I've been lucky in my trivial little existence to have had a couple of amazing guy friends. Some I have lost contact with as the years and boyfriends roll by, but ever since I could remember post-puberty, I've always had a special fella not too far away, even for a brief period.
Each very different characters, the common denominators have been the same:
1)We've never had sex with each other – even if we were both desperate and in the doldrums of the merde.
2)I've shared everything with them, stuff I wouldn't share with my boyfriends
3)We've been each other's wingmen
4)I would chat to them nearly every day
5)And they weren't a Gay Best Friend either. One out of, say, ten, turned out to be gay - and it was a surprise.
The latest guy mate, nearest and dearest to me, is the Big T.
But from the top, there was Duck Man. Back in high school. Duck Man and I stole liquor from our parent's booze cabinet, got drunk together on Amarula Cream (mock charge), then got grounded. Repeatedly. We learnt to drive together, wrote each other letters and probably had our first joint together.
There was the journo guy in first year, the DJ in second year, the chef that lived next door in third year. And of course, Third Roommate who was there for me at a bad time but has a new life now.
These significant chaps aren't to be confused with the usual guy mates. The ones you see anyway, all the time.
These chaps would know immediately if he was one of the Incredible Ten on reading this.
The thing with men, often anyway, is that I don't understand them at all in a sexual context. There was a time when I thought I did, but fuck me in a fortress, I have as much clue about them a la penis, as much as the next woman.
But I know men can be fantastic mates for girls like me. Men as mates are low admin. They listen more than they talk, they're kind, funny and protective. Perfect boyfriend material really, except in most of these situations, there's been one big giant factor missing (I say most, there're one or two exceptions). There has been
...zero chemistry. The X Factor. The pulling factor. Some of these guys I've imagined naked, but I have to say that mostly, not.
Which is where maybe I've gone wrong in the past. Maybe, like my father – we've agreed on this – chemistry is huge for us. When a guy walks into a room, I want my jaw to drop onto the floor. I want to, within, the first 0.2 seconds of contact, imagine doing dirty things with him without our doondies on.
Some people can date people that they'll describe as “...look, it's not butterflies in the stomach, but he/she's a really nice person....you know? No seriously, so nice you know? And, you know, maybe it'll grow.”
I've tried, and I've hurt those people.
The people who have hurt me have been those I had instant, incredible, unmistakable chemistry with. Where I can't remember where I am for a second. So maybe I need to start looking at forging relationships with those I don't feel instant chemsitry with. Maybe they're right, maybe it will grow. It's not out of the question. I've seen it happen before.
And these unions seem to last the longest. (What's that saying about the brightest light burns out quickest? Or whatever?)
It's a drug, chemistry. It's like listening to Nessun Dorma on max volume, with a great guy mate, while drinking Woolies House Red, and eating brie and crackers. Like I did with Big T last weekend.