I had a most disappointing experience this morning. And I am still not sure what to think of it. But I guess the upshot is that my delusion that men and women (heterosexual men and women, members of the opposite sex, no, should I just say people who could ever possibly be sexually attracted to one another?) can be "just" friends has been shot all to hell again.
My friend Ray and I have known one another for over 15 years. I love Ray in the way I love my dear, close friends. It is affection born of a lot of shared history and experiences. I do not find Ray attractive because it just has never occurred to me. I have never thought of him as anything other than my friend.
Ray and I have been meeting for coffee once a month for 7 years. We work on projects together (he is a theatrical director, I have done some design work for him) and we chat about all things theatre, plans for his next show, who he is casting, etc. We also talk about movies and books and travel and cooking and history and gossip about all of our friends in common. He is witty and snarky and dear and I have so enjoyed this friendship.
Today at *bux, over a cup of hot pumpkin coffee, Ray asked me if I would consider sleeping with him.
I was stunned. I laughed it off and told him that if I ever slept with someone outside of my current and longtime situation, I never would sleep with a friend. He asked me some questions about the womanly perspective on monogamy and fidelity and I answered him, but inside I was totally checked out. I took my leave shortly after.
When I got home the phone was ringing and my girlfriend Deborah, who is a hetero-single-attorney-feminist-man-eating man-hater was on the phone. I told her what happened with Ray and she let out a long low whistle and then said "Ew." Which was a surprise coming from her but I guess she figured I was already upset and she did not necessarily need to unleash with one of her "All Men Are Wired to Be Promiscuous Pigs and Whores" speeches. She said quietly "Wow, I'm really sorry that happened."
Me too. I am now wondering what signals I must have sent Ray for him to think I would ever in a million years want to sleep with him. I have been his friend through two marriages and divorces, job changes, cheered him on in dating new ladies, been his buddy and helped him with projects that would not have gotten off the ground otherwise and he has done the same for me. We have been friends. Whatever that means. Now I feel like an idiot. And I'm uncomfortable because if I do meet him for coffee next month (will I? I don't know) it will never be the same and I don't want to have coffee with him again, really. And that sucks. Funny how quickly some things can change.
And I have no intention of telling the Guy in the Boxers about today's coffee klatch. He has always said: "Honey, Ray just wants to get in your pants, you know that, right?" I hate it when he's right about stuff like this.
4 comments:
So, the Guy in Boxers doesn't read this?
What a yucky situation. I guess Harry and Sally were right. (Or wrong, depending on which part of the movie we're talking about.)
Hey mel--
Nope, the Guy in the Boxers is a fan of Virginia Woolf, as am I and so he wholeheartedly embraces the idea that everyone ought to have a room of one's own.
He has several as he runs a solo practice and has decorated his office to suit his taste and style and he actually enjoys spending time there puttering around, listening to music he loves and practicing his golf swing between appointments.
I have no physical room of my own. This is it. And happily, the GITB does not feel the need to know every single thing about me and vice versa. That is probably part of why we are still together after 15 years.
So I have not shared my blog with anyone I know, except for one very close and dear old friend. The rest of the "real" people in my life no nothing about my "virtual" room. I will probably keep it that way for now. I find it keeps me honest. So far.
ell
Hot d*mn, that elizabeth is one smart cookie. (Yes, stars do make everything right.)
(Oh, and my husband doesn't read my blog, either. Respect for privacy, blah, blah, blah.)
Aw, shucks, e, you sure do know how to make me feel all sassy and better. Thanks.
Re: the GITB: He is a true Florida Cracker, born and raised, and it took me three years to get him to start wearing shoes to the store. He is a barefoot beach baby unless he is at the office and yes, he lives in his boxers.
His two favorites are the Sponge Bob ones he got last Christmas and the Homer Simpson ones he got on Valentine's Day. But there are many, many more.
When he is home, he is in the boxers. Indoors=boxers, 24-7. He does not wear them to the store but he has gone out to get the newspaper and the mail much to my horror. And he has stopped mowing the front lawn in them. But not the back yard, as that is fenced in, so he is gleefully barefoot and boxer-clad, mowing the lawn. I gave up. But when I get really freaked out about it, I just think:
"What the hell? We will all be dead in 50 years and no one will give a shit. Right?"
And no Pope, as he is Jewish.
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