Bill is a 27-year-old social-media expert who lives in the Village near Church Street. “I just want someone who’s normal, you know?” he says. “Cute, smart, and all that are good, too, but let’s start with someone who’s just normal.” Bill describes himself as “the proverbial nice guy,”and enjoys board games, dinner parties with friends, and going to the movies—mostly to eat popcorn. Bill met Oliver online.
I met Oliver on a gay dating site that I’m too embarrassed to share the name of. That world can be unbelievably crude. What’s great about this site, though, is that it has a “verification” feature, where the site moderators confirm that a guy’s photos are his by having him send in a photo of himself holding up an ID number. This is helpful because sometimes you’ll be talking to a Greek god–looking pec king who, in reality, is some old bearded man yanking your chain.
Oliver was phenomenally gorgeous. His online photos were shot professionally and highlighted his ripped abs and arms. We sent flirty messages back and forth for about a week before he asked me out for drinks. I couldn’t believe that this was real, that this guy wanted to go out with me, but his blue eyes and huge arms were “verified.” He was the Holy Grail of gay online dating.
This may be a bit of of an overstatement, but I think I was in shock when I first met him. It turned out that Oliver was a little person, maybe three feet tall; a beautiful, jacked little person. I shook his hand, mostly because I wasn’t sure if I should bend over all the way to give him a hug or not. I didn’t know whether to stay or go—one part of me wanted to leave immediately, but the other part was morally conflicted about just bailing. At the same time, he was all smiles and “Hey, baby.” I decided to stick with it. If I had met Oliver as a small person and then decided to go on a date with him, that would be one thing, but the surprise factor threw me off my game.
As we wandered down Church Street looking for somewhere to grab a drink, I suddenly became very aware of my own height. At the bar, I tried my best to engage in the usual first-date banter, but was caught up in my own head for most of the conversation. I kept picturing the “stats” section of the dating site and wondering how I forgot to check “height.”
We didn’t have much in common. He talked a lot about working out, and I’m not even sure whether he had a job. I tried to ask him about his family history and his unusual accent, but he dodged every question. Eventually, I just stopped asking him anything at all. I’d already eliminated the possibility of a second date, but I agreed to go back to his place anyway. He was still incredibly hot. At his apartment, we started making out after about 15 minutes, and then had sex. Height aside, his arms were as big as my head. It was amazing.
Bill rates his date (out of 10): 3
Want to be a dating diarist? Email email@example.com.