The Inferiority/Superiority Meter: Our Fragile Egos in Overdrive

The Inferiority/Superiority Meter: Our Fragile Egos in Overdrive

Most of us deal with it every day of our lives, straight and gay, but because we gays are just a teeny weeny bit more concerned about our appearance, we tend to suffer with it the most. It’s the Inferiority/Superiority Meter or I/S for short, which can twitch quicker than a dick coming down from a Viagra high.

You know exactly what I’m talking about. One moment you feel like Hot Shit, on the Dickter Scale of one to ten, a thirteen; a microsecond later, you just feel like Shit. A minus five.

Sure, there are some ugly sons of a bitch who have the ego of Trump, and some hunks men and women would give their right ball or tit for who are quietly comfortable about themselves, and never realize what a powerful tool physical beauty can be. But I think they’re in the minority. For most of us, our personal I/S meters are fluctuating constantly.

Of course, for gay guys it’s often set off by our environment, i.e., how we feel we are being perceived (not necessarily the reality) by the men around us.

You’ve been cruising some hot guy all night and by his looks and body language you think you have the deal almost clinched when he gives you that stomach wrenching dead glance just as you’re moving in for the kill. That’s when your Oscar winning acting skills help you save face and you walk by unperturbed.

Ah, but inside, you feel like Shit.

A guy comes onto you big time on one of the apps. Like you’re practically his soul mate. You’re ready to set the date (for the wedding) when he comes back and tells you very delicately, “Sorry, didn’t look at your (height) (dick size) (eye color). I like ’em  (short) ( tall) (big dicked) ( monster cock) (green) (brown). Don’t people fucken read anymore?

Or the glow after you’ve had terrific sex with some fuckin’ hottie who, though he’s had his fun, and you yours, still goes on to tell you how fucking hot you are. Or having all eyes suddenly turn on you when you decide to take your shirt off in a bar. You feel like Hot Shit, like you’re a porn star par excellence, jerked off over by millions of adoring fag fans.

That is, till one homely queen snickers at your unabashed exhibitionism.

Wednesday: The possible roots of the I/S Meter in all of us.


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