My Life As The Gay Boyfriend

All of my life I have had more female friends then male. Actually that’s only half true most of my life I have only had female friends until I was an adult is much more accurate.

I am sure there is some Freudian explanation for this, overbearing and dominating older sister making me play with dolls, overbearing and dominating sister making me wear a dress when I was a child, overbearing and dominating sister making me paint her toenails, or maybe I just don’t like men.

It wasn’t until my mid twenties that I actually had any male friends of my own to speak of, but even then the time I spent with the was limited. They were either work friends or gay roommates that were so boring that it took at least 3 mimosas to dull my brain enough to listen to dissertations on which tank top is appropriate for which occasion or tuck, un-tuck, or half-tuck the three most misunderstood words in the English language.

Women always seem to make more sense to me I have never been the type of man that has a problem figure out what a woman means when by what she is saying. And for the most part I totally get the whole PMS thing (by get I mean understand nor actually get or a least I hope I’m not that gay), however I don’t want to hear about your parts and how they work.

None of this seemed to be a problem till my friend Cathy crossed the line on this weekend. Cathy and I have known each other since we were children. Our families camped at the same campground. She knows my whole family and I know hers. We hadn’t seen each other for years until we ran into each other at my weekend job. She is newly single. We started hanging out regularly since then.

My parents were hosting dinner for some camp friends of ours we hadn’t seen in about 15 years. Wouldn’t it be great if I brought Cathy to dinner with me? Sure fine. Cathy and I showed up late, which allowed the Kings and every one else to catch up before we got there. Now the attention was placed on the two of us, not something that makes me comfortable. After the typical questions of what have you been doing for the past 15 years, Cathy started to talk about how much fun her and I have when we are together.

While I was stilling next to her she put her hand on my knee, stared into my eyes and started to say how great I was. Scott and I have so much fun when were together, he has been so great, I’m glad we connected again and so on.

I started to squirm.

“And how do you feel about Cathy, Scott?” Mrs. King asked.

I scanned the room for help and /or the nearest exit. All I got was my mother giving me the “Go Ahead, Make My Day” look.

“She’s fine,” was about all I could muster as I choked down the rest of my cookies.

When we finally got out of there I told Cathy, “Great now my mother is going be saying novenas for the next month thinking there is hope and the Kings think were dating.”

“But honey you’re not my type.”