The Faces You Show Me

Chapter 1: MuscleStud69

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

I'm not an angry person. I'm more of a crier - the type of guy who will crack a joke mid-breakdown to lighten the mood a bit. But I was 21, extremely horny, and had just driven over half an hour expecting to meet someone who was definitely not the person standing in front of me. I was pissed.

We all know what the apps are like: unsolicited dick pics from older men, people who agree to meet up but conveniently disappear as soon as the plans seem real, and the oh-so-classic "straight" man who insists on discrete hookups in sketchy places. I thought I'd seen everything. But an obvious catfish thinking I'd ignore my own eyesight when I met him? I guess there's a first time for everything.

MuscleStud69's eyebrows thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Excuse me?"

I pulled out my phone, showing him the profile. The person in the photos was stunning: six pack abs, sculpted pecs peppered with short dark hair, a v-line to die for, and a wicked, mischievous smile. "This you?"

There was a flicker of disappointment - guilt? - in his eyes before he answered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." I hit the button to start a video call. It was immediately followed by a vibration in his pocket.

He pulled out his phone, accepting defeat. "Look, I'm sorry. They're old photos - I used to look like that, I swear!"

I raised an eyebrow. The person in front of me might have looked like that in another lifetime. There was some facial resemblance. He wasn't a bad looking guy, per se. But MuscleStud69's profile said he was 25. The man in front of me was at least in his fifties. His salt and pepper hair thinned at the top of his head in stark contrast to the full set of dark curls in the photos. His thin frame showed the ghost of the athletic build I was expecting. He wasn't unattractive - he just wasn't the person I was expecting to see. "Ahhh," I drew out the sound, feigning my understanding. "So how old were you when your eyes turned blue? Forty? Fifty?"

His hazel eyes darkened. I probably should have bit my tongue. "Get off my property," he spat.

But I wasn't done. "What did you think would happen when I got here? That I'd sleep with you because I was attracted to what you looked like years ago? Or maybe you thought since I drove all the way out here, I'd settle for less? Did you think you could talk your way out of it?" The words exploded from my mouth like bullets. I was idly aware that I was shaking.

His face twisted and reddened. "I thought maybe you wouldn't be so fucking shallow. Now, get off my property before I call the police!"

"Fuck. You. Go ahead and call them. You know impersonation is illegal, right?"

"What do you want then? If you don't want to hookup, leave."

"I just want to know why! I came here as I am. I might have flirted more than I would have in person. But I would never do this to someone! So, why? What about me says that I would have just gone along with all of this? Do I seem that desperate?"

I blinked away a wetness that was blurring my vision. In my mind, I already knew why things like this happened to me. It was the same reason I drove out here in the first place: I didn't think I deserved better. On the apps, people were direct about what they were into, and I never fit the brief. I wasn't masculine or feminine enough. I wasn't muscular enough to be a jock or thin enough to be a twink. When you feel like a freak in your own skin, the line between flirting and harassment feels like a ledge. So I waited for someone to want me. It was a lonely way to live.

Our eyes met and his gaze was filled with concern. "You should go. Please."

"Whatever. Tell your wife I said hi."

His eyes widened. "How did you -"

"Educated guess, asshole." I turned around, ready to storm back to my car.

"Look, I'm sorry! I should have been honest."

I don't know why I stopped. I turned around, barely in control of my body. The tears were spilling freely down my cheeks. "Obviously! Has this ever worked? Even once?"

He sighed. "No. You're the first person I've ever asked here."

"Bullshit."

"It's true! You can go through my chats if you want - "

"It's probably a new account! Why would I believe a single word you say to me now?"

"Because I showed up to the door as I am. I like you. I just wanted to talk to you. I knew you wouldn't respond if you saw what I looked like."

"Because you're like thirty years older than me! Of course I don't want to talk to you! Do you realize you sound like a fucking pedophile right now? Holy shit!"

"You don't know anything about me!"

"That's the point! You lied about yourself to get my attention! You're married!"

"Please just... just come in and have a tea. You drove all this way - can we just talk?"

"You just told me to leave your property."

"Please... Just a conversation. You can sit in your car with the window mostly up if you'd feel safer. I just... I don't have anyone to talk to about this all."

I don't know why I agreed to it. In my mind, I knew he was covering his bases - desperately trying to ensure that I wouldn't out him to his wife. But I also felt the loneliness in his voice. This man had lived his life as someone he wasn't. He was surrounded by reminders of what he would lose if he was honest about who he was. I sat in the driver's seat of my car, rolled down the window just enough to hear him. He pulled a rusted patio chair from his deck and sat, just a few feet from the window.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"I can't - "

"You can, or I drive home and send the screenshots of our conversations to your wife. You said you came to the door as you are. You don't get to back out now."

He paused, trying to decide whether I was bluffing. I wasn't. I didn't do hookups with people at my place to avoid awkward conversations with roommates. Instead, I settled on leaving sticky notes on my desk with the address I was visiting and sending any digital evidence of my conversations to my email in case I disappeared. It didn't really protect me, but I hoped it might help someone find me if I ever went missing.

"Dave." He pulled a leather wallet from his worn-out jeans and showed me an ID to verify, thumb conveniently obscuring the last name. I realized the 69 on his username was his birth year. "What's yours?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"It really is, though. How long have you been married?"

"It'll be 30 years this summer." He sounded proud.

I was repulsed. "Do you love her?"

"Of course I do!"

"Does she know you like men?"

Silence.

"That's what I thought. So, when did you know?"

"Know what?"

"What do you think? That you like dick."

"You make it sound so... vulgar. I don't know if I do."

"That's bullshit. Do you watch porn?"

"Everyone watches porn."

"And when you watch porn, do you watch the man or the woman?"

Silence again. There was so much guilt and shame on his face.

I softened my tone, "Before I came out, I used to tell myself I was staring at the men in porn because I wanted to be like the models. The best lies are the ones we tell ourselves."

"I do love my wife. We have a son. I knew I was... different... when I was a teenager. My buddies would talk about going to the drive-in and hooking up with their girlfriends in the back of their cars. My wife - girlfriend then - well, we just liked to watch the movie. I just thought it would take me a bit longer to get there.

"Sex was just uncomfortable, but I focused on her, learned what felt good. I might be queer but I'm not incompetent. I know her buttons and we don't stop until she's satisfied. I love her so much - I really do. She's my high school sweetheart. We raised a son together, for crying out loud. And I know she loves me more than anyone in the world. I've been her rock for thirty years. We laugh, drink, and dance together. I've cried in her arms, and she's cried in mine. I don't want to lose that."

"Don't you think she deserves to know the truth?"

"Of course she does. I just hoped it wouldn't matter. We make each other happy. Love is more than sex. Do you know how many of our married friends sleep in separate bedrooms because they can't stand each other? We sleep inside each other's arms, even now."

"Then why did you ask me to come here?"

"I just... I wanted to know what it's all supposed to feel like."

I wondered how many people chose the same path, pretending to be the person that was easy for others to love.

"So, why did you catfish me?"

"The best lies are the ones we tell ourselves, right? I told myself I wanted this to happen - I think maybe I was giving myself an out. I don't want to destroy this beautiful life I've built for myself. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to come here."

"You could have messaged someone closer to your age. Don't you think they'd be more understanding?"

"Maybe they would. A lot of gay men my age died during the AIDS epidemic. The rest of us came out with a view on sex that was based on fear and shame. You're young - the world's not what it used to be. I'm not saying you have it easy, but you can't know what that was like."

"That... honestly explains a lot."

Our eyes met and I saw that his were glistening now. Then he flashed a wicked grin. "Plus, I thought you were cute."

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "Nice try, smartass. Look, I still think your wife deserves to know how you feel. I believe you that you love her. If I was someone else, your marriage would be over."

"You won't tell her?"

"There's nothing to tell. I showed up at the wrong house and you asked me to leave." I twisted the key in my car's ignition. "And you're still an asshole, by the way."

He laughed and I saw a glimmer of the person in the photos. I drove home, leaving my anger behind in his driveway.