Raised by lesbians

After coming out of the closet, my lesbian friends acted as surrogate parents that raised me as their own. They have been with me, guiding my every step, through my formative years as a gay man. Quite ironic actually, I have more lesbian friends, with their gorgeous looking and very loving girlfriends, than male gay friends. Most gay men I meet would either want to date me and shag me or abhor my very butch behaviour. (Isn’t it supposed to be a turn on?)

I learned how to value friendship from my lesbian comrades. I learned how to be compassionate, firm and decisive from them. I learned how to love unconditionally and embrace pain from every relationship and break-up they went through.

Lesbians, at least the ones I know, have a high tolerance for pain. The love they give is always conjoined with pain they are willing to experience. They don’t have the illusion of forever. The intensity of their love, at that precise moment, is forever. I was there in every heartbreak, every tear that fell for each love that cannot be equaled or reciprocated. I witnessed the consuming and passionate love my lesbian friends posses. Sometimes, I wonder if such feats of unimaginable proportions are a function of them being lesbians or by their humanity. Whatever the answer is, their experiences served as guideposts and milestones of how I view life and how I would love in the future.