Here’s this line called the Armistead Maupin continuum, named after the guy who wrote a series of books called Tales of the City. Imagine a line. At one end are gay men, next to them straight women, next to them straight men and at the other end, gay women. It’s meant to show that actually gay men have the least in common with gay women, but it also shows up another home truth.
That in the pally-pally stakes, gay men and straight women are meant to bond. Big time (it also suggests of course that straight guys get on famously with lesbians, but that’s another whole conversation round the barbeque).
This closeness has had a big effect on some of my boyfriends. I’ve always had gay male friends. They feed a part of me that a lover can’t, that even girlfriends couldn’t. The intuitive part, the impulsive part, the wicked part. It’s so easy to relate to my friend Bert, to discuss the disgusting, the profane and the non-practical, without fear of looking less than perfect (lover) or idiotic (girlfriends). And it’s that ‘getting’ that has proven a problem for some boyfriends. Like Mark.
He was a nice guy, cool, great in bed. We dated a full year before he ran off. I was cheerleading with Bert, waving sponges and making all the right noises. So was Bert – we were in matching tank tops and, okay, very brief briefs. Emblazoned across our chests was the legend ‘Mark, sex god. Looks 10, running 2′.
His finance-department running buddies (ahead of him) didn’t get the joke. Or Bert’s presence. A couple of laughs from the boys was all it took. This girl was clearly too liberal for him. Hence the swizzle stick, whose only interaction with men seemed on the day to be of the very heterosexual kind and involved the batting of eyelids and tossing of bottle blonde hair. Yuck.
But here’s the kicker. When he picked up his stuff a week later, his reasoning was there was nothing left for him after I’d handed out my affections to Bert and a couple of other gay friends. What he didn’t realize was that he shared my bed and a special place in my life, but he couldn’t own all of me. And he wouldn’t want to surely. I don’t know too many straight guys who’d happily shop for junk at a flea market for hours on end, discussing global holiday trends, Obama’s body language and point out the difference between teal and petrol on Milan’s summer catwalks.
The bottom line is that when I find the man who has no problem with the diversity I bring into our life, he’s going to be a keeper. Until, that is, he develops a close personal relationship with a hot lesbian. Then the gloves are off. Hey, us girls are allowed contradictions.
For more articles on sexual health subscribe to Sandra Prior’s online newsletter at http://intercell.shacknet.nu.
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