When I was 18, My friends mum told me to be gentle with him because he was in love with me.
I knew he was gay. We’d known each other for ever, he was a good dude, one of the gang. He wasn’t a follower, but he was a follower of me. We were little and people referred to him as my shadow. I remember we went to a friends birthday party and he went to the buffet for me. Filled it with sausage rolls and crisps and egg sarnies and Mr Kipling lemon slices. One of the girls called him my servant and he positively beamed. We were doing romans at school and he said: “He is my general, I’m his cup bearer”.
Later, when we went drinking and partying, he’d buy my drinks, he’d buy drinks for the girls I was chasing too and even at one point, one of them referred to him as my little bitch. Being my mate, I told her to fuck off, not to speak to him like that and well, it ALL kicked off.
Next day, hungover and eating toast in his mums kitchen, black eyes and cut lips all round, he’d recounted the story to his mum, gone to the toilet and she’d told me to be gentle with him because I was his first love.
Being in a reflective mood this morning, sitting in Costa, I think back. I’ve always been, assertive. Remembered. For example, here, in this busy coffee shop, my morning order is always just, there and my different afternoon order is always remembered. It’s always ready even when I patiently wait behind the other customers. Jo remembers. I remember calling him a good boy once and thought he would cry with joy.
I hate people self titling themselves as ‘Alpha or Master’. These titles should always be given by others. Anyone referring to themselves as these things need to self validate. Maybe some will comment as such on this blog. Who knows. Make your own decisions.
Now knowing my friend for all these years, maybe he was in love, maybe he was infatuated, but I think it was more than that. Even as boys, he just wanted to serve me. It was his thing. And guess what. It’s perfectly fine because I loved and supported him and still do. If he wants to serve. Then I’ll let him. That’s what makes him happy.
We finally got a house. A little gang of us living in this 💩ty house. It was great. Girls, Party’s and more. But still, he’d bring me tea. He even did my washing. TO BE CLEAR. I never once asked him to.
Years later, he got married and I was sitting at a table with a bunch of his new husbands friends. One of them, a giant bear found out who I was and said: “ YOU ARE THE MASTER”.
It turns out, My friend had spoken about me to his now husband and he in turn had shared worries about me to these very friends. Putting me on this pedestal, this watch list, on this table so his friends could scare me away. Over a few bottles of red, my new bear of a friend told me all about this dynamic, this way of relating, this master/sub slave fag thing. It was eye opening, a little scary but actually, made so much sense. SO MUCH SENSE.
So now, here we are. My friend is still my friend. I don’t let him serve me as now, I know it’s servitude and I just want to be friends with him. He is one of the best. His husband has less fear/concern over me but to be honest, this guy is more of a fag than my bud has ever been!
Life is an adventure, an adventure we share with so many. Why am I here?
To learn, to grow as a human. Understanding each other is the first step to inner peace. I’m a successful straight happy chap. I’m not at the bottom of the food chain. I’m not here to add to your feelings of inferiority or fuel the fires of your low self worth. If you, like my friend, are a serving kind of chap. Looking for a new ‘head of the queue’, say hello. You can buy me some adblue for the Mercedes and I’ll help with that need to pay, to serve.
