A little shame always makes it better...

Over the years I have come to terms with the fact that I am not fully gay, but I would by no means call myself "bisexual". I once tried to explain to a girl that I enjoyed having sex with women but could NEVER imagine myself in a relationship with a woman. Then she responded with, "Oh so you're a man!" ... And I was like, "yeah..."

Anyway, a couple of years ago I met a grad student in the art department, Juan. He'd recently come across some of my music videos and was really impressed and figured out a way to meet me. Long story short we hit it off and became friends. He's from Mexico City and he's one of the blond hair blue eyed Mexicans that looks like he's from Idaho until he speaks. He has a HUGE chip on his shoulder about this because most of the white looking Mexicans are all rich and assholes, but he grew up poor with all the brown guys giving him a hard time. It's something I relate to a lot being half Mexican but looking like the Asianest Asian man in the room.

Juan's an insanely talented artist with a very strong LatinX influence in everything he creates. You can really see how the duality of being proud of a community that shuns him has played strongly into the way he chooses to express himself. At his core he's a deeply sensitive and caring guy that feels the need to project this aura of machismo that almost seems paradoxical to who he really is. Somehow he's been gifted with the artistic vocabulary to fully express that inner paradox in the most dynamic and deeply emotional ways I have ever had the pleasure of observing.

About a month into our friendship we had sex. He didn't say it was his first time with a guy, but going by the fact that it took almost an hour for me to get in, I'd pretty much assumed I was the first man to plant a seed. It was awesome. One of those animalistic pheromone type of experiences, super wet and sweaty with a constant sense of urgency and just a pinch of danger. But in the morning I could definitely feel like something was wrong. I'd accidentally damaged his tough guy persona and after he had the night to sleep on it, he didn't like it.

Juan didn't talk to me for almost 3 months. At the time I was going through a divorce and had recently relocated my entire life to NorCal, so a fuck buddy ghosting me didn't even register on my daily list of worries. Then one day out of nowhere he showed up in my office and asked me to lunch. We talked for almost 2 hours and it was easy and comfortable and it honestly felt like 2 friends catching up. Then out of nowhere he announced that he wasn't gay. And I was like, "Okay... I'm not straight, but just so you know I've had sex with more women than I care to count. It's just something I like to do from time to time... " He blushed and started talking about his new girlfriend and I dropped it.

The main reason why Juan had contacted me after so long was because he was about to have his first major solo show in SF and he wanted my advice and for me to attend. He was a nervous wreck and I had nothing to do so I decided to go with him for moral support and maybe even invite a few of my friends to check out his vibe. We shared a studio apartment we found on Airbnb. Bad idea. We fucked the whole weekend away and almost missed his show both nights.

There's something about Juan that I can't quite put into words. I've never considered him "boyfriend material" but just thinking about him instantly makes me hard. But it's more than his body, I'm attracted to his mind (so I guess he gives me a brain boner too??) and his artistic ability. At the same time I've always seen the conflict of him not really accepting how much he enjoys sex with a man so it's been really easy for me to turn off my emotions in that sense and just enjoy the ride.

That summer Juan convinced me to transport a couple of motorcycles (by riding them) from Rosarito Beach to Veracruz. At first I didn't want to go because being shot up or held hostage by the Mexican drug cartel seemed like a TERRIBLE way to spend my summer! But Juan convinced me that I was being racist and I was just as likely to be shot by a cop or a rando with a gun in Texas than anywhere in Mexico. Plus I speak Spanish with a perfect Baja accent, and he's actually Mexican and fitting in wasn't going to be a problem. So we went, and it was AMAZING! It felt like, The Motorcycle Diaries: Mexico edition. We went sailing in Mazatlan, toured the missions in Sonora, visited the Pyramids outside Mexico City, and went surfing in Guadalajara. In the end we traveled a little over 2400 miles in a month and I got to experience a part of myself and my culture in a way that I never thought would be remotely accessible to me. Honestly if it weren't for the fact that EVERY SINGLE PERSON we met called me "chinito" and refused to call me by my name, it would've been perfect.

For that experience alone (but also for a million other reasons) Juan is now and will always be one of my go to people. And that's where the conflict comes in. I consider Juan a very good friend that I have sex with. I don't imagine a time where he looks me in the eyes and he realizes that I am the one for him and we sail off into the sunset. I see him getting married and having a couple of kids and every once in awhile we'll meet up and have some amazing sex. It works because it's all he has to offer me and in all honesty, it's all I have in me to accept. I'm broken in a way that I don't think I'll ever heal from. This worked for me for a very long time because I got all the emotional support and mind blowing sex I could handle, all the while never having to commit to anything.

In the last 2 years I've had enough sexual partners to be considered a gold star slut and I've never felt guilty about it because I'm completely unattached. But nothing gold can stay. Pretty much during the entire time I've known Juan he's had the same girlfriend. Her name is Lily. She's pretty, and sweet, super insecure and jarringly possessive. The problem is I'm not sure if she's just naturally that way or if over time this has become a product of me in her life constantly ruining it.

I think she first started acting icy towards me after we returned from Mexico. Looking back it was pretty obvious Juan and I were closer than friends normally are. A year ago she'd finally had enough and forbid Juan from seeing me. Honestly at this point I thought it was for the best that we stop the sexual part of our relationship because it had almost become more trouble than it was worth. That lasted about 3 months. I don't think I am clearly explaining how FUCKING AMAZING sex with Juan is. Like during the 45 minutes it's taken me to write these words I have had a continuous erection thinking about it. Not once did I feel guilty about what I was doing to Lily. Because in my head I had no plans of "stealing" her boyfriend and I was frankly giving her boyfriend something she just wasn't equipped for.

That all changed when Lily showed up on my doorstep crying and screaming and hysterically cursing my name. After she'd calmed down we had a very awkward and deeply personal conversation where for the first time in my time with Juan I finally understood my part in her pain. The highlights of the conversation that really stuck with me are: his phone passcode is my birthday, his "favorites" album has 200 pics of only me, whenever I'm not around or "too busy for him" she can physically feel his depression. I know exactly what it feels like to not be enough for the person you love the most. That alone made me really stop and consider my actions. I apologized and told her that she really needed to have this conversation with Juan but for my part I'd stay away until I figured out this situation from my side.

It wasn't until she left that I finally figured out what was bothering me the most about everything she'd told me. Clearly Juan loves me deeply that's no surprise to anyone who's ever seen us together. What really bothered me was the perception that Juan loves me the most. But even though he loves me the most he'd never choose me (even if I asked) because he's ashamed of what that would mean for him. It reminded me of this incident a while back where we were holding hands in the City and some asshole shouted, "FAGGOTS!" at us in his car. Juan ran after his car full sprint and I just sat there shocked that he ran after the car while this fat drag queen comforted me with platitudes of hot headed boyfriends and how we've all been there. And I thought about how there was a time not too long ago where I would've done the same or worse. But the reason I would've done it wasn't for any other reason than shame.

I used to get angry because the word "faggot" was shameful and not something that I associated with myself. But I am a faggot. I like men. I like the way the look, the way they smell, the way they feel in my arms, the stubble on their face as it rubs against mine. I love it all. Call me gay, call me a faggot, maricón, bakla, I'm all of those things and I am okay with that. Juan isn't and he's never going to be. Even as his friend I will always be nothing more than his secret shame and that's not something that I think I can accept anymore. Especially when I can so clearly see all the pain I am causing in his life. Even if he's quite literally the best sexual partner I have ever had EVER. 

So here I sit contemplating breaking things off with my NOT boyfriend. I want and NEED this friendship with him but I have no idea how we can connect without sex. I would love to figure it out, but I honestly can't imagine what our friendship would be like without sex. Not all friends (no matter how meaningful those friendships are) are meant to stay in our lives forever. But letting this one go is really going to hurt.