I kept telling myself my feelings for Seb were platonic. But that wasn’t true. We had slept together when we first met in Chiang Mai. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, but I was lying to myself.
A few weeks after meeting, I saw him again. We got high with Leonard Cohen’s playing in the background. I wanted to feel his fingertips on my skin like I did the first time. I kissed him but he pushed back. “I don’t want to do anything,” he said. I was confused and felt ashamed.
This feeling was not new. Since I was in high school, I had no experience being gay. Back then, people thought being gay meant acting like a woman — dressing differently, wearing makeup, or working as a hair or beauty artist.
I never dared to touch or be sexual with anyone. On occasion someone touched me and I sensed it might be more than friendship. I never responded. I didn’t want to be accused of harassment, or to see that same look of disgust I’d seen on my straight friends’ faces when they talked about gay men hitting on them.
We stayed friends. Seb returned to Chiang Mai now and then, and we spent time together — watching films, talking, laughing easily.
Still, I wanted more. Being physically close to him — seeing his hair and veins, catching his fragrance, hearing his voice, or gazing at his skin — made me desire him so badly.
We went away to a hotel in Lampang. I remember watching him in the hotel room as he lay drowsy — his body hair, long legs, his very presence. I realized I could no longer be just platonic. But still I hesitated. I did not know the words.
Returning back to Chiang Mai, I had a nightmare. I dreamed that there was an intruder in the house. I tried to call Seb, but no sound came. I was terrified that the intruder would try to hurt us both. Seb heard me dreaming and woke me. He held me until I calmed down and then carried me to his bed.
In the morning, I woke up in his arms. I felt safe, loved and cared for. Is this how intimacy feels? Instinctively, I reached for him.He took my hands and let me touch him.
The line between friendship and intimacy is fine, almost fragile. You hover at its edge for what feels like forever, then cross it in a single instant. One moment you’re holding back; the next, it’s already happened.