I told my date my sexual preferences and was immediately ghosted

I met Chris* on Facebook.

He appeared in the ‘people you may know section’ and I sent a friend request. 

My first impression was that he was handsome, clean-cut, and had a cheeky smile.  

I’d been liking his posts here and there, then watching his stories too. We eventually progressed to talking via Facebook messenger and the banter was instant. He was flirtatious but never too much, and charming in a way that felt unpracticed.    

One day, I wrote a post saying that I would be going to the States for Pride, alongside a sexy photo, and straight away, Chris sent me a DM: ‘Do I finally get to meet you?’ He was coincidentally going to the same Pride.  

I replied: ‘If you play your cards right!’  

I didn’t think too much about him, as I knew there would be a lot of guys around.

But when there, I found that I had a few nights where I wasn’t hanging out with my friends. We ending up making dinner plans and I remember feeling excited in that teenage, stomach-flipping way that makes you overthink your outfit but still walk in pretending you didn’t.  

He looked even better in person — soft-spoken but confident, and a subtle smile that made you feel like the only person in the room.

We danced, drank, and talked lots – about politics, families, queer identity, bad dating stories, good ones, and the weird line between ambition and burnout.   

After going to a club, we walked aimlessly through the warm, and very humid streets.

It was so romantic. We sat on a bench. Chris leaned in and we kissed.   

That’s how the night ended — not in a bed, but on a bench, with the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are.   

Back in my hotel room, I couldn’t sleep. I replayed the whole evening in my head — the way he listened, the way he smelled, the way he said my name like he already knew me.  

I don’t know what possessed me, but I sent him a photo. Not too explicit, but suggestive enough.  

I guess I wanted to keep the momentum going. I was still high off the date. Chris replied instantly with a fire emoji, then, ‘You’re seriously hot.’  

Then I decided to step up the flirtation. I sent him a picture of me in a jockstrap from behind showing my glutes. It was one of my favourite snaps to send.    

He replied, ‘Why on earth have you sent me a photo of your ass?’ And then came his question: ‘So you top, right?’  

I hesitated, then replied honestly: ‘I’m a bottom.’  

I waited for his response. Nothing.   

Ten minutes went by. Thirty. An hour. I tapped his profile — still active. Still posting memes the next morning. Still watching my stories. But he never texted back.   

At first, I thought maybe something happened. Then I realised: I’d been ghosted — not for what I did, or didn’t do, but for what I wasn’t.   

Chris had just assumed I was a top. And when he found out I wasn’t, he must have lost interest.  

This wasn’t the first time it’s happened either.  

People assume I top. And I get it.  

I lift. I’m broad-shouldered. I post gym selfies sometimes. And I’m Black. So there’s a whole extra layer there — this cultural baggage, this hypersexualised, hypermasculine fantasy that gets projected onto me constantly.  

On apps, in DMs, even in the way people talk to me in real life. There’s this assumption that I’m dominant, aggressive, always in control.  

I used to go along with it, thinking maybe that’s what I should be. But the truth is, I feel most alive — most me — when I bottom.   

It took a while to unlearn the shame. To realise that sex isn’t a performance, and masculinity isn’t a position. I started opening up more — not just about what I liked, but about what I needed.  

Probably about three years after I met Chris, I started exploring being versatile. But not to please anyone else – to know myself better. To own my desires instead of tailoring them to someone else’s expectations.   

Life now is… fuller. I’ve dated people who see me as a whole person, not just a category. And I’ve had to block a few people who still send ‘you’re too hot to bottom’ messages like it’s a compliment.   

Looking back, I don’t hate Chris. I think he showed me something — some people just aren’t made for you. We may be a match now that I top too, but choosing to ghost me rather than just have a conversation is not on. It’s cowardly.  

Perhaps it was even a blessing in disguise that we never made it to the bedroom.  

Today, I can now say that I am 100% versatile – and I feel that I get the best of both worlds. For this reason, I am living my best and most authentic full life.   

And I want someone who appreciates every aspect of me – including a picture from behind in a jockstrap.  

*Name has been changed  

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk. 

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