Fridae

It was another one of those late night, claws out, beer and cigarette chat sessions. We'd all been trading barbs and gossip for well over two hours, when one of my friends suddenly took the lead to win the night's juiciest-swear-you-won't-tell-anyone-and-if-you-do-it-didn't-come-from-me story trophy.

"Well," oh so smugly, "he's finally admitted it. The guy doesn't exist."

Lies are insidious. Carelessly dropped and scattered, they take on sinister, sinuous life of their own. Thriving on veiled half-truths and the natural gay penchant for spreading a good rumour, they sometimes grow to monstrous proportions, well beyond the expectations of their creators.

A little background: Last November when I returned to Manila, I heard that one of our friends had finally found a nice boyfriend. In fact, everyone was saying how he seemed to be the perfect boyfriend. At first, I was very happy for my friend. He's a nice guy. But like many gay men, he had rock bottom self esteem, and it showed in his abysmal taste in men. He'd once told us he was dating someone in securities - and we later found out the guy was actually a security guard, with a glass eye and a vaguely reptilian cast to his features. Not that I have anything against security guards (men in uniform, yum), but this guy� ick. His other men were mostly of the same caliber, or if not, they were rentboys looking for a meal ticket.

So when I heard that he'd found a decent guy, well, I was delighted, and very eager to meet the guy. But as more of the story unfolded over the weeks, I began to wonder if my friend was starting to lose sight of the line between fact and fiction.

This supposed boyfriend was a student, wealthy, straight, with his own car. He studied in one the city's top schools, had a house in one of the top suburbs, and - to show his love - had planted a garden of roses for my friend. He was tall, handsome, and apparently insatiable in bed.

But after weeks, we had yet to meet this Boy Wonder. My friend was a consummate liar, fabricating stories of near misses, and almost meetings. Apparently, his boy was afraid of meeting other gay people, as he didn't want to be labeled as gay, and had a family reputation to uphold. (Of course.)

But, I suspect that the lie soon got away from my friend. He started piling tale upon tale, creating situations and encounters, break-ups and reconciliation, issues and resolutions. Every time he met someone, he'd have a new story to tell, which of course would travel via gay osmosis to the various groups he knew.

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But he went overboard. It became too good, too perfect, too unreal. People were starting to worry whether he was losing his sanity, and that's what prompted him to finally put a stop to the whole thing. He didn't admit it to everyone, of course, just a small, select group of trusted friends. Which, of course, meant that the confession was making the rounds before the day was out.

I think partly it was the sense of prestige he felt he was getting. People were talking ABOUT him, and often in tones of envy. He no longer felt like the ugly duckling, but had finally graduated to full, fairy-tale princesshood. And perhaps, in a way it WAS fun to live the fantasy. After all, we all have our favourite fantasies and dream encounters. How many of us can get our friends to buy into our dreams wholesale?

And we had. When the news dropped, our reactions were mixed. Some were scornful, some were amused, some shrugged it off, but within everyone was this small core of hurt. We'd all hoped and wished the best for him. We'd all been supportive, all been delighted. It had been a point for our side. One of US had hit the jackpot and that was triumph for all of us - and that meant that the rest of us still had hope, too. When it was exposed as false, suddenly we all doubted the validity of our own dreams, as well.

As the group continued to speculate, I started wondering how it must have felt like for him. His loneliness had created the fantasy, and it was his loneliness that made him start living it. But now, after all that, he probably felt lonelier than ever. And his social stock had now plummeted even lower than where it had started from. And would continue to plummet, as, being gay men, we never forget a juicy bit of scandal.

I took another swig of my beer and turned my attention to whatever new gossip was being discussed. "Poor dumb fuck," I thought to myself. "You should know better than to believe your own lies."

We all make our own hells.