Coming out

An hour into my return train journey I south, I sent a text message asking if a friend fancied a pint when I arrived back into town.  We hadn’t been able to catch up in the month I’d been back in the city, mainly due to his diary packed full of holiday and weddings.  To my mild surprise, he agreed and we arranged to meet.

He was a sort of by-proxy friend.  My school friend and I attended the same university and he was roundly better or perhaps luckier at finding a good group of friends.  As a result, several of his friends became my friends, all using the school nickname which I was introduced to them by.  This friend was primarily one of his.

Lumbering, a little awkward and a long-time single, despite being smart, funny and professionally successful, he made me feel better about my own ineptitude with female-kind.  If he’s not finding it as easy as our other mates either, I reasoned, then I’m ok too.  Nothing wrong with him.

I greeted him slightly more tired than I expected to be, the whole day and early start now taking its toll.  We took pints and a seat and caught up.

Half way down the second pints, we reached the subject of women.  I mentioned one or two of the events which litter these blog pages, then turned to him: “So anything news on that count for you?  Do you do the whole dating thing much, or..?”  I didn’t know.  I presumed he must do.  His job involved him seeing many people, going on courses.  He’d had girlfriends and we occasionally heard tales that he slept with them, though not for a while.

“No, well.. I should tell you, I’ve told the others.  I’m.. m.. more the other way.  I can’t help going red when I tell people, he smiled.”

I swilled half a mouthful of Guinness and the penny dropped.  Shit.

He mimicked me spluttering my drink everywhere in disgust, which made me giggle.

I hadn’t seen it coming at all.  I thought he was just like me.  He wasn’t just like me.  The bastard.  It did make sense, but made me feel more of a weird useless freak.  Don’t be such a selfish twat.  Listen.

He’d only fully admitted it to himself when he was 24 or 25, he explained, and started gradually coming out to friends a year to eighteen months ago.  He wasn’t out at work yet, but his closest friends and family all knew.  He was still single but had a good gay crowd of friends.

After the revelation, the laughing and the blushing and the shocked swearing had subsided, I didn’t feel able to leave that as our last pint, and went to get another, still dazed, tired and numbly drunk.  Him: a big gay; who would’ve thought?

This could easily be what people think about me..

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One Response to Coming out

  1. Blonde says:

    I have suspicions it’s what my mother thinks about me.

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