Cloud 9 Minus One

Yesterday a friend and I were discussing our children. She has a sixteen year old son. You know what is the worst nightmare I have about my son, she asked. Thalassemia, Asperger’s syndrome, hole in the heart, LEUKEMIA? I asked. No, no, of course not. Then what? Homosexuality, she declared, her voice sinking to a pathos-laden bass, her breath exhaling a sad sigh. So is he…? She jumped in before I could complete my question, as though merely voicing the query was a bad omen. Of course not, she scoffed, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if he were. But it has given me a few sleepless nights. But if he were? I asked, my curiosity and sense of the ridiculous now truly aroused, what then? Hmm…
What then indeed? I confess, I don’t have any gay friends. A classmate in college was gay, but since he didn’t have any horns, not noticeable ones anyway, I got along with him very well, as did everyone else, everyone except homophobes like my friend above. I wouldn’t be too far wrong if I said that she would prefer her son dead than gay.
I’ve never had a homosexual encounter either. But I’ve been curious about it. It’s a curiosity fueled by salacious porn. But that’s not what homosexuality is about either. It’s about love. That’s all. About finding that one person who is more special to you than anyone else in the world. Some of us find that person, and some of us pursue a lonely course through life. Does the sex of that special person matter? Why should it?
But sex matters, the good old pituitary kicking in every so often to make us believe that life can be happy, and good, and positive, even if only for a few minutes. Sex for everyone matters. Who one does it with doesn’t. Prigs and moralists, and the world is littered with them, think otherwise, of course. Let them. We know who is right, don’t we?