I've made veiled references over the last few weeks to my re-immersion (if that's not a word, it should be) into the dating pool, but I haven't had time, until now, to lift the veil. It all began many months ago when I became friendly with a frequ sitor to my web site who works downtown. He was actually employed by his boyfriend who runs a gay matchmaking service. At first, I didn't give much thought to the idea of using a matchmaker, thinking that it was only a (significantly more expensive rnative to Internet dating, which I'd given up on (again).

But I would ask my friend about his boyfriend, and the matchmaking service, just out of curiosity. And the more I learned, the more I realized that it was actually something that could conceivably work for me. The big problem with Internet dating s commodified nature: the low cost of entry leads to a glut of "merchandise", which means that nobody puts much value on each individual date. It all ends up feeling like a zero-sum game. You set up yet another date; the guy shows up at th ezvous (or -- and this is the quick version -- doesn't show up at all), and unless there's an immediate chemistry, you think to your self " Ho, hum, moving right along..."

With a matchmaking service, the economics are much different. First, it's extremely expensive, which means that there are relatively few people in any one program. But because both people have invested a large sum in the process, then you're bot t more serious, and less likely to make quick decisions, and more likely to explore the other guy in some depth. Furthermore, in this case, the matchmaker only takes guys who are looking for long-term, monogamous partners. So when you meet somebody gh the program, there is none of this wondering what the other person wants: none of this wondering " Maybe he only wants to sleep with me?"

Of course the big downside of matchmaking is that you have to hope that amongst this small pool of people, there is somebody that will make a good match for you. When I met with the matchmaker to explore the possibility of joining the program, th my main reservation. I told him how hopelessly picky I was, both in terms of looks and personality. But he convinced me; telling me that he only enrolled people into the program if he thought there was a good chance he could match them. And he of a very personalized service; one in which he invested a lot of time getting to know you as a person, and observing how you interact with other people. I trusted him, not only instinctively, but also because I liked and respected his boyfriend, my fr ho had introduced me to the matchmaker.

So not long after I came back from my summer vacation, I signed up and went through the enrollment process: a long interview, and a photo session. And soon it was time for my first date: one of the strangest dates I've ever had. The first reason s strange was that the matchmaker was taking both me and my date out for dinner with him. My first chaperone. The second reason it was strange ...well, I'll get to that later.

Anyway, the three of us met at my favorite restaurant in the Castro, and right away I was interested in the other guy; at least superficially. He looked even better in person than he had in his photographs, seemed to be charming, and was obviousl bright. He did, admittedly, looks a little bit familiar, but I just presumed that I'd seen him around town. I'd wondered beforehand if the fact that I knew the other guy was, like me, looking for a long-term relationship would make this more stres hen your average first date. And also wondered how the presence of the matchmaker would serve to break the ice. I needn't have worried: it was one of the easiest, most fun and lighthearted meals I've ever had with a date. Unlike so often, I felt c ely at ease, and gave full range to my personality. I felt that I was sparkling and amusing, suitably honest and earnest. I sort of surprised myself.

All went so well. Until....

...towards the end of the meal, I was beginning to think that maybe I was over performing or something and that the other guy had lost interest. Then the matchmaker excused himself to go to the bathroom leaving myself and my date alone for the fir e. There was that momentary pang -- a kind of squashed feeling -- that I always feel when I'm suddenly alone with somebody I don't know well. But we weren't alone a second before my date said " You mean you don't remember meeting me before?&qu got worse; much worse. Not only had we met before, but we'd actually had two dates, on the latter of which we'd watched the Oscars together at my place over Chinese take-away. I vaguely remembered the evening, but not the denouement, nor that it was actually him that evening. But he quickly reminded me that he was " all over me" that evening, at I had (somewhat inconceivably) shunned his advances.

I was considerably embarrassed, but after this revelation, the matchmaker took his leave, and I joined my date for a drink at the bar, and the revelation seemed to clear the air between us, and the date ended with a plan to get together again. Th day, I wasn't entirely convinced that our getting together again was a good idea: I had several strong reservations, but they went strong enough to rule things out. But when we discussed, over the phone, getting together again, he suggested that I r to his place to watch a movie, an invitation which I interpreted to mean "Come over to my place to have sex." I'd really decided that I wasn't going to leap into sex during this process, and I felt a little diminished that that's what he so soon, but, big boy that I am now, I negotiated a compromise, a trip to the movies. In the end, that second date, at the movies, confirmed my reservations from the first date, and it was obvious to both of us that the chemistry was not there.

Two or three weeks later, I met my second date, again over dinner with the matchmaker. This guy was very different from the first date, and I felt that we had a lot more in common, but, he was older than me, and physically, he wasn't my type, and I felt that there was insufficient chemistry, although had he not lived two-and-a-half hours away, I probably would have arranged to see him again.

Last weekend, I caught a movie on IFC called "Trick", a cute boy-meets-boy movie that came out a few years ago. One of the boys, a go-go boy was completely adorable, and had huge, appealing brown eyes, and features you could stare at fo And all of a sudden, I found myself mourning the years in my life when I could attract men like that. I remember dates when I had a gorgeous boy looking at me with those puppy-dark eyes. I thought about my last date with the matchmaker, and reali at the days of being courted by cute young men were over.

I've really had to think about what it is I find attractive in men, and I realize that a huge part of it is my attraction for a kind of youthful vulnerability. What is going to replace that for me, now that I have to accept that I'm getting too o date and attract those kind of guys? It's a question, I guess everybody must go through. Perhaps I'm somewhat less prepared for it than many people, because I've never been in a long-lasting, successful relationship: never reached that point in a r nship where erotic attraction has ceased to be the driving force of the relationship. In short, I don't think I've ever had a grown-up relationship. Maybe now it's time to start. But I have no idea how to bridge the gap between that yearning for a fully vulnerable companion, and the reality of learning how to love a man who is not an examplar of physical male beauty.