Andrey Pavlov

I Tried To Find True Romance In Nantucket And Failed

"F*ck, I'm almost out of my good lube," I blurted out.

As I shoved the last bit of toiletries into my duffle bag, I envisioned what new experiences I'd have during my sun-filled island excursion to Nantucket. Though I'm extremely grateful for this island getaway to the annual Nantucket Wine and Food Festival, I tried to think about more than just the delicious food, tasty drinks, and my soon-to-be distended belly.

Naturally, thoughts of falling in love (or, you know, good, old-fashioned butt play) with a stranger flooded my brain.

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One of the most exciting parts of heading out on a vacation is expecting the unexpected. You're out of your element, plopped down in a location that you probably know nothing about, where no one knows anything about you.

My vision of small-town Nantucket is like a long-led Nicholas Sparks novel, only with much less cheese and a lot more heat. It's a bonus if the residents look even remotely close to leading men Ryan Gosling or Liam Hemsworth.

Upon arrival, I imagined my romantic possibilities to be endless. It's a blank slate and a perfect opportunity to meet someone, free of judgment.

Though I was looking forward to a little "me" time, I was eager to find myself waking up in my bed, still slightly drunk, with a beautiful man curled up under the covers next to me. A guy can dream, right?

Well, unfortunately, dream (and stuff my face, of course) is all that I actually did.

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You see, despite my original belief that Nantucket would be filled to the brim with preppy, floral-shirt wearing gays for me to become acquainted with, its actual demographic couldn't have been further off.

Maybe it was due to my premature arrival before the summer season officially kicked off, but the only gay romance I was able to find on the entire island of Nantucket was in the porn I watched in my hotel room.

Zofia Crosby

In between the wine tasting and a quaint picnic brunch on the harbor, I found myself hopping back and forth from app to app with no such luck, hoping a new suitor would show face.

With an original radius set just below 25 miles on all my dating apps, I saw profiles of men who, if there was any interest, would have to take a goddamn boat to come see me in person. I mean, sure, I'm a catch, but ain't nobody got time for that.

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After lowering my radius to a measly five miles (just about the size of the island), there was barely a blip of any penis on my dating radar.

My options for a potential suitor weren't just slim, they were basically non-existent. I found opening Bumble and J-Swipe to be useless, as not one guy surfaced during the entire span of the weekend. I jumped at the one (AND ONLY, I kid you not) man that appeared on my Tinder as if I were chasing a wild Pikachu in Pokémon Go.

And despite me being the only other gay around for miles, he didn't even swipe right back. ~Sigh~

When attempting to converse with the one guy on Grindr I found that was under the age of 60, I asked him how dating is even possible on such a small island such as Nantucket.

What do gay men do? Are your standards nonexistent? Do you have to travel if you want any sense of romance in your life?

“We jerk off a lot,” he tells me. I'd provide screenshotted proof of my once-in-a-lifetime encounter with another gay man, but after telling him about my sex-oriented profession... he blocked me. I can only presume he swam back into the frigid Nantucket waters where all the other gays must be hiding.

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I wasn't remotely surprised to hear his response, but I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. Though it wasn't for my lack of effort, I was truly hoping to fast-track a six month romance in three days while on my trip. All of my recently failed attempts at dating back in New York had left me yearning for the sweaty lust of a quality island boy, but to little avail.

Instead, I was left to watch Nick at Nite in a huge suite all by my lonesome.

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As the trip winded down and I prepared to leave Nantucket with all my Trojans in the original package they came in, I attempted to look on the bright side.

Despite my lack of island action, I still had options upon my return to the Big Apple. Even if I wasn't always pleased with the pool of men New York had to offer, at least I had men to choose from.

Though I was close to water, there were no homosexual fish in the sea around the island of Nantucket.

After all was said and done, I realized I should stop taking my group of city gays for granted. A one-time island fling sounded exciting at first, but it turns out reality is nothing close to the fictional stories in Nicholas Sparks novels.

At least I have some of my good lube left.