My manliness has once again been brought into question by none other than my darling wife.
I remember when Tracey and I started dating, whispers seemed to follow me everywhere: “I thought he was gay?”
Not that this summing up of my preferences was news to me. My sexual bent seems to have always been in question. I’ve developed theories as to why I’ve been battling this manliness issue for the past twenty five years. It’s even been the topic of conversation over coffee at work.
“I thought you were gay for sure,” mentioned one colleague several years ago. There was a group of us sitting in the lunch room.
“Me too!” chipped in a couple of the others.
“But why?” I asked.
“You don’t like watching football,” someone said.
“So? I know gay blokes who love it.” According to one mate it’s all those tight shorts and man on man action in the scrums. Plus they just plain like sport.
“You notice when we cut our hair,” said one lady while others nodded. “Not even my husband notices that, and he pays for it.”
“You wear turtlenecks.” In my defense, it was just this one shirt and I thought it was very fashionable at the time.
“You wear nice aftershave.”
“You notice another guy smells nice and you ask him what he’s wearing.” This was true. But only this one guy who worked in the office because it used to freak him out and he’d run away from me. He definitely thought I was gay.
But eventually the girls decided, more than all the rest, it came down to one stupid little thing.
“It’s the way you say ‘five’.”
Yep, apparently when I’m halfway to ten I talk funny and therefore don’t like girls.
This, of course, was a revelation to me because I’d always thought you were gay if you fancied people with similar tackle.
Fortunately all this talk disappeared when I started dating Tracey. It seems if she thought I was straight then that was good enough for everyone else.
This morning, however, after fifteen years together, Tracey has started to have doubts herself.
|This guy is doing it wrong.|
I was woken from a dream about buttons by the sweet sounds of children making their own breakfast. I then snuck across the bed, attaching myself to Tracey in what I thought was a pretty loving gesture of non-expectation.
Not that it could have been anything else considering all the kids were spilling breakfast into their bowls just outside our open door. Even if the door had been shut, Miss0 was standing in her cot staring at us. There really was no pressure, which I know are Tracey’s favourite hugs.
“You feeling alright, Princess?” Tracey asked me as she stroked my head. “You a little needy this morning?” She kissed my forehead. “Never you mind, I’ll protect you.”
“What are you going on with?” I asked.
Then I realized – In movie bed scenes, I was in the typically female position. I had my leg over her leg, my hand across her torso and my head was snuggled up into her neck so I could occasionally give her a little peck on the check.
“It’s all right,” Tracey told me as I scooted back to my side of the bed with my tail between my legs. “I know you’re a big manly man,” she added as we assumed the proper Hollywood sanctioned straight man’s pose, me with my hands behind my head and her snuggling into me and ignoring my crotch entirely. She tilted her head and gave me a peck on my chin. “Even if you are a big girl.”
|This is how it’s supposed to look…|
|…but let’s face it, this is more realistic.|
When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes
Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’ Facebook Page.
’raising a family on little more than laughs’