Otherwise known as The Guyliner, Mr Justin Myers is a columnist for GQ and Gay Times
Worst date
It’s disheartening to confront your own shallowness, but my heart sank as soon as I saw him. A face that had never known a smile, finger smudges on the lenses of his glasses and, clearly, untruthful about his age. But I believe in second chances, I told myself I could work with it. Then, the edamame arrived, and in went several pods unopened, into his mouth, my protests of “You have to, uh, pop the beans out” going ignored. He was still chewing when I left.
Best date
I’d spent so long self-editing, staring at the ground and never to the sky, convinced that I wasn’t worth a shot. But I went along anyway. What a surprise to get lost in the idea of who I could be, not who I was. To make a connection, be flirted with, to respond. And to give permission to be kissed on a packed dance floor by someone beautiful, until the envious and the lonely booed and slow-clapped us out of the bar. If my head was bowed, it was down to the weight of my crown, not shame. We dated for a bit; he dumped me after watching me try to get on a bicycle.
