Blind faith

MODELS: CHRIS COATS, CANDY KRESTEL

METHOD #3
The setup

He said

I love my family and they love me, but relying on them to match me with Mr. Right? Ha! I’d have more luck betting on the Cubs to sweep the World Series. Instead, I resort to time-tested queer strategy: calling on our chosen family. I’m certain good friends will do a much better job setting me up. But as I poll them for possibilities, I realize this can be perilous: Are they just thinking of candidates because I asked? And if we don’t hit it off, how will our matchmaker feel?

A friend whom I’ve known since 1995 comes up with a guy for me. On paper, he’s not a perfect match—he’s a decade or so younger and lives smack-dab in Boystown, which can be a fun place to visit, but often feels depressingly homogenous. Still, I figure this guy can’t be a gym clone or a twink with attitude, because my friend’s certain we’ll have a great time hanging out and I trust her judgment. Apparently, she does a flattering job talking me up, because soon we’ve got each other’s phone numbers.

After comfortably clearing the telephone-introduction hurdle, I ring his doorbell one rainy Thursday night. I’m impressed by his look: longish hair, a fun hat and a fitted overcoat with a fur collar (which, it turns out, belonged to his friend’s grandma). He shares his umbrella as we head south toward Landmark Century Centre, stopping for a falafel dinner at Sinbad’s before catching No Country for Old Men. Afterward, as we head back to Boystown, I ask him out for a drink. He picks L&L Tavern—a curveball choice, considering it’s a hetero dive bar in a sea of gay pours.

But I’m not sure if he’s attracted to me. He’s either naturally inscrutable or playing his cards close to his fashionable chest. But when he asks me up to his apartment after last call, I suspect the night’s taking another turn for the better. Inside his solo pad, I’m charmed when he starts spinning his collection of ’70s vinyl. A bit later, in the middle of a make-out session, we pause and laugh about how we owe our friend a big thanks.

She said

Thinking I might have better luck with someone who has known me for a long time, I let a family friend set me up with what she calls a “good guy.”

I get to Once Upon a Thai and Sam indeed looks like a good guy—curly blond hair, running shoes and a brown sweater. Sam tells me about learning the meaning of hard work growing up on a farm in the middle of nowhere and how much he dislikes how racist small-town America can be. His description of where he grew up amounts to, “We had one bad Chinese restaurant and a girl who was half-black.”

And right when I am thinking how well adjusted to city life he seems, I find out he is Mr. Right—Mr. Religious Right, that is.

“What do you mean you’re part of the religious right?” I ask.

Turns out he meant exactly what he said. He is a Christian Republican who believes abortion should be illegal except in cases of rape or incest.

I, on the other hand, once sent a package of hangers to an anti–abortion rights senator with a note saying I thought he was a total idiot. My mouth drops and all I can think is, I am eating pad thai with the enemy! How could my family friend set me up with a guy like this?

“Are you a virgin?” I ask. Remember what I said about always blurting out the first thing that comes to mind?

“Something about you, I knew you were going to ask that,” he says. “Yes, I’m a virgin.” Now, I haven’t exactly been around the block, but all the same I am not looking to have a “Why we can’t wait” argument with a prospective partner.

As the date ends, he offers to walk me home and asks if I would like to join him at church sometime. I say sure, but secretly don’t think it’s a great idea considering that in high school I once used Bible pages to roll a joint.