It's A Little Bit Funny - This Feeling Inside

Years ago, I was working with a project team which included H, a young banker. He was not my “type” – to the extent I have one. He was way too short for one. The ‘tache was bothersomely Fauji. The manner was a shade too aggressive for my liking. But there were some plus points. A great body – gay men have x ray vision when it comes to these things- and a smile to die for. One day, he screwed up majorly on some documents. For reasons which I have yet to fathom, I stepped in to rescue him. That, as the line in Casablanca has it, was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Anyone who has had the energy to plough through this blog will by now have deduced that I am fatally attracted to men who are Hopelessly Heterosexual. Alliteratively, H was HH. I did my damndest to create an “interest”. This included introducing H to the fine art of wine drinking – his iron constitution never allowed him to get drunk. I also gave him the mother of all reading lists – he read as much as he could. I tend not to despair in these situations. Mere attraction is enough to keep me fuelled. Or as the advertising slogan had it – Getting There is Half the Fun. To cut a long story short, H eventually left for a series of countries eventually arriving in London. I heard some tale on the grapevine about his getting married (damn) and then divorced (phew). We lost touch.

Till last night. I was on my way out for dinner when he materialized on my doorstep. The Prussian ‘tache was no more. More profoundly, there was a new personality lurking beneath the skin. Many years in London (arguably the most civilized city in the world) had changed him beyond recognition. Like me, his bank had fallen in love with him. An English tutor had been hired (at 300 pounds an hour) to improve his English. His clients had introduced him to the opera, boat races and fine dining. His dress sense had shifted from Jinnah Market to Bond Street. The smile was still as piercing as ever. I relented. Dinner could wait. We talked and talked and talked. Ok. I’m not as truly, madly and deeply attracted as I was during the last round. Still, there was the odd ember which I had forgotten to stamp out. He goes back to London very soon, but has offered his flat to me while I am there. Do I take up the offer? Or just write it off as yet another fantasy/delusion which I should rid myself off? Is it just the same old HH in a new wrapper ? Ah well. At least there’s something to think about before I go to bed tonight.