You Good?

That was the question, more rhetorical than literal, I asked him when I picked up the black basketball shorts I tossed into the corner of the room the hour prior. He replied “yeah” earnestly as I handed him one of his tosses that found its way onto an accent chair in the corner of my room. It was a dance we’d done for nearly a month now that started with a “wyd” text and ended with me walking him to the door before plopping down on my honey leather sofa to get recentered for the day or night.

I’m no stranger to casual partners. Outside of a few short-term relationships ( < two years), these have been primarily the extent of my romantic life since I was in my early 20s. Relationships with unspoken rules, zero expectations, and shrouded in privacy that take away the fear of disappointment and rejection.

For years, I reveled in the taboo of it all. It felt cool to have an unrestrained side of myself that didn’t have to fall into a box or share the responsibility of making a relationship work. But something shifted in the last couple of years.

That secrecy started seeping from mobile app grids covered in faceless torsos onto social media during the lockdown, likely through people looking for attention in their solitude, and has exploded over the years into a full-on culture of show and tell that has transformed how many men interact with one another.

Any given evening, an invite to a kickback at someone’s home, a game night, or a pool party is subject to turn into a cruise fest where guys are on the prowl until the wee hours of the morning.

During a recent hangout here in LA, I walked into a party around 7 pm, an hour or so before sunset, to a room of guys walking in circles hugging and having catch ups that were limited to “how've you been” on the low end and “did you see Beyoncé?” if any interest went on beyond that.

It didn’t take long for compliments to turn into hands caressing and squeezing one another’s bodies without permission or consent. And as a man I met at the bar started describing his tooth gem to me, I sensed a bit of reservation in the faraway look in his glassy eyes and the sudden movements in his jaw. He was nervous, and he wasn’t the only one.

The room was filled with guys acting more on impulse than feeling, using vices to drown out any inhibitions that might get in the way of what they were there to do. It’s another behavior I’ve seen skyrocket in the years since the pandemic, substance abuse. The collision of reckless sexual encounters and weekly benders has, without a doubt, made dating more volatile and hookups more transactional.

I’ve watched my Instagram feed transform into a landmine of Trump updates, family photos, college friends showing off their families, and green circles filled with people in suggestive clothing and raunchy memes. On weekends, the green circles echo the soundtracks of circuit DJs as guys revel until they fall into drug-induced stupors the next morning, posting daylight images with timestamps early in the morning.

On the Sunday of Pride month, I woke up alone to the stillness of my bedroom and opened an app out of habit, more than actual interest, to see who was around. To my dismay, my inbox instantly filled with people looking for “thirds,” “groups,” and acts I’m too embarrassed to say aloud.

Right before closing it, I received a “wyd” message from a familiar face who was in the neighborhood heading to the gym. I paused for a second to consider whether I actually had the energy to entertain someone, but I responded “come through” anyway.

He showed up later than I planned, giving me just enough time to reflect on how these encounters make me feel these days, somewhere between freedom and uneasiness. When he walked in, he asked if I smoked. I wasn’t in the mood to start my day with a wake and bake, so I declined. And for the next few minutes, we engaged in small talk about how the weekend had been, Pride month, and again, Cowboy Carter, before he mentioned that he was supposed to go to the concert with his ex. Why he thought bringing up his ex would get my blood flowing this morning, I’m not sure, but I listened, because that’s what I do. And as he went on about the situation, I was filled with a sense of sadness. I could tell that he was using the app, and this morning, me, as a patch for a bad situation.

Then I thought about the times I’d had similar conversations with guys in the past. Hearing about the stress of their jobs, failures in their love life, and anxieties about the world before taking off their clothes for a few hours to escape it all.

I reflected on what I’ve escaped from in those moments myself as he blew billows of marijuana smoke onto my patio before tugging at my shorts.

I smiled before mentioning “I had a conflict” this morning and would rather reschedule to a day when I had more time to enjoy the experience. Satisfied with the free weed, he said “cool” before grabbing his gym bag. As I walked him to the door, he turned back and asked, “you good?” It felt good to say yes and in more ways than one, actually mean it.