(For Mikey...

...about whom this entry certainly is not, but whose clear addiction as manifested in his comments I hope to assuage.)

I’ve discovered a new and not altogether awesome psychological trait in myself, which may possibly serve as an unfortunately good explanation for my lack of gay male friends. (I have a few, but they’re scattered and only one has been consistently present during my adult life)

This trait occurred to me after an evening of baking, Beauty & The Beast, and light physical contact last week. He is a perfectly nice fellow. Smart, witty, pleasant to be around – all the trappings of good friend material. In addition, he is also nicely-proportioned, red-haired, and kinda looks like a gay cross between Archie and Shaggy (the cartoon, not the egregiously lame ‘singer’). I didn’t feel that I necessarily wanted to partake in his Scooby-Snax, but I felt an urge of a different sort, something between lust and curiosity. We had hung out a couple times previously, with no strong indication on either side that there was desire for anything physical, but through more recent msn discussions, it became apparent that if something was going to happen, twould be this night.

The cookies were yummy; Belle didn’t disappoint. All of a sudden it was midnight and we were just staring at the DVD menu screen making awkward conversation, waiting for an ending or a beginning, whichever was going to happen. Eventually we went to my room. Nothing remotely pornographic happened. Clothes stayed on, for the most part. Hand stayed north of belt lines. I’m lying there and it’s not awful by any stretch, but I just don’t have my heart in it. I realize that this question will only apply to a particular demographic of readership, but you know when you’re making out and lips are doing their thing and hands are wandering, and your fingers graze their underwear elastic and you know that this is the moment where a decision needs to be made? I had no desire to venture forth. This wasn’t a commentary on him, not at all. I just didn’t feel like going down that road. Again. Instead, I was down a different, far too familiar one.

This was not the first time I’d been there. I’ve become aware of what it’s like to be making out with someone new, someone great, but someone who you just never want to see naked. I know this feeling because looking back at all the gay males with whom I’ve had 1-on-1 friendships (group friendship doesn’t count), I’ve done this with all of them! I need The Night. I need that one moment wherein my belief that I’m not into them romantically becomes hard, cold knowledge. After that (and usually a period of a couple weeks to readjust the friendship), I’m good to go. How sick is that? I’m so overly-concerned with not missing an opportunity, that I allow the possibilities for ones to exist where they have no business existing. If one were to compare this to those guys who sleep with someone and then drop completely off the radar, I suppose it would be like comparing murder to manslaughter. Although, to be fair, past participants have been perfectly willing themselves, so it’s not as though I’m conducting a completely selfish social experiment. At least I don’t think I am. Perhaps it’s only assisted-manslaughter.