time to become gay

I was being serious.

I warned you.

Day 17. Today I’m on a roadtrip to the gayest town on the east coast. To break up the monotony of the drive, I stop at some grocery stores along the way.

1. The first girl I see is thick, 30s, black shirt and black top, nice big tits, tight clothing. I tell her she’s cute. I think, at this point, that every woman in the world has a boyfriend, or that it’s just the default rejection option.

2. I pull into another grocery store and start passing by girls. They are all families -- moms with daughters, sisters, groups of friends. No one to isolate and force into my phone. I start wasting time, distracting myself. This is precious time... FOCUS. I see a MILF wearing a matching top and shorts. I say MILF because she has that married woman energy -- conservative, even when she’s wearing something tight. Is your husband in the store with us right now? Yes, actually, he’s right over there.

3. The third girl apologizes for not wearing her engagement ring, but yes, she has a fiancé.

4. Finally, I get to Provincetown, Massachusetts. I start looking for a bathroom, and I find a pier that stretches out into the water. Under the pier, I find a nice dark little Gollum cave in which to relieve myself. It’s always nice to urinate publicly -- makes me feel like I’m getting away with something. Maybe I should start pretending to be gay and telling women they are gorgeous. It would be much easier than trying to get their numbers, so why not? I see an Asian woman with a dog marked “service dog” and approach her. She’s here with her boyfriend. Goodbye.

5. This is the worst location I’ve ever chosen. I don’t know why I do this to myself. What’s the point of all this? No one reading this seems to know, and even I do not know. All I know is that I got 200 likes for meeting Stacy, and that’s all I want, but I also want to punish myself for losing her, and losing every other girl I’ve ever lost. I don’t know why, in the past, I was afraid of being cucked or longhoused or humiliated by women. Asking out 1,000 girls is surely much more humiliating than having a steady girlfriend. I’m trying to drill this into my head, get all the fear out of my system. I want to permanently kill the part of my brain that fears women, but in doing so, I’m becoming a bit more misogynistic. Maybe the solution really is to become gay. I walk toward the beach, and I see a man coming out of the water who is one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. Immediately, I get an urge to compliment him. I don’t want to have sex with him, but by God, he is gorgeous. Chiseled jaw line, perfect beard, jacked but not “steroid jacked,” just a Greek God. This guy, not Matt Damon, should have played Odysseus. And I think about my own body compared to his, and I realize I am basically an ugly woman compared to him. Now, I’m not being modest here: compared to the average American man, I’m lean, muscular, and relatively ok-looking. But compared to this Greek God, I’m fat, lumpy, misshapen, gross. If I were a God like this, I would never even consider looking at a lowly, flabby, untrained wretch. This is why I believe that, for a true lover of men, suicide is the only moral option, after a certain age. If you appreciate male beauty, then you would not pollute the world with ugliness. This is an unavoidable fact which many gay men ignore, probably out of selfishness and a loss of sexual power. They simply accept their age with “Grace,” which really means, to give up, to accept, to give in. But a true lover is like Romeo, and he would rather die than watch his love go peacefully into the night. He is the victor! With this in mind, I decide to go on a long walk on a narrow stone bridge that stretches across the bay, bordered on each side by waves. As I begin my walk, I see a girl wearing a purple bikini, with a gorgeous body. I tell her, “you’re beautiful,” and she says thank you, and keeps walking.

6. I continue walking on this highway of stone, and see a very Nordic-looking woman in a blue dress. I say she’s beautiful, she says thank you, I say “you’re welcome.” It’s very formulaic to report, but these women are genuinely beautiful, and every approach is a lottery ticket. Maybe one of these women is insane and falls in love with me accidentally -- you never know unless you try.

7. I tell her she’s beautiful, but she’s married, so I wish her a nice day.¹ Once I return to town, I decide to begin a “shirtless and gay” challenge. This is Provincetown, the only city I know of, besides San Francisco, with such a reputation for being gay. I’m so tired of approaching women -- maybe if I look gay enough, men will start approaching me. With this in mind, I take off my shirt, and start tensing my abs. I want to look good -- there’s no point in being shirtless if you look flabby and lame. I want to be sexy -- Ixabert makes this point, that beautiful people should always be naked, and ugly people should always be hidden. As I walk shirtless through the town, the abdominal scar from my cancer surgery is poking out of my shorts, and I begin to notice that people are perceiving me differently. A girl walks toward me in the dark, illuminated by a street light, and creepily, I whisper, “you’re beautiful.” She makes direct eye contact with me, fearfully, and says nothing.

8+9. I notice some MILFs going into a bar, and consider following them in, but that’s a trap. I would get, at most, 4 approaches, but then be stuck with them. Better to stay on the street. Then I see a beautiful girl in a pizza shop, but she’s buying a pizza and I don’t want to bother her... Ok, the real reason is that if I approached her, everyone would see and hear me, and I’d be shirtless in a pizza shop -- it’s all a bit much. I wish I starved myself before tonight. I wish I was leaner. I want to be so skinny that it shocks people and astounds them. While I’m thinking about this, I stare at my flip phone and take short notes, making sure to keep my abs tensed for passers by. A gay couple walks up to me, and the man says, “that is hot.” We make direct eye contact, and I say, “thank you.” He repeats what he said: “that’s hot.” Unfortunately, during this experience, the pizza girl disappears -- I lost track of her. I sigh and wander through the streets. Another gay couple, holding hands, turns their heads around to look at me and the man smiles. I say “the man” because I assume that in every gay couple there is “the man” and “the boy,” the top and bottom. I enjoy this. It’s strangely satisfying to be objectified in this way. I understand women a bit more now. I don’t want to have sex with this gay man, but it’s nice to know I’m attractive and desirable, even after suffering a number of injuries and three surgeries. I think if I was a woman I’d be dressing like a slut quite often. Finally, I see two girls holding hands, and they’re both extremely hot, wearing tight dresses, looking classically slutty. I ask them if they have boyfriends, and they say, “no, we’re lesbians.” WHAT. I’m shocked -- all my stereotypes are thrown askew.

10. I stalk two girls for a long time, trying to figure out if they’re with a group. I can approach 2 girls at once, but 3 or more is too much. Finally, their boyfriends join them. Gotta keep moving. I approach a girl, but she’s here with her family -- she points behind her, and they’re far away.

11+12. I approach two girls who are apparently locals, just hanging out. I ask for a number, but her friend says, “she’s a little too young for you.” I found this to be an interesting turn of phrase -- do I look old? Is she actually young? If you’re so young, when are you doing on gaystreet this late at night? Ah well, I tried.

13. Every single girl here is either A. Lesbian, B. Has a Boyfriend with Her, C. Is in A Group Of Three Or More. No exceptions. No single ladies here to have fun. My life consists of stalking the girls who appear to be single until they rejoin their group, and discovering the hopelessness of my endeavor. At this point, I am so frustrated and defeated I decide to start the long drive back. I get in my car, and start driving... If I had any energy left in me, maybe this is when I would start crying. However, I feel completely numb and emotionless, like this huge trip was a complete waste of time, and I will never approach 1,000 girls, and no one (least of all me) actually knows why I am doing this. Then I see her: the salmon colored dress. Instinctively, without any consciousness of what I’m doing, I start following her in my car... the wrong way down the one way street. Thankfully, some helpful gay men help me back up and get back into the parking lot. FUCK. Ok, focus. I park the car, get out, and start running. I NEED to find this salmon colored dress. This is the first time all night I’ve seen a hot single girl, all by herself, I NEED to talk to her if it’s the last thing I do. However, several minutes have passed since I saw her, so I start sprinting, hoping she hasn’t gone down a side-street. I pass by two hot girls speaking Russia, but I can’t stop now, I’m on a mission. Just when I think it’s hopeless, and the crowd has whittled down to nothing, I see a single figure darkly in the distance: is that a man or woman? Could that be her? I chase the nothingness until it becomes something, and there she is: it’s her, the girl in the salmon colored dress. Her posture is graceful, her ass is not too fat, but just shapely enough to hug her tight dress. I ask her, “do you have a girlfriend?” She says, “yes, sorry.” For some reason, I instinctively reach out my hand toward her, and she takes it and shakes my hand. I tell her that her girlfriend is the luckiest girl in the world, and she smiles and says, “aww, thank you!” I’ve never been this excited to talk to a lesbian in my life. She cannot understand how happy this has made me.

14+15. I ask two hot girls if they’re dating, and they say, “actually, we’re married.” They are not impressed with me.

16. I spot a grumpy looking ginger MILF, and I compliment her outfit. In fact, her outfit is quite bad -- it’s a shapeless black top and pants. But her face lights up, and it’s a beautiful face with a beautiful smile that I would love to kiss. She has a husband, so I ask, “where is he?” and she says, “oh, he’s around here somewhere...” I say, honey, you better find him, otherwise someone is going to snatch you up! I’m getting gayer by the minute.

17+18. I meet two girls, Jancy (real name) and Sierra. They are from Pennsylvania, they both have boyfriends, and they think I am gay. Now that I know they have boyfriends, it doesn’t matter that they think I’m gay, I’m just enjoying the newfound freedom of being a gay man. Jancy says she’s going to bite me, and I say I’ll bite her back. They accuse me of being high on drugs, and I cannot convince them otherwise -- they don’t know how WILD that salmon colored dress got me. I walk them to their destination, to their boyfriends, and leave them behind. Being gay is like a superpower. All women trust me and they will let me do pretty much anything.

19+20. I ask two girls if they are dating, and they are mother and daughter. I assume this makes mom feel young, but it could also be one of the worst possible things to say to someone -- take it as a compliment.

21+22+23. I go for the foursome, and tell a group of three girls they are beautiful. At this point I have fully embraced my gay identity and no one can stop me or tell me no. They all just have to say thank you -- otherwise would be homophobic. I’ve gained superpowers and this is getting out of control.

24. I find an extremely hot girl with her tits hanging out, and I aggressively approach her. She starts laughing and points to a girl in front of her -- I quickly ask, “are you guys dating?” And she says, “NO, THAT’S MY SISTER!” We all have a good laugh about this, “you have a beautiful family!” I’m having a great time.

25. I tell a shy Asian girl, walking by herself, that she’s cute. You have to understand that I’ve been shirtless this whole time and my short-trimmed pubic hair is clearly visible, so you’ll have to excuse such a shy girl for saying nothing more than “thank you.” I don’t want to harass these poor girls too much -- just let them know I’m watching them with appreciative intent.

26. This, for the first time in my approaching career, is the first time that a woman has approached me. She says, “oh my God, you look great.” Really, wait, who? Me? “Yes, you look great!” She’s with a girl, so I ask, “are you guys dating?” No, that’s her daughter, silly! “Well, you look like you’re 26, and she looks 24...” I’m exaggerating, but only slightly -- this is a very hot mom, and I like her aggression. I like being hit on by older women. She repeats the compliment: “No, but seriously, you look so good and you’re basically wearing nothing.” I return the compliment: “I haven’t seen you naked, but I’m sure if you were wearing nothing you’d also look great.” At this moment, her husband approaches. “This is my husband,” she says. I look at this man and our eyes lock and I believe, on some deep level, he understands: I want to fuck his wife. And on some level, she wants to fuck me. And on some level, I am cucking him right now. However, she can just say, “oh come on Tom, he’s gay!” and he’s not allowed to be mad. I’ve seen this face before. I’ve been this guy before. I tell him, “you have a beautiful family!” and prance away into the night.

151 approaches down, 849 to go.

1. Finally, I reach the end of the stone highway and come to a beach. The beach leads to a lighthouse, and as I’m walking 40 minutes to the lighthouse, I see seals, and pick up a large jawbone of some fish with extremely sharp teeth. As I feel the teeth, they accidentally stab me, but I do not bleed.

On the way back from the lighthouse, I wrap around the other side of the peninsula, inside the harbor. Unfortunately, the tide starts coming in, and this side of the peninsula is marshy, so I have to wade up to my knees. I take off my shoes, but I know I’m going to make them stinky with the residue of sea water... While putting my shoes back on, trying not to get sand on my feet, I accidentally dislocate my ankle. This happens whenever I stand at an odd angle, and it pops back in, but I worry one day I’m just going to completely snap the tendon and it won’t pop back in. For today, it’s fine.