By Anthony Paull
Is it just me or do gay boys turn into the biggest sissies when they get sick? I mean, hello! It's just the flu; it's not the end of your entire shiny, fantastic world just because you can't get your stupid, inflamed tonsils to deflate long enough for your boyfriend to jam his penis down your throat.
On not-so-fresh days, you must remind your man: an open airway isn't a gift; it's a privilege. And sometimes, you have more important matters to which to attend – namely, getting well again. But for many, this is a common conundrum, trying to place your boyfriend's needs before your own, even when you're the one in need. And while that can be deemed as an admirable trait when you're coupled, sometimes it can weaken your power line – specifically, when your boyfriend seizes the opportunity to take charge of the relationship, leaving you out in the cold.
Now, if you were brave enough to be my friend and happened to be named Steve, I'd be certain to say all of this to your face. But you're not Steve, so I'm writing it down so you can avoid that fugly, dreadful bug going around – otherwise known as naivety.
You see, we love Steve, but he's failing to use his brain these days, because he's sickened by his love of a man who's not returning the gesture. Now, true, you and I are no better; we've been dicklashed, too.
However, when you get the flu and your man has no time to dash to the store to purchase OJ for your whiny ass, you know it's time to move on.
Not Steve, though. No! He loves his neglectful man, Frodo, even though he doesn't trust the shady bastard farther than he can throw him. So last week, when Steve caught the flu, he was more than skeptical when Frodo was too busy to stop by the house for a moment to play Nurse Nightingale. Lucky for us, Steve decided to go to him.
Now conjure the scene. Think of Steve, a big Italian bear of a man, running to his Beamer with a box of tissues, a thermometer – and a mission! Sweating and sweating, his temperature is 102. But that's no big deal; he's more concerned with timely matters. Like, why isn't Frodo answering his cell phone? Why won't he kiss me in public? Why is he always texting that drag queen at the bar? And why is it that he manages to forget his wallet every time we go out to dinner?
"I can't help it. I keep asking myself these same questions!" Steve snapped, calling me from his cell phone. "Am I pathetic?"
"No, you're in love. That's part of it," I reminded him.
The other part – the tiny bit I failed to mention – is the crippling insanity associated with love gone wrong. Steve is already aware of that.
I mean, sick or not, no man in his right mind would sit in a BMW parked across the street from his boyfriend's home for THREE solid-gold hours solely because his boyfriend wasn't returning his calls, would he?
"Where do you think he is?" Steve questioned, with a panicky sniffle. Over the phone, I could hear the smooth rush of air as his hand pulled out multiple tissues from a box as Britney sang about living in a circus over the radio. "He said he was staying home to study. Where is he?"
"I don't know. Stinking up the toilet at Starbucks like every other college student," I replied.
"Oh shit! Here he comes!" Steve called, and then dial-tone. Yes, that's right, dear readers, the remainder of what happened hails from Steve himself, who says it all went downhill from there. You see, Frodo was not (surprise, surprise) alone when he arrived home. No, he had gone to lunch with a rather crusty, gray-balled gentleman, who followed him into the house as sick, sad Steve sat in silent dread in his shiny BMW from across the street. What happened next? Well, what do you think? Sneezing and wheezing, Steve yanked the thermometer out of his ass and ran in behind them. "Um, excuse me. Is there something you'd like to tell me?" he asked the rather startled Frodo. "Haven't you been worried about me?" he further inquired, dripping in a cold sweat. "AND WHO IS THIS OLD SLUT WITH YOU?"
"Uh …" Frodo began, turning beet-red. "My grandfather … you IDIOT."
To which good ol' grandpa added, "Frodo, you really should lock the front door behind you next time."
Yes, I'm not shitting you; this happened. And the end result: Well, let's just say Frodo has not only begun locking the front door, but he's changed the lock as well. You see, this is what occurs when there's no trusting, bedside manner in a relationship. You end up drawing conclusions (even some that may be warranted) about the one you love, and then you end up looking like the crazy one when you jump the gun. Sound familiar? If Frodo was a nice, attentive boyfriend, he would have been there for Steve at his darkest hour. That's what you do in a relationship – put your lover before yourself during the times he needs it most, and, in return, he should be thankful enough not to take advantage of it.
As for Steve, he has yet to figure this out. He insists on clinging to the hope that they have a future together, even though they barely have a past. And the sick part: As a true friend, I risk losing him each day for presenting him with the truth.
