This story starts on a rainy night in February, when my housemate Esther and I had been invited on an impromptu night out in east London.
The two friends we went with indulged in a few too many pre-cab vodka squashes, and promptly got thrown out of a club by the bouncer. They stumbled off into the night together, leaving Esther and I alone and a little deflated at a night cut short.
We headed home, drank months-old boxed white wine, knocked most of the furniture over, ate kebabs and eventually crashed on the sofa to watch something dreadful on TV.
Before I knew it, we woke up the next morning in bed together having had sex. Now, bearing in mind that Esther is my best friend of three years and housemate of two, this was all pretty juicy.
Then add in the fact that I identified as an openly loud and proud gay man, and it ramps things up a few notches.
The morning after the night before could have been a mess of awkward hugs, confusion and acrid vodka breath, but it turned out to be blissfully simple: I knew straight away I was in love with this girl, and had been for a long time.
We first met at work a few years prior, and it’s safe to say we didn’t exactly click right away. She thought I was pretty but a little too sassy, plus her English was still developing, so she struggled to keep up with my mumbley, vowel-dropping Essex accent.
Once we’d warmed up to each other, we started hanging out more, eating together, going to the pub together, and soon enough we moved in together with a mutual friend. There had always been an ‘energy’ between us – but that night changed things.
I saw in such blistering clarity how special she made me feel every single day, and if I could feel like that for the rest of my life, I’d found true love. Everything just clicked into place.
Esther awoke, remained her lovely, chill self about the whole thing, and naturally we had sex again (you know, just to check it wasn’t all a dream).
It all felt very natural, which is down to Esther’s sensitivity and understanding of my situation.
While it took a few days to mull over what exactly was happening, I couldn’t deny that I was being torn apart inside in the best way possible: butterflies, check, sweaty palms, check, unable to concentrate, check.
I promptly dumped the guy I was seeing, opting for absolute honesty, which made for one hell of an awkward pint.
Esther and I decided within two weeks to make a proper go of things.
I wreaked havoc telling friends and family what had happened, leaving a trail of shocked and screwed faces bestrewn across the Zoom-iverse. My parents were surprised, but supportive and loving as always. Most of my friends asked questions about the ‘ins and outs’, which was no surprise.
In time the obvious questions about my sexuality came in, which I didn’t quite know how to answer at first. The only thing I knew was I loved Esther, and that was that. There was absolutely no denying how I felt, and so the existential exercise of labelling myself as this or that took a back seat.
Once we’d been together a few months and muddling through lockdown nicely, we gave a little more oxygen to the sexuality conversation. Esther assured me that my same-sex attraction hadn’t all been a phase, and there was absolutely no reason to label myself as anything.
She is a fervent romantic, so she encouraged me to listen to my heart instead of my head at such an early juncture. She couldn’t have been more supportive, and as always, made me feel completely at ease.
Though for me, there was still one nagging question that just wouldn’t budge: why hadn’t I seen Esther in a romantic light before? Was it because we were such good friends? Was it right place, right time? Or did I deny my feelings for her because of a deeper reticence to engage with my sexuality?
I’d originally come out to family and friends when I was 18 and going off to university. It’s a massive cliche, but leaving home gave me the space to open up and embrace my sexuality for the first time. I decided I liked men, and that was that. It just made sense.
I had been different from the other boys at school, I could only sustain friendships with girls, I was camp, nerdy, anxious and I avoided sports like the plague. I must be gay, I reasoned, in a black and white, sign-on-the-dotted-line decision.
I went on to have a handful of on and off relationships with men over the next few years, some good, some bad, some dreadful, the usual.
Once I’d graduated and moved to London, I started to become a little jaded with the lack of closeness I felt towards any of them – and like most people dating in their early 20s, I questioned my own capacity to love or be loved.
This was the crux of the issue. I was still looking at love within the constraints of the binary choice I’d made to label myself as unequivocally gay.
By 21, I’d begun to privately question those constraints but I tried to ignore those thoughts and stick to my guns, so much so I was willing to give a mildly attractive person with a shi**y personality and a penis the green light, but someone who filled my days and nights with unending joy, who just so happened to have a vulva, never even showed up on my radar.
Had I been willing to unpick the threads of my own sexuality a little earlier, I would have understood that I’m pansexual. I’d given little time to understanding the rich LGBTQ+ tapestry of terms, and the idea of pansexuality somehow escaped me.
Pansexuality is sexual, romantic or emotional attraction towards people regardless of their sex or gender identity.
I thought I was ending my feelings of loneliness and adriftness by coming out as gay, that I was finally finding my place in the world. In reality, I merely hoiked myself over a fence, landing somewhere different but still penned in.
It took three years of friendship with Esther to pull down those barriers, and I’m eternally grateful for the circumstances that led to me falling in love with her and widening the parameters of my sexuality.
Esther and I have just celebrated our seven month anniversary together, and I know we’ll be celebrating many, many more. Once coronavirus has calmed down a tad, we plan on seeing some more of the world together too, starting with her hometown of Paris.
I never thought falling in love with someone would teach me to love myself right back, and now, totally at ease, I can embrace and be proud of the potted journey that led me to her.
Last week in Love, Or Something Like It: My girlfriend has kept me a secret from her parents for six years
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Love, Or Something Like It is a regular series for Metro.co.uk, covering everything from mating and dating to lust and loss, to find out what love is and how to find it in the present day. If you have a love story to share, email rosy.edwards@metro.co.uk
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source https://metro.co.uk/2020/09/26/gay-man-fell-in-love-with-female-friend-13319531/
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