That was the question a heterosexual friend of mine asked me a couple of years ago, when in a fit of frustrated desire, I outed myself to him, in order to let him know I fancied him.
And when he blurted out that question, I rolled my eyes at him and corrected him: “I’m not in love with you. I just have a crush on you.”
And he amended: “Still… how can you have a crush on your fellow man? How can you desire a man like you? How can you want to get naked with someone whose body is hard and firm like yours, as opposed to a woman’s body which is soft and curvy?”
His was not the beginning of a homophobic rant, I could tell that from his expression. He looked genuinely befuddled, unable to comprehend the concept of an attraction between same sexes.
And indeed, really, how can that be?
How can you take in the angular features of that male, sloping down to budding lips often bordered by the hirsute growth o beards and/or a moustache, and feel a flutter of butterflies in the pit of your stomach?
How can you not behold the upsweep of a bosom, full and promising all sorts of womanly pleasures, and not be repulsed?
How can you be aware of the phallic projection nestled between his thighs, and feel a flush of desire fan across your cheeks?
How can you be in bed with him, snuggled in his arms, basking in the fumes of post-coital euphoria, and want to say the words ‘I love you’ . . . to your fellow man?!
I don’t know. I don’t have the answers.
But it can’t be wrong, because nothing right is wrong. Nothing perfect is wrong. And this, what I feel for you, is everything right and perfect.
That constriction I feel in my chest cavity at the sound of your voice, as though my heart muscles are pulsating faster than usual to cope with the chorus of your words…
That glow that suffuses my face, lights up my eyes, and lifts my lips to expel the rich sound of my laughter, just because you smiled…
That crushing feeling of loss, damp, cold and heavy, weighting down on my insides and calling up an anguish that is unmatched by the physical pain of a cane’s lash or an iron’s burn, when you have to walk away from me…
It is all so exquisite – the pleasure and the pain. Right and perfect. Both the good and the bad. And that is why when I ask you why loving you can be so beautiful and yet hurt so much, and you tell me:
‘Because beautiful things are supposed to hurt
Roses and thorns
Rain and thunder
Sunlight and burn
You and I…’
I smile and wish I can find that heterosexual friend of mine from a couple of years ago, the one I had the crush on, to tell him that a man loving his fellow man has no logic. It bears no abomination. It requires no explanation. It just is – like Love. Natural. Beautiful. Like You and I.
Written by Pink Panther