Asexual

21 December 2014

My Dearest Friend, I’m under the impression that you are basically asexual. Some people are born that way (just like “gay,” “hetero,” “bisexual,” and so forth). But I also know you are a very affectionate man. I want to reassure you at this point, that I have nothing but great love for you, and always will, even if sex never enters the picture. The fantasies I have about you never include the explicitly erotic…but do involve dreams about sleeping with you with our clothes on, plenty of hugs, and a really amazing friendship. In spite of the occasional steamy fantasy I’ve composed about us, in My Larkin Tales. “Titillate your readers and they shall come back for more,” is a great way to become a best-selling author. I also do it to make you laugh.

I can imagine how very difficult it is, to be asexual (while incredibly good looking) and seek someone to love who will not refrain from groping you in all sorts of horny maneuvers, no matter your wishes otherwise. Most likely this is a terribly lonely existence, but which I guarantee need not be the case between ourselves. I have also considered that you might have sex with very hot guys (as you are so handsome yourself), but that you nonetheless have great love for me, though not in a sexual way. That is perfectly okay by me. I have also considered that you might have a sexual attraction towards me, in which case I still think it’s best to forego conjugal thrills until we are both sure our friendship is so well established and solid, that the sexual dimension will never destroy our trust, love and fidelity we have for each other.

Having said this, let me move on to another issue, which is your most difficult behavior (especially since you shoved me in January 2013) and which, of course, brings me much grief: While you have done many acts of kindness during our escapades at The Hole in the Wall Saloon, and then again since around 2010 and beyond…you have also vilified me, humiliated me, and in numerous other ways insulted me and broke my trust.

Yet now and then, you have performed gestures of compassion that give me good reason to hang in there. In spite of all this, I declare: It is me who has constantly reached out to you and expressed my affections since we both were driven out of the Hole…far more times than you have returned the compassion. Yet (I must admit) those occasional moments you have expressed fondness back, were extraordinary on such a divine level, that I cannot measure our mutual endearment as anything other than equal. Now what I am about to embellish upon is neither a guilt-trip nor a threat. However:

No way am I capable of continuing to extend my kind regards for you, should you not begin to make things up to me in a big way, by Christmas (or by Randolph’s birthday Dec. 30th, or New Year’s Day at the very latest). For I cannot conceive of having the strength to forge ahead without your love requited in full. To paraphrase Randolph Taylor:

“You are my last hurrah!”

There will be no one after you, that I shall yearn to love, and go through all the tests that life demands as a result. And for this reason, I don’t see how the remainder of my life will be more than a living death…and will not result in putting an end to my misery in short shrift. After Randolph, after many others I have loved but who have turned on me (or been disappeared by Fate’s Hand), there is really nothing more I care to do, that would give me hope or inspiration to live on. Not that I wouldn’t continue expressing my love to you whenever our paths cross…nor would I not do my very best to thrive without your friendship.

But how long have I already been the very best friend I know how to be, for your sake…yet how often have you caused me needless grief and betrayal? I certainly don’t see how I could deal with this much longer, without perishing from exhaustion and a broken heart.

More than eight years have I loved you like a darling brother, yet with what outcome?

But I also cannot conceive that you, yourself, have not suffered incredible grief and long-suffering to get to where you are, now. It just wouldn’t make sense to be any other way, if God matched us for each other. Which I’m sure He has, else you wouldn’t have so graciously (and enthusiastically) declared to me one day in 2014 May:

“Our friendship, our being brought together, is an incredible godsend!”

I really don’t mean to frame this appeal in an “either/or” mandate: “either you love me unconditionally or else.” Yet this is what it comes down to. So if you value me as a best friend, and do not desire to see me suffer as I’ve been doing for way too many years (most of my life in fact):

It is time for you to drop your animosity (feigned or otherwise) and get this show on the road.

I realize the possibility of you being a detective, and for which professional reason you cannot admit. And that having a friendship with you out in the open may pose a threat to myself, and to your mission. If this be the case–and our association must continue to appear as a hateful one for my own protection–of course I’ll do my best to play the game as I’ve done for years. But I am telling you:

I’ve reached the end of my rope: if this ridiculous drama plays itself out for too many months into The New Year, I will most likely collapse into oblivion. Thus our enemies will win.

I also realize that this “detective” routine may be nothing more than a ruse: a fantasy played out by you and others in some sort of secret society that actually has my best interests at heart. Which is: to make me The Ultimate Hero in Some Amazing Gay Scenario of which I have barely glimpsed. But regardless of the actual cause of my dilemma, I tell you this:

I am pretty much spent out. But perhaps this is how it’s supposed to go down before you extend a hand in friendship and pull me up, and into your darling arms.

I am alone in this world, Larkin, through no fault of my own. Do you realize how painful it is for me to see you have so much fun and camaraderie, while I remain looking in from the outside, like The Little Match Boy? How sad for me to know that you now just live a block away from me, yet I am never invited over? That you refuse to even give me your phone number? And that most of the time when our paths cross and I greet you with great admiration, you walk by like I don’t even exist? That I put together another Christmas gift for you (Scooby-Doo included), not knowing whether or not you’ll accept the offering in person?

What kind of man are you to be so wicked as to tell everyone that I’m psychopathic, and your stalker? I may soon die without having any answer. My heart is badly broken.

Yet I still wish for you, and with great sincerity: a beautiful life filled with joy, friendship and prosperity.

Truly yours w/o expecting any kindness in return,

Zeke

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