Hooking up with someone hotter than you is fun; dating someone hotter than you—eh, not so much. Like most things in life, this dichotomous fuck-me-hard jealousy 101 situation isn’t easy, but you’ll get through it, maybe.
Let me explain. About a year ago, I hooked up with my now boyfriend at a typical, sleazy first weekend away at college banger. I was on the brink of sexual combustion, some experts may have suggested. It had been a convoluted, nearing year and a half since my last sweaty, 3 a.m. inconspicuous blowjob and I began habitually precumming at the site of any ol’ man who’d give me the slightest smidge of eye contact. So naturally, when this Cocky Boys-looking beauty approached ME as Ke$ha’s “Die Young” dimmed the apartment’s influx, I dropped to me knees without inspection or doubt: this dick is mine.
It’s one of those 21st century love tales that stem from mommy-don’t-look dance floor oral. Most of the guys I eventually take home share a similar genesis. The thing is, I physically repulse many queers: I’m pudgy and not in an appealing “dad bod” way, I dress rather femininely (oftentimes my outfits derive exclusively from Forever 21’s “Woman on the Town” collection), and—worst of all—I am painfully insecure and anxious, leaving my body uncomfortably juxtaposed in social settings. So if a guy is not ER tequila drunk bound or tripping beyond measurable means and mistaking me for some Darren Criss reincarnation, I’m not getting laid.
I’ve grown to accept this fate. If I’m fortunate enough to secure a hook up, I’ll hold on for dear life until the glimmer of that budding relationship fades away. Luckily, this one night stand stood the test of time. #FeelingBlessed
Nonetheless, my current relationship isn’t much different from my past ones. I’m grappling with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy, thinking I’ll be disregarded amid a momentary lapse when my boyfriend catches the sight of a hotter, more toned man with perhaps a much fuller beard than me. It’d be an upgrade, and I kind of wouldn’t blame him for taking the bait.
I’ve always been considered the “ugly one” in my relationships. A friend once ranked me a 5.2 while my partner at the time came in at a solid 8.6. “This is U-N-A-C-C-E-P-T-A-B-L-E,” I remember interjecting. “I am AT LEAST a 6.0. You can’t go over the three point sphere in the dating world; it’s treason, basically going against everything Girl Code!” I flailed my arms about, knowing I could never satisfy the man I loved enough to the point where he wouldn’t have to cheat. Sometimes appearance is trump, sadly.
It’s different—and more difficult—when you’re attracted to people of the same sex. First off, you’re constantly being compared, and innately trying to equate yourselves all the time. Starting off with simple facial variances like, “Oh, my chin is narrow, yet square while yours is more round and complimentary.” Then, getting into the realities at hand, like “Wow, your cock is totally double the size of mine” and other nuances like, “Your ass can practically take two cocks at a time—you’re immaculate, boyf!”
Loving someone hotter than you is just plain hard. You begin to feel a bit too comfortable as a makeshift gargoyle stagnantly watching over Gisele dominating the world with ease and an unwavering sense of self. She may prosper and eventually take down Tyra, but you’ll always just be a lump of cement she’ll take hold of from time to time.
It’s like—yeah, I see your naked body on a semi-regular basis, but please don’t look me in the eyes during sex; I prefer to be face down where you can imagine fucking someone else—someone who’s actually worth it. It’s not your job to make a fuss about it. You have to just lay there and decompress your indignant thoughts, hoping that one day you’ll feel your worth and get the fuck out of that mindset.