Part 1: The high school and college years

I. Introduction

As you may have gleaned from the title of this post, the story contained herein doesn’t have a happy ending. However, when all is said and done I think you’ll agree that the fact that the story has an ending is a good thing. The friend I lost didn’t die after a long illness, forcing me to watch her waste further away with each hospital visit. She didn’t marry an abusive prick who won’t let her have a Facebook account and doesn’t let her go grocery shopping alone lest she have contact with male friends. We didn’t drift apart after long periods spent hanging out with other friends or pursuing interests we don’t have in common.

After years of indifference, this friendship didn’t die gradually, like so many friendships that peter out with a whimper of indifference. No, it imploded this week after years of feelings that ran the gamut from mutual physical attraction to emotional comfort, though never quite love, unless one includes the sort of platonic love associated with a decades-long friendship or even a familial relationship. However, there was never anything approaching resentment, bitterness, or betrayal. That is, until now.

Before I go any further, I feel the need to state that I accept my share of the blame for this situation, though I don’t believe it’s entirely my fault. Did I do things that I perhaps shouldn’t have? Of course. It wouldn’t be me otherwise. But I’d like to think that, at least most of the time, I behaved in a more or less ethical fashion and showed respect for most if not all concerned parties. You may feel differently, and I won’t necessarily say that you’re wrong. But I believe that I’m at least mostly right, if not necessarily that I was at least mostly in the right.

I realize that my tantalizing promise of “resentment, bitterness, or betrayal” may lead you to believe that this is a soap opera-like story of intrigue, crime, and melodrama. However, even when my life briefly flirts with resentment, bitterness, and betrayal, it’s still pretty boring despite the fact that I managed to crank out more than ten thousand words telling the story. If you require something a bit more exciting, perhaps you’d care to stop reading now and check out one of the many edgy dramatic series currently in production. May I suggest Netflix’ House of Cards, Starz’s Black Sails, or perhaps Cinemax’s Banshee?

II. Backstory

Joan and I have known each other for almost twenty-seven years, since we attended seventh grade at the same school. We didn’t really consider ourselves friends and in fact rarely spoke until our sophomore year of high school. I’d taken a long vacation with my family and I thought of her the whole time I was away. I’m not sure why; she was barely on my radar at the time, but she always seemed like a nice person, so I decided to ask her out when I returned. I was fifteen and she was sixteen. I had no idea if she was allowed to date or what, but if necessary I figured I’d present it to her parents as though we were hanging out as friends, and then gradually ingratiate myself to them and prove myself boyfriend material as I became a familiar sight around their house.

One night shortly after I returned from my trip I found myself on her parents’ couch, watching television. I don’t remember which early-1990s sitcom happened to be on; I wasn’t paying close attention and at any rate it was probably not even something I would have watched on my own. Eventually I put my arm around her, and while she didn’t move in closer or return the gesture, she didn’t pull away or shake off my arm. I attempted to kiss her but she turned her head away. It was clear that she was trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed, ostensibly to protect my feelings or, in retrospect, to save herself the guilt of having to hurt them. Anyway, I got the message.

We remained friends. I was never the sort of guy who’d shun somebody simply for not taking a romantic or sexual interest in him. I remember feeling pangs of jealousy as she dated other guys, including the guy who took her virginity junior year. He was someone I’d known since second grade and considered a friend. But, convinced that I was now a threat, he essentially stopped being friends with me.

Maybe that’s why I’ve never been the overly aggressive jealous boyfriend type when my romantic or sexual partners have had male friends or contact with their exes. First off, if you’ve ever met me you know I’m not the sort who could pull off the psycho boyfriend thing. I just don’t have the demeanor or the personality for that kind of thing. But moreso I just never wanted to be an asshole. That’s not who I am as a person, it never was even in my younger days when I was prone to feeling threatened, and when I eventually stopped feeling romantic and sexual jealousy it was probably to be expected.

I still felt a tinge of sexual envy when she asked me to come with her to buy some condoms. She’d just started going out with the guy who considered me a threat, though at that point I don’t think he saw me as one yet. (Actually, maybe it was the fact that I went condom-shopping with his girlfriend that set him off.) I know most guys wouldn’t go shopping for condoms with a woman unless he was going to use them with her, but I didn’t care about what most guys would do. If I did, I would have been a lot more like most guys, and a lot less like myself. Maybe on some level I hoped she’d remember that I’d agreed to come with her and show her gratitude by letting me fuck her someday, but I think it was more of a fantasy than anything else: Then, as now, I required no quid pro quo to perform a favor for a friend, and perhaps moreso, I was a realist and knew that such a minor favor would be repaid with sex only in porn films.

We went to a local Walgreens drug store to buy the condoms. She chose a store a few cities away, ostensibly so we wouldn’t be spotted by anyone we knew. She was so nervous while trying to select the right ones that she knocked over a countertop sunglasses display, to my mortification and the slight amusement of everyone else present. I don’t remember what brand she picked out – Trojans, probably; at the time they were the Jack Daniels of condoms – but she gave me the money and lurked near the entrance while I courageously faced the cashier and purchased them. I took half as payment for my bravery.

III. The Intervening Years

As time passed, we weren’t always close, but we were always friends. It was conceivable that we might not talk at all for months, whether due to a full load of college classes, new relationships, work, travel, or who knows what. But when one of us would inevitably call, text, email or IM the other, we immediately fell back into the comfortable groove of friendship and it was great.

I remained attracted to her through the years, though any romantic overtures were politely deflected with “You’re like a brother to me!” or similar. I assumed at the time that she was simply trying to let me down easily; we weren’t quite that close, and while she had attended the occasional family party or other social gathering, so did numerous other women who may or may not have slept with me, but who didn’t give me a bunch of nonsense about that making me their honorary sibling. Besides, one night when we were in college she had attempted to initiate sex, though as I was in a relationship I reluctantly declined.

Whatever the reason, I accepted that she found me not to be her type, and I respected her feelings. I didn’t express my interest in her often, and I was never aggressive or obnoxious about it. Likewise, her reaction to my attraction was never one of offense or even distaste. At times I got the distinct sense that she found it flattering. And while I’m certain some would feel that I was way out of line for daring to bring it up again in, say, 1997 after being shot down in 1992, I saw things differently.

I’ve never been one to assume, or to feel entitled. Certainly not when it comes to my interactions with women. You’ve undoubtedly read elsewhere on this blog (as recently as this week’s TMI Tuesday) that I require (or at least prefer) an explicit statement of expectation from potential partners beforehand, as I am not a mind reader. I’ve always taken consent very seriously, and I’m not the kind of guy who’d take advantage of a situation where consent hasn’t been explicitly granted. That doesn’t just apply to physical contact. That also applies to flirting and dirty talk of the sort referred to as sexting, the sending of explicit photos, and sharing with others of photos sent to me. I wouldn’t dream of doing any of these things unless I was absolutely certain that was what the other party wanted, and in the case of sharing photos sent by others, I wouldn’t even do that with permission. Likewise, if she’d reacted with distaste or offense to my first attempt to initiate physical contact, there wouldn’t have been a second attempt. But she didn’t seem traumatized by it, nor do I have any reason to believe that she actually was, and therefore I saw no harm in asking her again some years later when we were both single.

IV. Joan Gets Married

She eventually invited me to her wedding. I felt no jealousy for Danny, her husband-to-be, as I was in my early twenties by this point and generally had no need for such negative emotions. Yes, I cared for her, but I didn’t feel anything romantic or even particularly emotional. Beyond our ongoing friendship there was still some sexual attraction – whether mutual or unrequited I didn’t know, nor did I care – which I was reasonably certain would never be consummated.

Her body language around me was always somewhat stilted and awkward. I suspect that this was a deliberate attempt to defuse any attraction I may have felt for her, though in my own defense I never made my attraction obvious or otherwise tried to make her feel uncomfortable or undermine her relationships or marriage. I am just enough of an egomaniac that I can’t help but wonder if she felt as I did all along, and that the awkwardness was her way of downplaying it so her husband wouldn’t suspect. Probably not, though; it isn’t as though she insisted on long, slow hugs when her husband wasn’t around.

I perceived some degree of sexual openmindedness in the two of them, especially in her. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they were, or even that I thought they were, open to any sort of kink or experimentation; for me it was exciting enough to know that they could say the word “sex” without whispering, giggling, blushing, or turning to stone. Most of my friends, both male and female, were far more reticent about it. One day I overheard her talking to a girlfriend of mine about lube, amongst other topics one might not discuss in so-called polite company. Suddenly I found my desire for her renewed. Again, I’m not saying that her willingness to talk about sex in any way translates to consent, or even interest. It just reminded me of why I might have found her attractive in the first place.

Coming up next:  Part 2 (Wherein we have monogamous group sex and some other things happen)