In
a weird way, it almost makes sense to give people within your inner realm a
proverbial “walk around the block”. They’re the people you know best; you’re
already emotionally intimate with them; and you know you have important things,
like sense of humour, personal interests, and values, in common. I’ve
discovered this is actually quite a common habit among social circles.
Among
my friends, I’m a bit of what you may call the odd man out. While many gay men
tend to stick to their own, fucking their way through their own friends, I’ve
made this increasingly difficult by surrounding myself with straight men and
women as my closest pals. If humans are creatures of habit and routine, this
has become my destiny. It was the same in high school: my small clique, all
fucking their way through the friend group, their awkward teenage bodies
satisfied at the number of growing ‘lays’. But it was the early 2000s, and I
lived in a small jock town. The chances of me finding another gay man were
infinitely small, and when my friends drew out a Mean Girls-esque map of “who’s screwed
who”, I was the one name without any lines connecting me to anyone else.
At
the time, I was ashamed of my late-teenage virginity, but it eventually became
something that made me unique and different from my friends. I suppose now,
nearly a decade later, I’m repeating history by associating in the same type of
social situation. I’ve always had the best stories among my friends, though: as
the only one who has to date outside the group, I can provide personal stories
to them which, uniquely, don’t involve someone they already know; someone who would
be hurt if their name was involved. That is to say, that was the situation
until last summer, when all of those values and assets came crashing down.
It
was a particularly hazy Friday night. I ended up staying downtown drinking with
some friends quite late. Living in New West, I’ve learned the skill of timing
transit properly, especially for late nights. Clearly, the alcohol fogged my
count, and by the time I walked to Granville Station, I was greeted by a big
metal gate telling me I was going to have to find another way home. My choices
were either a $50 cab ride, or crashing on a friend’s couch. I tried every
person I knew, and of course my phone was on low battery. Given that it was so
late, many of my friends were already asleep.
Just
as I was about to get into a cab, my friend Henry returned my call, on his way
home with his roommates after his own drunken night at the Legion. I told him I
had to work in the morning, and he told me I should just crash at his place.
When
I arrived, he was just getting home, equally intoxicated as I was. We had been
spending some time together over the past couple months since he and my friend
Karen had broken up – watching movies, smoking weed, making stir-fries. I had
stayed over at his place before without event, but perhaps the inclusion of
alcohol and high emotions made for a sparked interest.
“Is
it bad that I want to make out with you?” he asked. And, like that, it just
escalated faster than I realized what had happened. Suffice to say, it’s most
gay men’s fantasy to sleep with a straight dude, and although we did not go all
the way, it undoubtedly was one of the better sexual experiences I’ve had. I
remember a few times the two of us breaking out into full laughter mid-kiss and
then returning to what we were doing. Definitely bizarre, but for some reason,
in that situation, it was exactly what both of us needed. Maybe it was the
alcohol, but I think after that experience, I understood why my friends all had
a penchant for hooking up with each other. The intimacy we’d built as friends
was only heightened in a physical context. Waking up holding one of your best
guy friends’ hand is a definite cross-section between adorable and “what the
fuck?”
Little
did I know that once you enter the realm of “fucking within the family,” an
entire vault of emotional disruption is opened, not only for yourself, but for
everyone in your circle. I made the terrible mistake of confiding my drunken
hookup to a few friends who I felt particularly close with. In a muddle of
confusion and aftershock, I outlined the details of the night prior over drinks
with two friends. Their immediate reaction was shock and laughter, which soon
shifted to a lot of questions, most of which I really didn’t even have an answer
for. I also briefly mistook the physical attention for a full-blown crush, one
that lasted less than 48 hours, thank Gaga.
With
my brain melting over the whole situation, I called Henry to talk it over. We
sat outside an elementary school in pouring rain, drinking coffee, discussing
what it all meant. He told me how he didn’t regret a thing, and was happy that his
first (and probably only) gay experience was with someone he trusted so much.
Unfortunately,
the friends I’d confided in eventually found a flaw in the unfolding of the
events. Feeling guilty, they essentially faced me with an ultimatum of telling
Karen. It’s a chapter of my social life that would easily find a home in the
writing of Gossip Girl or a similar soap opera drama. Let’s just say things were never
the same again between Henry and I – you really can’t go back and ignore the
events, and one night really can change so many things.
As
soon as you verge into sex with friends, there’s no looking back. Drama haunts,
enemies are formed, awkward silences lurk. Sometimes it’s hard to say what’s
worth it and what’s not. I mean, really, all this for sucking a dick?
//JJ Brewis, columnist
//Graphics by Lydia Fu
//JJ Brewis, columnist
//Graphics by Lydia Fu
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