So today, after the funeral of a very good friend, I was standing with two people who (whom?) I have loved dearly for a very long time. One of them I still see regularly and communicate with often. The other, I only see maybe once or twice a year in social settings, and always feel like "We're still friends." And then regret that we don't see each other more often.
So something got us to telling stories, and I was telling one that she had heard before, but was still quite funny, and he had not. And I was doing that "gay thing" in my head where I'm trying to plan each sentence and make the pronouns non-gender-specific so that I'm not lieing, but I'm not using "he."
And then I told myself to stop it. I looked at Sissy, then looked at Ro and said, "This story will be a lot more funny if I use the right pronouns." Then I took Ro's hands and held it while I told a hugely funny story from my . . . more rambunctious days. . . with a gentleman we'll call Parker.
And by using Parker's name and the gender correct pronouns, I went ahead and came out to a friend I've had since 1980 something. Now, he didn't gasp in surprise or say, "I always wondered" or "I always knew." He never flinched while holding my hand. He did, however, laugh to the point of crying with this true life story.
I've wanted him to know for quite a while. I'm not even sure why, no more than I see him. But it seemed important that he know. And now he does.
And he also knows I was once a slut who slept with someone just because they had electricity, and air conditioning, when I did not.