Dear Dategirl,

I am a 17-year-old senior at a Catholic high school. Ever since my nine-month (hey, that's pretty damn long for a dude my


Young love

Dear Dategirl,

I am a 17-year-old senior at a Catholic high school. Ever since my nine-month (hey, that's pretty damn long for a dude my age) relationship ended two years ago, I have been having some serious issues with women. I know I really enjoy the chase, but once we're together, I lose interest quickly. I love women, and I would never use them—at least not intentionally. My last girlfriend was a beautiful Jewish girl who had about a million things in common with me and was just one of those "good people." I was actually pretty happy, but toward the end I began to get a little tired of her. But then when she broke up with me, I wanted her back. It was really bad. The reason I'm writing is that I really like this new girl I've been hanging out with lately, and I don't want to get sick of her if we finally date. While dating her would be wonderful, I am afraid to get any deeper in, as I may inadvertently break her heart.


Hello, Young Kevin,

I see Catholic school has worked its warped magic on you: You're feeling guilty about a heart you haven't even come close to breaking yet. Stop it. While this is sweet (in a perverse kind of way), it's ultimately counterproductive. (Besides, how do you know she won't break your heart?) You're 17 years old—you're supposed to be flitting from girl to girl like a hyperactive rutting monkey. It's your biological imperative. You're at your sexual peak. Enjoy it now, bub, because once you hit 30, it's a whole new ball of back hair. Memories of nights spent blissfully pivoting away on top of your pep squad paramour will start to fade and be replaced by the reality of a doleful hump during halftime by age 37. The three beers that merely put you in the mood at 17 will cause your organ to develop the delightful little affliction known as brewer's droop by 40. The future ain't pretty; better enjoy what you got while you got it. The big joke is that women don't hit their peak until their mid- to late 30s—so instead of squandering your talents on teen cheerleaders who won't truly appreciate your ever-ready erection for another 20 years, why don't you do Sister Mary Not-Gittin'-Any a favor and sneak a peek under her robes. Perhaps you can help her develop a nasty little habit.

Hello Dategirl,

I'm a hip 21-year-old gay male. I moved to San Francisco in the hopes of dating or at least meeting men. It's definitely a "water, water everywhere" situation—but no one seems to want anything past a one-night stand. Most guys here seem to want the same thing: a buffed-up, whitewashed, masculine, Abercrombie & Fitch frat boy. This is definitely not me. I have a biting sense of humor, a unique and dashing sense of style—the list goes on, but I don't want to sound cocky. Perhaps I suffer from low self-esteem, but I feel like I'm never going to meet anyone. Guys over 30 always seem willing, but I'm tired of being a sex toy for older guys! I know I shouldn't sacrifice what is fabulous to fit some tired, homogenized mold, but I'm not sure what exactly to do.

Thirsty in S.F. Oasis

Dearest Thirsty,

Low self-esteem? You? Surely, you jest! You sound like a perfectly charming young man who happens to be attracted to men who are attracted to gym queens. Not being one yourself, those boys aren't biting. That doesn't mean you should give up your own dashing sense of style and suddenly adopt a wardrobe of tight-fitting T's and whatever the hell fitness-oriented pants-type item those boys wear on the bottom—yuck. Like I'm sure your mama told you, you've gotta be you.

Rather than attempting to bulk up your biceps, try expanding your hotness horizons. You're lucky to be living in a homo hotbed—surely not every eligible man under the age of 28 spends his days pumping iron and gulping fistfuls of steroids. Go hang out at a gay bookstore for a while (and I'm not talking about the kind with little booths and a sticky floor). Relax, troll the personal ads, and enjoy your all-too-fleeting youth, because before you know it, you'll be the middle-aged man ogling the young hotties.

Dating difficulties? Write Dategirl at or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western, Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.

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