I WAS A BEAUTIFUL MAN ONCE.
You wouldn’t know it to look at me now. But once upon a time, all of this was tight. I woke up, ate two or three Pop-Tarts, and hit the streets giving everyone within viewing distance the thrill of their lives. There are nude photos of me from that time somewhere on the Internet, and I don’t care if you see them. Oh, yes. I was a beautiful man once.
It’s a good thing, too, because gay men don’t care for nonbeautiful men. Our world is built brick by brick on appearances. When I came out, I remember being astounded by how specific and precise the nitpicking could get.
“His eyebrows are too bushy.”
“He has hairy toes.”
The categories of gay men are endless. Bears, Cubs, Chubs, Gym Rats, Otters, Pups, Spunk Monkeys, Twinks, Wolves, Daddies. Everyone reduced to appearance.
I was technically a Twink: college age, smooth, fit. But was there such a thing as a Black
