Dating : Dating During Quarantine Has Actually Given Me Hope

I remember the first night I held Anthony in my arms, the first night we had sex. The sex was hot, but more than that, it just felt good to be touched by a human nearly five months into the pandemic. If the consequences are disastrous for a baby who isn’t held and touched, is it really any better for us adults?

Feeling his heartbeat and his beads of sweat running down on me, I breathed a sweet sigh of relief. My coronavirus dry spell, officially broken. For a moment, I forgot about the global pandemic.

I met Anthony on Scruff — the slightly, well, scruffier cousin to Grindr in the realm of gay male dating apps. He called me “mad handsome,” and the playful banter began. We met up in person in August. We agreed to both get Covid-19 tests before jumping into bed together. (I should note that Covid-19 tests aren’t foolproof — there are still risks, of course, to swapping saliva.)

At the time, I was looking for casual. I wanted to explore my transgender body. I hadn’t been with anyone since starting testosterone and moving back to the Bay Area from L.A. Anthony was fun and great in bed, and it was clear to me that he’d been with transgender men before. He was respectful and treated me as an equal. He was the perfect partner to dip my toes back into the Bay Area dating waters, where I hadn’t ventured since my early twenties.

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Somewhere along the way, my therapist began to accuse me of “catching feelings.” I dismissed his accusations. Anthony was handsome, with a five o’clock shadow always etched onto his face. He was the first gay man I’d ever been with. (Prior to my gender transition, I’d dated straight men.) It was meaningful.

Anthony was very bright. We’d have deep conversations about the stars and the universe and if astrology is bullshit (his take) and whether civil war was imminent in the United States. We connected on more than one level. We ate many meals together via Covid-friendly Uber Eats. He’d help me bake. We played piano together.

We agreed to keep sleeping with other people. We both kept getting tested for Covid-19 frequently. Again, this was not perfectly safe, but I had decided that it was a risk I was going to take. I’m sure our system was flawed, but when I asked someone from Grindr to get tested before we got intimate — and he got a positive result — I knew at least something was working.

I wondered at times if gay men were the most well-equipped to be dating during a pandemic. We’d been here before. We know something about having to move on with dating even with the threat still looming.

As August turned to September and summer gave way to fall, I started to feel a nudge that I might want something deeper. I spent a week in Mendocino, basking in nature. Sitting outside one morning, listening to birdsong, I realized what I wanted and what I needed had changed since I’d met Anthony just three months prior. I was craving deeper layers of connection and commitment, but I wasn’t so sure Anthony was a willing candidate to give it. I’m also bisexual, and I felt curious about dating women again. I wasn’t sure where Anthony fit into this.

To test the waters, I simply started to ask more of him. He quickly failed the test. I knew our relationship had an expiration date; I just didn’t know when. I tried for as long as I could to hold out on the obvious conversation: Just what are we doing here?

I asked Anthony if we could talk. My stomach sank a little when he replied, “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk with you, too.”

We met at Lake Merritt around sunset one day. At one of my best friends’ urging, I told Anthony he should go first. I sat back and listened while he cited a whole host of reasons he wasn’t available for more in a relationship right now. He was living at home with his mom, still somewhat entangled with an ex (my words, not his), and our lifestyles were different — “You’re sober,” he said, and, well, he was sort of the opposite of that. I nodded in agreement, knowing this wasn’t going to work. He was 28 and living at home with his mom; I’m 33 and was kicked out of my mom’s house nearly a decade ago. We were in two different stages of life. (But hey, no shade if you’ve moved home during this pandemic!)

We agreed to end it. He said, “Let’s be friends.” I said, “Maybe.” It was amicable and kind. It’s hard to be angry when two lives are simply moving in different directions — no one’s at fault.

It’s never easy to end a relationship, and because of the pandemic, we struggled to actually call it quits. I suspect I’m not the only one who caught feelings along the way. I’m not here to declare that I’ve mastered the art of pandemic dating (or breaking up). After one failed attempt to end it, I found the strength to walk away — making space for what I really want and need. In this era of social deprivation, it wasn’t easy to walk away from an okay relationship that fulfilled some sexual and emotional needs.

But if I found pandemic romance once, I am confident I can do it again. Maybe this time with a woman. Maybe this time with a different, more available man. Maybe I need a minute by myself. Maybe dating during the pandemic is a terrible idea. Or maybe it is helpful with all that superfluous societal noise now quieter.

Whatever the case may be, I’m grateful for Anthony. Our time in quarantine together certainly made this year a lot less lonely.

Dating Anthony felt like dipping just a toe into unknown waters—maybe now I’m ready to stick in my whole foot. I’ve downloaded new apps and have added queer women to my dating pond. I just had my first socially distanced hike with a woman I met on another dating app. She was delightful — grounded, beautiful, outdoorsy, and kind. A certain candidate for a second date.

As a grown, queer man in my thirties with a little more confidence under my belt after Anthony, I’m optimistic about what the future may hold. But a new dating prospect in the times of coronavirus always raises the anxiety-ridden question: When is the right time to take off your masks? No matter how many Covid-19 tests you take, there is still going to be risk involved. This was a risk that Anthony and I agreed to take (and discussed with my roommate) in the spirit of much-needed intimacy and human connection in the times of a global pandemic.