Love, Beastly is the advice blog from Alexander Cheves, Out Magazine sex columnist and author of the upcoming book My Love Is a Beast: Confessions from Unbound Edition Press. Cheves — nicknamed “Beastly” for reasons unknown — answers questions on sex, love, and everything else. No question is off-limits. Have a question? Email ASKBEASTLY@GMAIL.COM or use the Ask Beastly tab. Before you read on, know that WordPress has banned the monetization of blogs featuring “mature content,” meaning this site is unable to host ads or generate revenue. Love, Beastly is 100% supported by monetary donations and supporters on Patreon — please see the donation page for more info. And you like anything you read, please share it!
I am a 27 year old gay man who has never been in a relationship or had sex. For most of my life this has been because of my being closeted and having an isolated upbringing. I came out at 19, and while I became involved in my college’s gay activist and social groups I never hooked up or actually dated. The closest I’ve ever gotten is just chatting and sharing pics on apps. I didn’t visit my first gay bar until I was 24.
A few years after coming out and seeing how few men seemed to be attracted to me, I decided that I would hold off on dating and sex until I had gotten in shape. At the time I was overweight and broke out sweating just walking around campus. I started working out and although I have lost a lot of weight, I am nowhere near where I want to be or where I feel comfortable to start dating. However, I’ve been having thoughts recently about if I should let go of this resolution, and try to be open to dating. My friends have stated that they’re concerned about me, saying that I shouldn’t care about how my body looks and just find someone who cares about me. I am having thoughts about how much of my youth has passed, and if it will be even longer before I get to the point where I feel comfortable with my body to be open to dating.
At the same time, though, I do want to wait until I’m in shape to date. As I’ve said before I don’t feel comfortable with how my body is right now. In addition I’m drawn towards athletic and muscular men like bodybuilders, and I don’t believe that those men would feel any attraction to me unless I’m in shape. Thus, it only seems logical to wait. Plus, considering the quarantine I was thinking that surely I would have time to work out at home and possibly get to the goal I’ve set without having to worry about men.
My question is, are my friends right? Am I actually being unreasonable and only holding myself back? Or do I have a point in making this resolution? I’ve enjoyed your blog, and I thought that you might be able to provide some insight into my situation. Thank you.
Without being alarmist, I must remind you of mortality. Life is brief. Don’t wait.
Your friends are right. Relationships are not exciting events to wait for until you’re ready, like turning 21 or buying your first car, because you’ll never be ready.
I think most people believe that playing the field is easier when a person is fit. Mass media generally supports that idea. But that’s false, because even traditionally fit people struggle. And they struggle because dating and everything that goes with it — vulnerability, judgement, rejection — are hard. Most humans, big to thin, are united by struggle in intimacy.
You and I are part of a subculture — we’re gay — and though we may be very different, we share one thing: the feeling of measuring ourselves against the most agonizingly beautiful creatures on earth. Ask any straight woman (or straight man) where the loveliest men exist: they’re in our camp. Queer culture contain the muscle gods and gym queens — it has since the ’80s, when clones and leather defined and popularized an athletic, masculine ethos. These gods exist because gay beauty standards have generally been more punishing and rigorous than the straight world’s. I’ll leave it to therapists and sociologists to explain why that is so, but it makes things harder for the normal guys. Guys like us.
I know how you feel because I’ve felt the same. I wonder how many hours of my life I’ve spent looking in bathroom mirrors, studying my acne scars, wishing I had a squarer jaw and better beard. I’ve purchased more ridiculous supplements and products than a person should ever spend money on — lotions, dyes, tools to work my face muscles, the list goes on. Even on good days, one unflattering glance in the mirror can drop my confidence to zero. I imagine you can say the same — I imagine a majority of gay men reading this can — and I believe these feelings are exacerbated and sustained by the apps and social platforms through which we now most commonly view other gay men.
But with all this acknowledged, don’t wait. Start now, for two reasons: a) you don’t know what joys you’re missing and b) you have some hard lessons to learn and emotional hurdles to overcome, because your first relationship will not be your last.
Dating is something you learn to do as you do it, and everyone needs a brutal, crash-and-burn breakup to get their feet wet. A person can only learn heartbreak by living through it. You won’t be ready for your first relationship or even your second one. But the third one will feel a bit easier, and the fourth one, even more so. Throughout these relationships, you’ll learn life’s most valuable lessons: how to trust, how to talk, how to communicate, how to reveal your desires and fears, and how to move on. Everyone needs to feel the sting of rejection. Rejection stings the fifth time and the fiftieth time, but every time it stings a little less. These are lessons on how to be in a world of people, and they matter because our lives are just a collection of exchanges and interactions with others — brief, long, familial, friendly, romantic, rude. You need to get started.
In your question, you make a major assumption about the men you consider attractive. Here’s a message for everyone: STOP PUTTING YOUR IDEAS OF ATTRACTIVENESS INTO THE MINDS OF OTHERS. This is called “projection” and humans do it every day, and in many ways, projection is useful — humans must make some assumptions about each others’ minds for society to function. But in dating, projections can hurt you, especially if you have issues with your body, because you’re likely to falsely assume that no one finds you attractive. This is your own head talking, no one else’s.
Look around you! Many gay couples look different from each other: big with thin, muscular with chubby, tall with short. Offhand, I can think of several in my little orbit. Find someone who likes you for you. If you want to change your body, that’s fine, but find someone who likes you as you are now, not as you’d like to be in two years.
You may know that I love the gym. (The only picture of me on this blog, on my bio, is of me in a gym.) I am happiest after a workout. (And — big surprise! — I have body dysmorphia. Even when I’m 230 pounds of muscle, I will still look in the mirror and see someone who’s too scrawny.) As someone who loves gyms, I can assure you that, while external validation from others certainly plays a role in fitness, it cannot be the only thing that drives you to keep going.
You like bodybuilders, and you imagine you must be a bodybuilder for them to like you back. If this is your sole motivation to be a bodybuilder, you will not become one. Significant body alteration (without steroids) takes years, not months, and those years will include setbacks, plateaus, medical issues, and plain old bad days. The only way to stick with it is to see it as “you” time — something done for yourself, not others. I like the attention guys give me after I’ve been working out hard, but regardless of their attention, I must work out to relieve my anxiety. It’s self-therapy, not some prerequisite for being in an exclusive gay class. If it was only the latter and did nothing for me mentally, I would have quit a long time ago.
If you spoke with any of the bodybuilders you desire, you’d find that most of them are just as scared of rejection and dating struggles as you are. Most of them have body dysmorphia and crushing insecurities. No one is ever ready for the vulnerability of being on the market or feeling rejected, but you have to make yourself available because that’s the only way to find love.
Imagine all the men who were looking for someone like you during these years you decided to hold off. They’re waiting.
I’m 20-year-old closeted guy (he/him) and I hate my skinny and extremely hairy body. I’m so ashamed of it. Can’t feel any connection with my body. I feel awful especially after masturbation. I realized I’ve started hating muscular guys and generally people who are happy in their bodies because I want to be like them.
I presume you are okay with your body image according to your previous topics but do you still have struggles with your body image? How did you get rid of it?
One of the hardest parts of being a sex writer is feeling like my actual body must measure up to my body of work. Some people think I’m a sex god getting fucked every three hours. In truth, I sometimes go months in self-imposed dry spells because I don’t feel great about my looks.
So, yes, I still struggle with body image. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t, though I can say these feelings seem to get better with age. Anecdotally, most gay men seem to grow more comfortable with themselves in their late-twenties and thirties, and I’ve heard empowering tales from gay men in their forties and fifties who say they’ve never felt more confident or had better sex.
While I try not to make generalizations, I think most queers struggle with self-image, especially gay men. We’re a marginalized populace. A gay man who grows up with straight men may feel rejected and expectedly so, but imagine his hurt when he finds rejection among his own. If he can’t make it “out there” in the straight world and he can’t make it “in here,” where does his body belong?
Many of us are so terrified of not having value in the fringe community we inhabit that we struggle — and suffer, and go to great lengths — to be desirable within it. Many years ago, when I was still discovering gay culture, a gay man in Atlanta told me he was “gay fat.”
I asked what that meant. He squeezed the small bit of flab on his belly and said, “If I was straight, I’d be normal. But among the gays, I’m fat.” At that moment, I was terrified of being “among the gays.”
If I had a magical solution for body insecurity, I’d tell it. My personal solution has been fitness and weightlifting — a band-aid solution at best — and it works for me, mostly. I draw the rest of my confidence from others areas — strength in my talent, my mind, my art — and use it to balance out the body issues when I need it to. Life is a process of finding one’s strengths and struggles and learning how to use the former to fight the latter.
The only thing I can say which might be helpful — and probably predictable — is that sex can and should be empowering, and some of the best sex people (sex workers, sex artists, and raging sluts), struggle with self-image, and they use sex to heal. Good sex should make you feel good about yourself. Done right, sex is mutually rewarding, mutually beneficial, and mutually empowering. In every encounter I have, from the rough and fast to the slow and intimate, I want both parties — me and him — to walk away feeling impressed with our own abilities. I want to wow myself.
When I do, I realize that this body, this thing I doubt and judge, can do a lot. It can make me feel really good. And that knowledge feels really good.
Some will accuse me of offering sex as a crutch, but everyone has crutches. My gym thing is a crutch. Some people depend on alcohol and other drugs to get by. We need things to prop us up when we can’t prop up ourselves, and those things can be hobbies, sports, substances, money, goals, or any number of other things. Our capitalist world rarely condemns people who live to work, but it’s quick to shame those who live for sex, because the latter is less profitable for the one percent sitting at the top. Sluthood is radical. There are worse places to draw strength from than sex, so if you’re feeling low, try fucking.