My Vow Of Celibacy

In the midst of all the arguments, discussions, and court cases about what marriage is, I want to share with you my experience of "gay life". Whatever that means. I grew up in a small town within a family who had little education and very little worldly experience. I had no contact with homosexuals, African Americans or big city culture until I was in my late teens. I love my parents and hold no ill will towards them for my childhood, but my dad was a bigot and his ideas about other people stemmed from his service in Vietnam and his career as a police officer. Everyone was evil and everyone was guilty. People who weren't like us were considered "dirt bags" or "fagots". I remember when I found out that in Britain, a fag was a cigarette. I would humor myself with the word combinations my dad used when he saw homosexuals. When he yelled "What a bunch of fagots " while driving down the road, I imagined a pack of cigarettes walking down the street smoking another pack of cigarettes. That's some funny shit. I knew I didn't feel the way he did about people.
As a sophomore in high school, I was befriended by an older group of teens who spent weekends in the Avenues of Salt Lake, drinking, smoking and having interesting conversations with homos. I was initiated. I spent most weekends meeting gay couples, drinking Vodka and finding out what it really meant to be gay. What it was like to come out to your family, to fall in love, to hold hands in public, and to find pride in the way you lived on this planet. It was amazing!! During this time I met a young man who I was instantly attracted to. I did not date in high school and had very little experience with guys up to this point. He was tall, dark and handsome. Very handsome. I knew I wasn't alone in that description because everyone we spent time around seemed to drool in his presence as well. I fell in love. With my gay best friend.
He was constantly complimenting me on my beauty and wanted to hug and kiss me every time we had been away from each other for longer than two hours. We shopped together, went out to dinner and spent time with his family. My parents met him and my dad stopped calling homosexuals "fags". He told me "He is just a really great guy". I knew that already. I didn't feel pressure for sex and that was great for me because I had very little interest in that. I wanted to feel like someones number one priority and I finally did. We vacationed in Mexico and spent late nights talking love, politics and what we would do for the rest of our lives. I fell hard.
He dated and had sex...with dudes. I knew that. I didn't date or spend time with anyone else. There was one person I wanted to be with and it was him. I thought it was the perfect relationship for me. I told him that I could spend my life with him. He could be married to a woman while he lived his life away from me however he chose. I decided, before I knew better, that sex wasn't a necessary part of a loving relationship. I could curb my jealousy and we could live happily ever after. Looking back, that was the most egotistical thing I could have proposed.
Some people may look at this scenario and see a gay man taking advantage of a young girl or think that it would be the perfect solution to a complicated life. It was not. To be married to someone you have no desire to be intimate with, would be torture. For both of us. While I thought I was making his life easier, I was asking him to sacrifice his dreams to make me happy. He wanted to marry the love of his life, a man. He wanted to share a home and a bed with a man. Not because he didn't love me but precisely because he did. As a friend.
I tried to live a strictly celibate life by marrying a gay man. It didn't work out that way. I moved away, we both grew up and we finally learned how to be without each other. He found the love of his life and I found mine. We all deserve to share our life with not only our best friend but someone we can feel intimate with. A partner of our choosing. Isn't that what it's all about?

(This is an original work and should not be shared, copied or changed without permission from the author, Mandy Brasher. Contact her at mbrasher823@gmail.com)