You know those friends you have who you’ve known for a while and everything’s cool and then one day it dawns on you that they’re completely fucking hot and you’ve got to get off with them? #69 was one of those.
I’d been to Pride that day, and folks had talked me into holding an impromptu party that night. My queer friends came and a few other folks we invited at the last last minute. #69 was one of them. I’d originally met him through my job at the microlab. I don’t remember how well we knew each other at that point; I don’t think we’d hung out loads. He was straight but camp, and a lot of the boys were interested in him. Suddenly I realised I was too.
He was due to leave for another party around midnight, so we walked into the hall to say goodbye. “I was wondering,” I said. “Would it be okay if I was to kiss you?”
He nodded. He was smiling at me.
I was tipsy and I embarked on an overly lengthy and anti-suave mumble about how that was good because otherwise it might’ve been awkward. He took my plastic cup of wine from my hand and set it down and kissed me before I’d finished my sentence, which was what I’d really been aiming for. Suddenly he didn’t need to leave so fast.
I know it’s a cop-out to say it was hot without describing why it was so hot, but hey, it’s my blog.
We made plans to see each other again soon, but the next time was by chance. I ran into him in the street a few days later when I was with #63. I was a little dazed. #63 and I had just had sex for the first time the night before. The marks on my neck were blatant. It was a hot lazy day. We’d just been to see The Lost Son which had made us feel kind of weird about the world in general, and I was probably just a hungover wreck as well. #63 went into the corner shop while #69 and I waited outside.
“How are you?” one of us asked the other.
“I’m okay. How are you?”
We were making small talk that meant other things. We were kind of circling round each other, unable to stay still. I couldn’t take my eyes off him even though the street was bustling around us. I felt kind of like we were in a scene from a film.
The three of us went back to my place and I cooked sesame noodles for us, and then we went for a walk by Arthur’s Seat and lay around on the grass, and then we went back to #63’s place for a while. I didn’t know if stuff was still on the cards with us or what, and then when #69 was leaving I went into the hallway with him and he pushed me up against the wall and, yeah, things were hot again.
I don’t think I really knew how to behave with him once it was just the two of us, though. I remember he came round to my place one night not long after that. I was about to move out and I was trying to pack stuff up, taking things off the walls, photos and postcards and Urusei Yatsura lyrics and cartoons by friends. It seemed like a more hopeful task than actually tackling the vast amounts of debris strewn across my room. I was talking nervously and occasionally pausing to make out with him, but I didn’t feel confident or suave any more.
After that, I got an e-mail out of the blue from #20, and made plans to meet him in Glasgow. I called things off with #69 because I wanted to get back together with #20 and I still had delusions of monogamy (I guess this comes and goes) and I couldn’t deal with any distractions. #69 was okay with that.
The following summer, again I ran into #69 in the street. He’d been studying abroad. We’d maybe exchanged an e-mail or two in the interim. We went to the Forest, which at the time was a tiny new place on West Port. Another friend of his came with us, someone I hadn’t met before.
Afterwards, we headed our separate ways. We said goodbye at a pedestrian crossing. His friend was still with us and I didn’t have any plans to do anything or to make her feel awkward, but suddenly #69 and I kissed just before I crossed the road, a mutual decision, and then I crossed before the traffic started moving again, the sun in my eyes.
#69 spent a night or two round at my place but for some reason I wanted to put a name to what was going on between us. The thing was, I was cool with whatever it was, whether we were headed for an actual relationship or whether we were friends who got off sometimes, or what, but somehow I just wanted to know where to file it. This meant, though, that I was coming across as That Girl Who Needs To Process Everything.
Maybe he went abroad again, or maybe he moved back to Glasgow, or maybe we just drifted, but that chapter didn’t last too long. The following year he showed up again, and there might have been scope except I had gotten together with #117, and #69 got involved with an acquaintance of mine and they had a tumultuous relationship for maybe a year or more.
The last time I saw him was in 2007, I think. I saw him by chance in Glasgow. He was working as a life model. He told me some stuff about his life, but he didn’t ask about mine.