I must confess, being celibate would be a 100 times more challenging if I didn’t have the love and support from my long time male best friend. Who also happens to be gay.
It was love at first sight. We met in orientation of Drama school on the very first day. We were both the visible drama nerds who miraculously wound up in a class full of gorgeous popular kids. He might disagree with that, so I’ll confess that I was by far the dorkier of the two of us. I was sporting a full length, purple, hand-made, jersey tunic with ked knock off’s finished off with a white cardigan tied around my waist. Its a shame that I also didn’t have glasses and a retainer to complete the ensemble. He looked conservative but straight dressed head to toe in J Crew.
For about five minutes I truly thought, “Eureka, I have found my soul mate! We’ll have a long courtship in school, be engaged once we graduate, and run a medium size theater together in marital bliss with our two perfect children, Romeo and Juliet.”
Until, that is, we took a turn down a particularly beautiful part of campus, where the glorious green ivy clung to the walls of a weathered red brick building on the right and the old oak trees created a lovely canopy on the left allowing only the perfect amount of sunlight through to kiss our smitten faces.
“Uh! Beau-ti-ful! Wish you were here!” says the new love of my life with a certain unmistakable flair. I, of course, recognize it immediately as a Meg Ryan quote from the movie “French Kiss.”(which I might love a little more than I should) Two things become instantly clear to me. Straight boys don’t quote that movie. If they have even seen that movie, they certainly wouldn’t admit it to a girl they were trying to eventually sleep with. I instantly embrace my disappointment of loosing a lover, but am simultaneously thrilled at the possibility of having made a life long friend. Could I have possibly met someone who was the same kind of dork as I was?
Phoenix is my longest male relationship to date. We have been dear friends for over nine years. Boyfriends have come and gone, but we are in it for the long haul. We played lovers in school, more than once, now that I think about it. Probably because visually we make a really cute couple. And if it was 1962, we would be married and I would be sleeping with the mail man and he would be sleeping with his hair dresser. We have never lived together however, which is probably why we are still friends. I hate to think that our friendship could be broken by neglected coffee mugs and dirty socks, but Phoenix loves order and I crave chaos so cohabitation is not an option.
The beautiful thing about having a gay husband, is you get all the perks of a boyfriend, without all the sex, which is great if you’re celibate. He always notices my outfits and never hesitates to tell me I look fabulous. He actually enjoys the theater and romantic comedies and wine bars and the ballet and dancing. He actually listens to my silly stories. And he watches sports like I do: to check out the hot players. And, I know that he hangs out with me because he enjoys my company and not because I put out or give good head. Plus, I never have to worry about getting hit on when I’m out with him, because no matter how queer his ensemble, and these days it gets pretty queer, straight men always assume we are together. Silly straight men.
Plus he’s funny and kind and smart and handsome. Very handsome.
You might be wondering if I am one of those women who prefer the company of gay men. A, dare I say, “Fag Hag” or “Fruit Fly”. I think I should speak to that. I love men. I love being affectionate with men. I love sparing with men. I love holding their attention and talking to them for hours over wine and whiskey. And then I love going about my business. Retiring to my own apartment all by myself. When you do that with straight guys the label they give you is much worse: Tease. Gasp! Or worse still, the straight guy will infer that your talking to them means you want them to make advances. This in turn forces you to either fight them off or give in to said advances. Submission is clearly not an option for my celibate self. And I never was too skilled a fighter- so gay men are the obvious solution. You never have to worry about this with the gays, because Gay guys didn’t want to sleep with you anyway.
“Pussy, Icky!”, to quote Phoenix.
Phoenix insists that the attraction is the other way around, that it is the gays that just love me. He lovingly calls me the “Gay Whisperer.” Gay magnet is another title he giggles about. And it’s pretty accurate. If there is a homosexual male in a ten foot radius of me, he will find me. In two seconds he will tell me I’m fierce, in two minutes we will be singing our favorite mash-up from this weeks “Glee” in two part harmony, and in two hours he will be inviting me to join him on his next trip to fire island.
That’s another great part of our relationship, unlike a real marriage we both allow each other extramarital affairs with other gay boyfriends and fabulous girlfriends respectively. We understand that we can’t completely meet the other’s needs every hour of everyday. So sometimes we see other people. We try our best not to be jealous, which is frankly a much easier task when you are not sleeping with someone. Its the perfect arrangement.
Plus, having a gay husband is great practice for when I have a straight husband. We have our fair share of disagreements. And have survived a slew of knock down, drag out fights which are usually just us testing the limits of our love for each other. Things I have learned: you can’t deny anyone the pleasure of mash potatoes on Thanksgiving. And not everyone says “Bless you” after people sneeze, nor should they be expected to. And the great thing about our conflicts (well, for one thing they are all usually pretty silly) is that we have to learn to resolve them without the assistance of sex. No kissing and making up in this relationship. We actually have to talk it out, hear the other’s side and compromise to move forward. How novel.
I think everyone should have a gay husband. But you can’t have mine, he’s taken.
Categories: See Jane Give Up Dick