"You know," said my girlfriend, "I've noticed that things between you and 47 get a little bit... well... homoerotic, really."
"We're brothers," I shrugged. Okay, we're not really brothers, fair enough... but about as good as. I mean, neither of us ever had a brother. I did have sex with his sister, I guess. But that's not really the reason. "We do that sort of stuff all the time. Brotherly stuff. Except punching each other." (I'm referring there to the Makaton for 'brother', by the way).
I'm not sure, exactly, if I see the homoeroticism between myself and 47. He wasn't even here for very long, anyway; it was a few hours of catching up, getting free food from Prezzo and Doctor Who. Okay, there were a few references to bumming. There were unnecessary comparisons of condoms and an unused sexual party favour (well, I wouldn't show him a used one; we're not that close!). And there revelation that he's never used lube because:
"I find women tend to come with their own natural lubrication."
I do, too, but I tend to keep the stuff on hand anyway. Horses for courses, I suppose. And then there's all the other stuff lube can be used for. Even if it does have too strong an aroma of strawberries.
47 also regaled us with a story which I don't think I'll ever be able to forget: the time when I rolled over in bed and tried to spoon him, at which point he physically picked my hand up and replaced it on my side of the bed. I vaguely remember this, although I wasn't really awake while doing so. (My excuse was that I thought he was a girlfriend at some point: this is true, although I think he doubts!) There's also the time I took a picture of him with his trousers having fallen around his ankles. The point at which I drew a cartoon of him wearing nothing except pants. And the picture that Esque took once which made it look like I was in a deep kiss with him* (*I wasn't, it was an angled shot and an example of excellent photography).
Homoerotic? Not really. Not really really. Okay, yes, we do have an unusual relationship. Interesting, maybe. But then would we have it any other way? I mean, really. He's... well, he's 47, and I...
...well, I'm Innocent Loverboy.
(I wasn't sure how to finish that post.)