The Friendzone Doesn't Exist, So How Do I Keep Finding Myself There

As a gentleman, I've never believed in the Friendzone. From its inception, it sounded as if you'd been denied something that was owed to you - as if being someone friend's entitled you to an opportunity to "shoot your shot." In reality, that's all you have: an opportunity to court someone. It's on the other person if they'd like to take you up on that offer. So if by the Friendzone you mean the feeling of dread and misery you feel while still hanging around the person that rejected you because you still feel a sexual bond with them, then I believe in that. Not only do I believe in it but I've owned several properties in this Zone.

Soon to be completing my ninth year of bachelordom, I'm no stranger to one-sided games of courtship. Let us not forget that as a gullible gay man, I've chased after an embarrassing amount of straight men. They were all so pretty and kind and interesting, how was I supposed to distinguish their openness from advances towards me? Looking back at it, very easily, but queer college kids have a hard enough time dealing with the same pool of out-people they know; it's very easy to peek back into that walk-in closet to see if there's anyone else in there.

I wish I could say these instances of sexual incompatibility were my only trips into The Zone, but you know they weren't because whining about being single is my "new" favorite pastime.

The queer gods have always played a cruel joke on me: giving me interest in guys that see me as a blob while allowing others I deem unworthy of my product to see my value. There are many reasons why a guy might say no to my advances. The classic "I'm just focusing on myself" has long been one of my favorites, for I've used it earnestly and to avoid confrontation. "You're not my type" is a harsh one to hear, but when the sexual chemistry isn't there, it's not there. Surprisingly I've never heard nor used "I just don't want to lose your friendship." Actually, that's a lie. I've used that line after a guy has told me no and I don't want him to pull away out of awkwardness.

So how do I keep finding myself in this newly accurate description of the Friendzone? Am I just overly emotional? Do I get attached to a fantasy of how our relationship could be? Am I the reason for my permanent residency? Nah, couldn't be me. For some reason, guys can't see my amazing personality or my devilish good looks or my new semi-amazing body. Why don't men realize I can make them better?

Well, I think I found the answer. Sort of. Last week I watched a comedy video from a black Frenchman on the subject. Spoiler alert: his "theory" is that we put ourselves in the Friendzone, which honestly doesn't sound too farfetched. He goes on to explain that we make ourselves too available and friendly to the person we wish to court. People enjoy mystery from a potential love interest. The more they have to work for it, the more likely they'll want to pursue it.

While I don't totally agree with the video, I can see its merits. My main tactic - after getting past my "Are you gay?" pickup line days - has always been to become someone's friend first and then see if romantic tension will arise. That's what Boy Meets World taught me to do; how could Cory and Topenga be wrong?

I've also realized that I don't leave much mystery, either. Granted, I'm fairly quiet on a day-to-day basis, but my closest friends know how much I actually talk and like to reveal about myself. As I've discovered from a recent first date, if I really like a guy, I'll divulge information I don't even discuss with my friends. It was an oddly freeing sensation. It led to the fellow asking us to just be friends, however, I got that energy from him during the date as well. That's right, my dear friends (and associates). I can feel impending friendship. It's a gift and a curse, honestly.

What I'll do with this new information, I surely do not know. All I know is that I'll continue to be friends with those that only see me as a friend while I continue my search across this growingly trendy city of Baltimore.

Word.

I Thought You Were Bi

"Hold on, let me ask you a question? If she came up and threw it at you, would you smash?" This is the question a dear friend of mine asked me when I had to pause a conversation to look at an old college friend's live Instagram stream. (I wonder how soon that reference will become dated.)

Like most gay men, I came out as bi for the first year or two of my self-realization. I had a good reason for doing this, opposed to just using it as a crutch to lean into my homosexuality. My Facebook status literally read "Charles Clark is BIG minus the G." for a month; I wasn't messing around.

As I've told many people, I was heavily influenced by Boy Meets World as a child. I can remember searching for a Topenga of my own as young as four years old. This quest would continue into my high school years, an all boys private preparatory. But alas, we had a sister institution: an all girls private school.

My junior year - the first year I questioned and experimented with my sexuality - I entertained a girl from my sister school during our joint production of Guys and Dolls. My friends, not knowing the thoughts running through my head, called her my Big Titty'd Fling. Sadly, it turned out to be just that as I stopped talking to her after the show's run concluded. I felt an odd sense of jealousy when a friend started dating her a month later, but somehow I knew she wasn't actually the girl for me.

A year and a girlfriend later, I entered college and allowed it to be the playground of sexuality it was meant to be. I talked to a religious girl I instantly connected with the first two months until I revealed I was bisexual and she couldn't accept it. I slept with other gay men on campus because primal urges were real. I dry humped an older female friend because, again, primal urges were real.

This woman had always intrigued me. Though she was known for getting around, I didn't care. Early on, I knew a person's body count didn't define them, especially if they were smart and safe about it. We connected on a personal level. We shared many inside jokes, a few secrets. It felt as though the myth about sniffing out a person with an opposite immune system from you to build stronger offspring was true. But the timing was never right. Either she had a boyfriend, or I had decided I was full gay and didn't want to turn back.

That's right. I made a conscious decision after my sophomore year to just be a gay man. If I remember correctly, Kinsey and his scale proclaimed that no one is wholly heterosexual or homosexual. With this in mind, I settled on calling myself a 5 on the 0-6 scale. Why then, if I recognized I had some sort of attraction to women, would I shut myself off from engaging in coitus with them completely?

This is the part where I can hear my mother say, "Well, if you could choose to be straight, then why don't you?"

There are many factors that went into this decision, the most obvious being peer pressure. Not that they might have been fully outright in saying it, but the gay men I interacted with my freshman year of college thought bisexuality to be a joke. To them, all dudes on the "down low" were actually just gay men trying to seem more masculine and fit into society. I never dealt well with being in opposition - even less so then - so I quietly let my bisexuality fall to the wayside. Honestly, having dealt with the religious woman who dumped me before we technically started dating, I believed I was saving myself from future headaches.

To be totally transparent, the female anatomy never did much for me. Sure, I love a good pair of breasts, but the more worldly I become, the more I find that most people regardless of gender, sex, and orientation love breast. Besides, the first time I was a vagina in person, I labeled it as meat curtains (trademark pending); granted this was at a strip club, but still. The handful of women I've actually been attracted to, it was because of their personalities. I loved their brain and not in the N.E.R.D. way.

For a while, I considered myself a panromantic - someone not limited by gender or sex in the romantic attraction I felt for them - but I got enough random boners and crushes on men walking down the hallway to know that was a lie.

Still, I can feel my mother nagging at me, "Well, that could still be enough to make dating a woman work."

Sometime last year I met a trans man and wondered if he was gay. There surprisingly wasn't a curiosity about the unknown, just a genuine physical attraction I felt towards another man. Something about that moment made me sure about who I was.

After pausing for a second, I finally answered my friend who asked about the woman on Instagram. "You know, I would try. Honestly, I would; I just don't think my other head would cooperate. I suppose I'm just an appreciator of seemingly effortless beauty and confidence. And damn, she's got it." No, really what I said was, "She's bad (in a good way), but naw. I just recognize her diva." And with that, I continued my residency at the token gay of that group.

Word.