Member Since: 12/13/2009
Posts: 14,460
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One of my interesting findings of the day.
It might be to long for some of you to read, but you should. It was so romantic.
You don’t know how you did it, but you made him your friend. You didn’t even realize how good-looking he was. Seriously. You just knew you wanted him to like you, to think your jokes were funny, to say ‘***’ less around you. You told him you were gay in the first five minutes of meeting him and he just said, “That’s cool.” He started calling you do stupid ****, like go to the grocery store with him, or take a ride to the laundromat or something. Weeks passed…
You guys were at a party and went outside to do some swimming, then got out to smoke cigarettes—you’re trying to quit, but it’s hard when you’re drunk and your friend is a chain-smoker. He basically told you that he’s been told nothing but negative **** about gay people his whole life and you’re the first one he’s ever met, or at least talked to, but that he’s glad you guys are friends. But, he says, “I don’t think I could be friends with most gay people. Not, like, on earth, just…the people who I see, and know they’re gay? Like…I dunno. Do you think people think…I am?” You say, ‘You are what?’ It’s hot out. It’s a pool party, half indoors/half out. “Think I’m gay, ‘cause I’m here with you?” The party is for your friend Claudia, who is moving to Spain and who is a bitch, but who has a pool and a nice house and throws parties. He asked if he could come with you and you tried not to blush and said that of course he could. Right now, you say, ‘You’re too good-looking for people to think that you’d be with me. You don’t see how the girls look at you and whisper?’ He snorts a laugh and mimes punching you. He says, “Don’t think I’m cocky or whatever, but…that’s how pretty much everybody looks at me. You don’t though.” You laugh. ‘Well, I’m making an effort to not scare you away.’ He looks seriously at you and says, “I love you, though; you don’t have to pretend around me. I know I’m a good-looking guy.” You say, ‘Yes, I do. Have to pretend. You just don’t think I do.’ He nods, probably not getting what you’re saying—maybe he does though; you have a thing where you assume everyone is stupid except for you. He says, “I’m gonna go back in. You coming with?” He means the water. He looks at you in the eye. Most people do not do this with you. He doesn’t seem to realize that he’s supposed to be afraid of you. You go, ‘Nah. I mean, yeah, but not yet.’ You do that thing—that thing when a person looks at a person’s eyes, then their lips, and nose, and chin, then their eyes again, to make sure they’re still paying attention—it’s the ‘i’m about to kiss you’ thing, and he notices and smirks and reaches a hand out and holds your head/neck/face with it—it’s a big hand, his thumb is the part on your face, you cheek. He says, “You’re a good guy, dude. I don’t have a lot of people who’re like…close to me. We’re good, though. Like this. I like life this way.” He smiles bigger. “Please don’t try to kiss me on the lips right now, though.” You smile too. ‘Okay, my bad. It was like, a gay moment. It’s instinct or something.’ “I know,” he says. “It happens.” He pulls you forward and plants a peck on your forehead, in front of everyone. “Don’t get a boner,” he says as he dives gracefully into the pool. You only half do what he says. I wish I had friends like this.
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