with anxiety and
depression.
I write this for boys like myself, not just to warn us but also to
celebrate us! For despite being used as rebounds by famous designers, suffering
mental breakdowns after being ghosted by the Clinton’s and Clive’s of this world, and now grappling with the after
effects of narcissistic abusive romantic relations, we live and love bravely.
This is my personal account of a tumultuous ‘love’ affair that
almost killed me between 2020 and 2021, and the effects of which I still suffer
today.
It is nearly 5:30 am on 31 December
2021, and even this morning I imagine what I’d termed your ‘realization smile’;
it is what I’d atleast interpreted to be you smiling at the realization of how
special this (us) was, at least to me. I pee, and return back to bed. On the
side of what was once our bed lies our dog, unlike other days, he doesn’t
lift his head in anticipation. Nonetheless, I give him a heavy, loving rub on
his stubborn head. I smile and think about how he has both of our traits. Your
childlike sleeping habits, and my all-over-the place affection. It dawns on me
that I have consistently shown up for you for over a year, albeit sometimes
with tears, in disappointment, with hope for change. Even months, after we had
broken up I held up the candle for you and kept the door open. All that ends. Now.
When I
first met James my weight was a little wonky, following a year of an on and off
again keto diet & intermittent fasting. I was insecure to say the least. It
had only been few of months since I had moved back to my province of origin to
take on a new work opportunity after 9.5 years of living and establishing
myself as a separate, independent entity in the Cape.
I met him on Grindr on the evening of a weekday. It must have been
a Tuesday night in the first week of
December 2020. His profile indicated that he was 1.67 metres tall, a
black Top “into chubby men”, some
5-6km away. His preference for much more than skinny men made me feel seen. If you
know anything about the gay community and Grindr, you would have noticed the
discrimination and shame ‘non-skinny’ men face. Ironically, he was not my
physical ideal, or so I thought.
Before dating him, I was not open to dating skinny men, and height
was sort of a thing for me. I am 1.77 metres tall, and in most circles that I
roam, I am usually the biggest and tallest in the room. My preferences for
meatier and taller men was misinformed by the societal initiation into
believing that feminine men (which I identify as predominantly) had to be
bottom. It was further misinformed by my own expectations of intimacy and
affection. I wanted to be the small spoon in bed. I – by associating being
bottom with the female role in a relationship – wanted to be on the receiving
end of affection, and I believed a skinny and/or short man would not be able to
spoon me right. The preceding also misinformed by societal ideas about gender
roles and how men and women should live and behave. I want to make it clear
that I do not shame or discriminate
against people based on how they look, but I did at the time have a certain
type of man that I was attracted to, which was informed by very problematic
societal ideas.
He had a cute picture on display and his profile had links to his
Twitter account and YouTube channel. I am the kind of guy to study a subject of
interest so of course I peeped. It was apparent from his following that he was
very popular, and his posts and responses were very risqué, to my discomfort. I
then hopped over to his Youtube channel, and there he was! With his husky voice
and very attractive energy. Right there and then, I knew I was into him. In the
video, he said something about preferring to use his English name because
people often butchered his native name. Later when we were dating, I learned that
he had about three other very beautiful native names.
I messaged him. I do not even remember what I said, but it was
something complimentary about his voice. He responded with a “LOL”, and so I
proceeded to ask about his native name, the one that people often
mispronounced. Immediately after he shared, I messaged a friend that spoke
Xhosa for voice note tutorials on how to pronounce it. And so there I was
practicing how to pronounce “Lo-nwa-bo”.
Hoping to one day impress him with my accurate pronunciation.
I must be honest, there is this thing with gay men (I do not know
if it is much more common in other communities than I think) where if a subject
of interest tells you something you perceive to be personal and only you and very
few people are knowledgeable about it,
you feel somewhat special. That is how I felt. Knowing this sacred name whose
use was reserved for his closest and ‘bestest’ made me feel special.
He asked for my picture. I sent it and boom! He was interested.
We chatted for a while then he dropped his number with a “use it as you wish” at the end. He then
bid me good night. I immediately texted on WhatsApp, and shortly afterwards we
had arranged to see each other on the Friday.
I remember that Friday evening so vividly. I must have messaged
him around 18h00 to ask if we were still on, he video called immediately and apologized.
He had forgotten and had been spending ‘quality time’ with his ‘brother’. He brought
him onto camera to greet briefly. I noticed he was another chubby gent and so I
felt uneasy for a bit. I did not know whether to believe that was really the
brother or not. I let it go.
He committed to 20h00. At 20h10 he texted to say that he was
running late.
He must have arrived just before 21h00. He texted from my gate. At
the time I was staying in an AirBnB in Brooklyn. I opened. There he was.
Despite being short, he had this sexy walk of confidence. He walked taller than
he looked. I cannot recall what he was wearing on his upper body or what he
said to me as he walked in, but his bottoms were these black military track
pants, and very nice black sneakers. They must have been Nike. I love hugs. And
so ofcourse upon getting closer to him I opened for an embrace. He literally
kissed me, grabbed my ass and drew me closer to himself. It was sexiest and
boldest experience I had ever had. I had never been embraced like that before,
let alone publicly and so confidently. I felt seen. Wanted. Appreciated. This
was the first time I realised how important uninhibited public displays of
affection were to me. No – not necessarily the grandiose gestures of ‘love’. I
am talking about the silent looks and quiet hand and leg rubs, the sitting next
to each other at the dinner table instead of across, and the holding of hands.
Those little yet effective displays of one’s love mean a lot to me.
I had to bring myself back to the moment.
I was wearing my red tennis player shorts (which I later found out
were his favourite on me) and some slops. I asked him to walk ahead of me. Instead, he insisted
on walking behind whilst sporadically squeezing my behind as we went. I
giggled liked a little schoolchild. It was late for me.
He had brought thirty seconds, the board game, and insisted we
play against each other with each of us representing the other party (I, him
and he, me). I could not keep my hands of him and after a few rounds of this game;
I suggested we play a kissing game where the one who touches the other first
loses an item of clothing. I swear I was not trying to tempt him. He won and so
I ended up naked. We started making out and I could smell the weed on his
breath. We ended up in the bedroom. I could tell that he wanted to hit it that
night. So I had to have the whole “I’m a
28 year old virgin and don’t want to rush into penetrative sex”
conversation again. I have had this conversation numerous times with multiple
guys, at different times in my life. I spent much of my teenage years
fantasizing about studying at Stellenbosch University, and falling in love with
my best friend’s brother, who happened to be studying architecture in Joburg.
His mother would love me. Moreover, he would be my haven. This little story of
hope kept me going for years as a watched my mother suffer under the abusive
hands of my stepfather. It made me feel like things would change for me; that I
would eventually be found and loved. I had envisioned every part of our lives -
how we met, what he said and how it felt. That little fantasy made me feel
safe. Therefore, I vowed not to engage sexually (atleast penetratively) until I
met him. In my mind, I was not supposed to go through the whole ocean of fish
trying to find my Nemo. I would just meet him and that would be it. Unfortunately,
I ended up at UCT, and behold there was no boyfriend. So I never explored. I
kept waiting.
James promised that he understood and was willing to wait. He said
he wanted to see me again. He told me he had to go because it was getting late.
It must have been 22h30 by then. I wanted him to spend the night, but I was
afraid to ask. I offered to cover his uber back home as appreciation for him
coming over. Before he left, he said this to me:
“I’m
leaving my 30 seconds here with you as my commitment to return to see you. I am
going to come back. I want to see you again. I want to build something with you.
Please do not give my place to anyone
else! “
My heart leapt for joy. I mean here was this very attractive man
with a beautiful sizable tool, who was also seemingly open about his sexuality
and affections; and all he wanted was me AND he was willing to wait. Everything
about this moment appealed to every single part of the fantasy that my younger
self ever had. The reassurance in his words, the patience in his actions, the
commitment to see me again, as well as the interest in building something with
me. In retrospect, it feels like my heart started unconsciously
compartmentalizing everything in my life, blocking out every distraction right
there and then and making space for him alone.
I promised to not give away his place to anyone else. We kissed.
To this day we still disagree about who bought our first dinner
together. It was chicken licken wings, so it must have been me.
He left.
He was in Joburg for the weekend for work stuff and would return the
following week, and we would see each other again. We had very limited
exchanges during that time. I do not know when it came up, during the
conversation either on Grindr or during our first hang out. Nevertheless, he had
shared that he was a full time, professional photographer, and had recently
left a very toxic job to focus on his own company in the media space. We spoke
very little about me. He was very passionate; it was exhilarating! It made me
want him more. It sounded like he had everything figured out.
About two months before this encounter I had met Ayanda, also on
Grindr. Initially our chats were very flirty, but we got on quite well and so
slowly our conversations transitioned to a more platonic friendship which
involved regular texting, calling and video calling. We spoke about anything
and everything. I think at the time Ayanda was working for a green company and all
he spoke about was about getting South Africans to cycle everywhere by 2050. Drawing
from my recent travels to Amsterdam I was able to contribute meaning to those
conversations.
The following Monday afternoon Ayanda and I were catching up on
the weekend. Obviously, I was very excited to share with him about this new guy
in my life. He asked for James’ Instagram handle, and shortly after I had
shared with him, his next text had me floored. Ayanda let me that right at the
same as we were texting that afternoon, my Mr “do not give my place to anyone else” was in his DMs, flirting,
hinting at a hook up and asking for a place to stay the night in Joburg,
specifically Ayanda’s place. He backed it up with receipts chile!
My heart was shattered.
You probably think I overreacted and that I had no basis for even
being hurt since we were not a thing. I disagree. I take people at their word.
Words mean something to me. When that man asked me to create a special place
for him in my life, I re-arranged some things and made room for him. And so I
too hoped he had made similar provision for me. I know some will argue
that I didn’t ask for him to create similar
space in his life for me, in rebuttal I ask: do you not think it’s an intensely
selfish for him to want to have such high value in my life and not want to
offer the same?
So no! These are the basics of reciprocity and mutuality.
I sent him a text to express my disappointment at what I had
learned, and how hurtful I found it to be especially in light of the weight of his
request on me and the commitment he had made. He left Johannesburg that evening
and came to see me. It was interesting to me that his initial interest and
focus was on finding out who had told me his business. It gave me the
impression that there were other - many more.
I did not give him a name.
That evening he told me he wanted us to be exclusive until we had
figured what it is we were doing. I agreed. We cuddled, and I tell you,
everything I thought about cuddling with a skinny and/or short man was thrown
out the window. He gave me the warmest and most loving cuddles. His size did
not limit anything at all.
Although the night seemed to end well, I was not left unscathed. I
had this inkling of insecurity growing in me; it was informed by his
relationship with social media (the overly inappropriate posts and engagements
with followers), his following and apparent popularity, and the most recent
discovery about his interactions with my friend Ayanda, and potentially many
others (links with the access that his social media provided). I was
uncomfortable and I could feel the anxiety building up.
Although there were already apparent red flags, for some reason I
ignored them. It might be this false belief that I held (unconsciously) that
love is supposed to hurt and that before the “happily ever after” the couple in
the fairy-tale must win many battles. I do not know.
I think our society has romanticised struggles and abuse in romantic relationships, and I too fell into that trap. I thought I had worked through those issues, but I think in some instances relationships draw out of us our childhood trauma and that is the place that we respond from. My trauma is centered on seeing my mother endure many years of abuse, and although she – on many accounts – threatened to leave, she never did. And the only peace we got was when that man died. In a similar way, I think I felt stuck in this situation. You will see there were many times when I could have left but I felt I could not – for many reasons. Sometimes I felt that I loved him and therefore I could not leave him. Others I felt that I would not be okay without him. There were also times when I felt that I was there to save him and that my love would redeem him.
There were many opportunities to leave and save my life, but I stayed.
I hope my story inspires you to see the signs of abuse and leave whilst you
still can.
He left in the morning.
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