Homofriendly

My Best Friend has decided to continue with her pursuit of M. I had written earlier about how M had left me stone cold and what I saw as some of the differences in the objects pursued by women and gay men. A subtle dinner was contrived last night where M had deigned to attend. Blissfully, we were spared M for much of the time. His flight was late by several hours. There are times you can bank on PIA to deliver. While there, I ran into S whom I had not seen for eons. We hugged and repaired to the deepest recess of Best Friend’s post-modern, pre-whatever dining room and spoke and spoke and spoke, with chilled chateau margalla plonk to keep us going.

S, for the record, is one of the few Pakistani men I have met who has no problems with gay men. He is friendly, effusive, good looking and hopelessly heterosexual. Yet at the same time he thinks I am “cool”, that being gay is not really such a big deal and that despite our closeness it is highly unlikely that we are going to sleep with each other. S was formerly a pilot but has none of the machismo or the conservatism associated with the armed forces. We met at a shi-shi costume party in Karachi many years ago. Costume, in those days, allowed my gay friends to dress in drag. S went off to dance with an attractive woman with something vaguely akin to a lampshade on her head. Halfway through the dance a friend of mine discovered that Lampshade Lady was really Lampshade Boy. He went running to warn S of what lay in store. S simply shrugged his shoulders. “Who cares?” I have had a soft spot for S ever since the Night of the Lampshade.

Pakistani men of my generation do not have an overt problem with my homosexuality. It’s the little things which add up. I have heard them laugh at or ridicule some of the more outré gay men I know. Well, I’ve done so myself so they cannot be blamed alone on that front. I have heard them complain of being felt up or sized up or scoped by gay men. That’s a tough call. Yes, gay men can behave outrageously at times. On the other hand straight men can be anally paranoid. A handshake that lasts a nanosecond longer than necessary can be construed as a pass. Mistaken eye contact converts itself into a come-on. I have learned that the best way to avoid all of this is to minimize touchy-feely behavior with a straight man unless I am sure that he has the balls to cope with it.

S has the balls. I can touch him or hug him or feel him all over and I know that there will be no repercussions. Coming back to the dinner party where all this started, the dreaded M did finally arrive. By this time S was exuding so much heterosexual confidence in himself and our mutual friends that poor M was sidelined. The hapless M sat sullenly, smoked furtively and watched as S and I discussed the fallen (and tripping) women in S’ past, my hand on S’s thigh, his elbow on my shoulder. The contrast between the two men was glaringly evident. My Best Friend looked subdued. “Can’t figure out what’s happened to him” she murmured looking over at M. “Nor me” I replied. Ok. I lied.