Friendeavours: male friends

Once again, the dance card I’d thought was full revealed a new space

sing hosannas, for I have a male friend! A male friend without benefits. This has never happened to me before. I know, I know – it’s primitive in this day and age to be so gendered. And there hasn’t been a huge gaping hole in my life because my female friends give me everything I need. And I’ve got great gay male mates, but straight males have always eluded me. It’s more of a niggling curiosity as to why I have been so incapable, when so many of my female friends seem to have perfectly platonic friendships with members of the opposite sex.

I’ve tried to have male friends in the past, but something has always gone wrong when they got close (we’ve ended up kissing). And then the friendship has become untenably awkward. Both times, the romance wasn’t something I wanted to pursue, but it was impossible to get the simple friendship back. And I had to ask myself – painfully, guiltily – whether it was ever friendship at all? Or was there some kind of agenda, on one or both sides? But then, I do really miss one of those ex-male-sort-of friends, and definitely NOT for the kissing. I miss our chats. I miss his opinion on things. I miss the support he gave me and the things he made me think about. Which sounds a hell of a lot like – why, friendship! So there must have been something ‘pure’ there, before it went… facial.

So what makes my new male friend – Anthony – a success? For a start, the ‘facial failure’ was six years ago. I’m in a different place now. Anthony and I will never go facial, I am certain of it. I’m more confident. More sure of myself. I have a home life that feels like something I have created rather than fallen into. Work feels like a fun sort of precipitousness, so I’m not looking for dangerous kicks elsewhere. Not like I was.

It’s a relief, isn’t it, sometimes, when you see the limits of something? When something says, ‘This is all I am: trust me.’ That’s what this friendship did. When Anthony stayed behind after a friend’s book launch and asked me whether I wanted another martini, I realised it felt nice, normal, not-flirty. Once again, the dance card I’d thought was full revealed a new space. I’d already talked lots about my husband so I didn’t feel weird giving Anthony my number (hopefully he didn’t think I was a swinger?). (He didn’t. I was too self-deprecating for a swinger.) Since then, Anthony and I have been drunk together, late home together, even stayed in my flat together when my husband was away, and it has all been above board. Just great chats. We don’t have a deep and meaningful history, and he can’t read my mind like some of my girlfriends can, but we’re in touch often, checking in, going out.

Maybe I’ve evolved beyond believing my only currency with straight men is to be sexually attractive? This might be the last piece of my friendship puzzle, falling into place. Which is a LOT better than falling into someone’s face.