Mr. Right

In my small town, there are perhaps a half-dozen out gay men. Gay is here, but it is low profile, way under the radar. Splashy as it might have been at the time, I’m not sure if my own disclosure caused much ripple in the fabric of community gay awareness. I’m too close to it to know, and probably not.

Ours is a limited field and shallow pool, and as such, Mr. Right probably doesn’t live here. That is probably a good thing since small town relationships—homo or hetero—can be…uh, challenging. I make that case only from my own experience.

This begs the question, then: Where the hell does Mr. Right live? I know he is out there because he is all over the internet like a ghost in the machine. There must be foundation in fact. Some men believe in this guy more fervently than others; I’m withholding judgment.

In Raymond M. Berger’s Gay and Gray, one respondent explains, “Everyone has a set of rules or mental images that determines who will be considered a potential sexual partner. We carry a sort of mental map in our heads, complete with an inventory of physical and personal characteristics. When we encounter others, we compare them to our map. If the fit is close enough, they are judged acceptable.”

If Mr. Right exists, so as well must his opposite, generously labeled “not my type.” This is a nice way of expressing absence of sexual attraction. It is okay to not be sexually attracted to someone, but be gentle. Reciprocally, I realize not everyone can be attracted to me.

“Since there are so few of us,” I asked my friend, “how come none of us gets together for sex? I mean, you and I are pretty good friends, yet we never once entertained the idea of enjoying sex together.” Some call it flirting.

He laughed, “It gets complicated in a small town,” he said. “Everyone is on his own path...and it’s just that you are not my type.” That was pretty gentle. I’d heard the same thing before from another man interested exclusively in young guys. Older, I’m not his type either.

I considered all this just so much bullshit until I found the “type” thing in my own predilections. I was surprised because I used to think I was attracted to a different type than I am now. Inexperienced, I am beginning to understand: certain types of men appeal to me more than other types of men.

Modern homosexual social expression comes in myriad stereo-“types.” One prevalent among straight folks is that of young and meticulously groomed, ripped and buffed, hard-body gym rats. That ain’t me; never has been, never will be. Nor do I seek those attributes in other men.

Although my type is not so Apollonian, I am by no means exclusionary. It is important to be tolerant and flexible. As Berger’s respondent says, “Our mental maps may change; our standards may be modified because of recent events, the way we feel at a particular moment, or a particular quality of the other person.”

In general, like seeks like and type seeks type. But up here at the head of the draw, too much discernment substantially narrows an already limited field. We all seek friendship and compatibility; more is better, I know what I like, bring it on.