Me with a D

I routinely struggle with the question: “What’s your type?”

I have the tendency to provide a weak and simple answer just to get the conversation over with. In result every time I’m out with certain individuals they want to point out the hipster-looking white guy with the good scruff. That’s not my real type. I’ve been uncomfortable with sharing the actual answer.

What is?

Drumroll please…

Me.

Me in male form. Me with a D. Me as a dude.

Are you really surprised? I’m a huge fucking narcissist. 

You’re not surprised.

I am only attracted to men I see myself in. Same interests. Same musical tastes. Same sense of humor. Same attention to style and grooming. Shall I continue? Personally I do not believe in the theory “opposites attract.” That would be a nightmare for me—a perpetual headache. I would find it completely frustrating. Well, I might appreciate some occasional difference of opinion. We don’t have to be intellectual twins or anything…

But the entire package?

I want me. Me with a D—except taller.

You’re not surprised. This is not news, I was just too reluctant to admit it. Also, I believe that the more you know me this elusive man is now easier to distinguish, but ultimately more difficult to find. 

100. 1,000. 1,000,000,000,000.