It Sure Would Be Nice To Have a Sweetie

Well, I 'm beginning to feel like a human again. Just this past week or so I have been up and around on my crutches in a near facsimile of functionality. I was, as you can imagine, nervous at the prospect of returning to society without a leg, but that turns out to have been my baggage, not society's. In fact, my social life has perked up considerably this week. I had two dates this week with very nice men in the general interest of building some friendships with guys. As a sidebar, I've always shied away from friendships with men, preferring the company of women. I suppose I never considered it safe to be just friends with a guy, but Richard and Jerome (not the two aforementioned dates) have proven me wrong, and it turns out to be nice to have some guys to talk to.

It's interesting, now that I think of it, that all my long-term friends are women. I was talking to Val the other day and we wondered in jest who would stand up with me if I got married. Beth would, of course, be my maid of honor, and I suppose Tosha, Val, Susi and Sherri would have to fight over the remaining spots. Is it odd that I have no male candidates? I've always thought that the ease of friendship with women was one of the nicer perks of being gay, but maybe its just me. Maybe I'm afraid of men. In fact, having just written that down, I felt a flash of inspiration. Maybe that's why I keep drawing brittle men who kiss like birds into my space (a fact of which I am sick, by the way). Maybe I'm scared of having somebody around whom I could trust to catch me if I fell.

Sherri says, while a lot of men avoid embracing their feminine side, I'm afraid of my masculine side. That rings true. It's not that I'm some queeny, mincing thing that runs around calling everyone "honey." In fact, my brother and I went through puberty around the same time, and the testosterone in the house was almost palpable. We were like two elephants in musth, constantly getting into serious fist fights. Of course, now that my brother outweighs me by fifty pounds, we don't do that anymore.

This all could be part of a general trend I feel in my perception, namely that it is time to grow up. I'm pushing thirty, and the sort of revelry that once held my attention doesn't appeal to me in the same way anymore. Don't get me wrong, Sherri and I went dancing on Saturday, and even on crutches I was cutting a serious rug. I just don't feel compelled to be the center of attention, the best at everything, anymore. And its a good thing. I feel more stable, more balanced than I have in years. This would be the perfect time for an open, honest, committed and brave man to drop into my life. Hint, hint.