I think Mick Jagger got it wrong. I think you can always get what you want. Or maybe it’s that you will always get what you deserve. That one Mick didn’t come up with. That’s a theme that has been around ever since Adam coveted Eve’s apple. As you sow so shall you reap, do unto others . . . basic tenets of the Judeo-Christian belief system. That basic thought is mimicked in most religions around the world, with the Buddhist karma/reincarnation doctrine trumping them all. Even new-age practitioners weigh in with the idea that what you put out into the universe is what you get back. But then all of those really are morality lessons; they’re all about action, warnings against premeditated bad-behavior that will lead you down the path to ruin.

The same, though, holds true subconsciously. We all seem to get what we want even when we don’t realize what it is we are after. Even when it’s not a good thing. Sometimes, what we want is not what anybody needs. We may not realize what it is that we continually seek, but the pay-off is just the same. Take abused women for an example (meaning physically and/or emotionally abused women as opposed to the general state of the female condition, which is a life of abuse thanks to belonging to the B-list gender). Those who manage to free themselves from their abusive relationship find a new and just as abusive relationship to replace it with. For most of us, it’s less extreme than that. Our foibles don’t result in being physically battered. But we all tend to be attracted to the same type of partners over and over again. And if part of that relationship is dysfunctional, it will be next time around again too. And in the same way. You’ve probably noticed that phenomenon among some of your friends. They’ve probably noticed it in you too.

When friends have a problem in their relationship and come seeking advice, pointing out that it may have more to do with them than their partner, ‘cuz it’s the exact same problem they had with their last dozen relationships, doesn’t work. Usually, they really didn’t want advice anyway, just a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. Pointing the same out to yourself is no better. Even when we know and are familiar with the underlying problem, it’s difficult to not fall into the same trap. Again and again. Experiencing unhappiness in our pursuit of happiness is more addictive than cocaine.

I’m no different. Yup, guilty as charged. My particular monkey, one shared by a lot of gay guys, is falling in love with straight men. That’s not exactly a recipe for a success. Straight guys tend to balk at trading blow jobs (at least within a guy-on-guy relationship. They’re much less finicky about a one time walk on the wild side.) For a gay man, it’s damn near impossible to be in a relationship with a straight guy that includes both love and sex. Not that straight women fare much better in that attempt.

Most likely, I was already wired to fall for straight guys before my first relationship. It didn’t help that he took temporary leave of his straightness and dabbled on the pink side for a while. Ours started as a friendship and blossomed into a bromance that made what Romeo and Juliet had look like a casual fling. That did nothing more for me than to raise the possibility of lucking out and having lightening strike twice in the future. The odd thing about bromances is that they mirror romances. There’s love, affection, and all that jazz. And jealousy too. All the trappings of a love affair. Except without the sex. In my first, Phil figured out I was gay about the same time as I did. And then decided for the sake of the relationship to play along. The sex part didn’t last long, the bromance did. And we’re still close friends today.

I moved on, did the same thing twice again, both of which resulted in lifelong friendships, neither of which resulted in sex. In between, I broke out of my rut and tried a few gay guys on for size. Bad fit; short relationships. None of which survived the passing of time. Fortunately, fuck buddies avoid all of the emotional entanglement and drama. Mine tended to last longer than any of my gay friend’s relationships did. But then came Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life.

Noom thinks we met thanks to a deal he cut with Ganesha, his personal god. I know better. The gods were just fucking with me. The time was ripe, and I was looking for love in all the wrong places again: in the heart of a straight man. Unfortunately, Noom had all of the characteristics that have set me off in the past: a hot body, killer smile, and a sweetness of the soul. And then there was the straight thingy too.

Noom has a slightly more positive take on it. His is a more realistic view, has less to do with love – at least with the love spelled with a capital L – and more to do with needs. Our relationship, or whatever it is we have, works because my wants gel well with his needs. I’m cool with that. I got what I wanted, possibly what I deserved, a straight guy to love. But this time one with whom I get to have sex.

Noom expresses that whole thing with the phrase ‘take care’ which is probably a lot closer to the truth. We both take care of each other in the manner we are best able to. And both sacrifice something to be able to do that, although I think I come out better on the deal. Still, I am not unmindful of my obligations to take care of Noom. That does not just mean financially. It extends to his overall well-being. It was with that in mind that I suggested a new arrangement for us. At least in how we spend our time together. Which resulted in the closest we’ve ever come to having an argument.

“What break?” he asked with a suspicious squint that should have clued me that while my intentions may have been good, my presentation sucked. I’m screwed without PowerPoint.

“Um, break . . . time off,” I tried to explain concentrating more on the what than on the why. “A day off, rest, time to get away.”

Noom’s squint was quickly turning into a scowl.

I usually am more careful about introducing change, usually consider his culture and societal norms before suggesting something different. Familiar is always safe. Especially to Thais. Even more so when you are in a relationship that doesn’t conform to normal standards. We were several days into one of my visits, planned on flying off together for a six day trip two days later, and I thought it would be nice if he had a day to himself. A day away from me. That’s got to be pleasurable for anybody.

When we first met we spent a few days together. Then I went to Chiang Mai. Returning to Bangkok, we spent another few days together before I headed home. That was our typical routine for several years; together constantly when in town, and then a few days away from each other when I left for some other locale. As time passed and our friendship grew, I started taking Noom with me when I travelled away from Bangkok. We always had a good time, always enjoyed each other’s company. But then an extended trip with a few friends in tow brought home the toll that constant companionship costs Noom. Friends or not, he never feels off the clock. 24/7 he’s busy seeing to my needs, taking care of me.

Whether he realized it or not, a day off would do him good. I proposed a break, a day to himself, before we reunited and flew off on a week-long trip together. Noom understood ‘break.’ He just didn’t understand why.

“Where you go?” he asked trying to make sense out of the odd farang once again.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I told him. “I’m staying right here. I just thought it’d be nice for you to have a day off.”

“I off yesterday.”

“Yeah, and spent it with me. That’s what I mean.”

He thought about it for a minute, and then asked, “You go Tawan?”

Yikes. Visiting Tawan together was probably one of the most foolish things I’ve done with Noom. The first time, meeting another bar boy I was friends with resulted in him being hurt. Since then we’ve gone back a few times, but it always feels like a test. He knows my tastes. As well as my proclivities. And weaknesses.

I laughed, scoffing at the very idea. Hopefully enough to convince him hitting Tawan was the furthest thing from my mind It was. But then wasn’t a bad idea either.

“I’m not going to Tawan,” I promised him. “I’m going to stay here; I’m not even going out. I’m just going to read for a while.”

The squint came back as he tried to figure out what I really was up to.

“What you buy?”

I laughed again, smiled, and shook my head. Greedy little bastard. Occasionally I’ve temporarily ditched him in the past to run out and buy him some little gift, a surprise. Figuring I’d better come clean, I took the time then to spell the whole thing out. Probably what I should have done from the beginning. He slowly nodded his head along with my reasoning, not necessarily agreeing but showing he understood the points I was making. Finished, complete understanding of motives reached, I looked at him for his reaction.

He nodded one more time. Then declared, “I stay wit you.”

End of discussion.

When Noom has made his mind up, he has done so for the world. Knowing better, I stupidly refused to let the matter drop anyway. And started looking for ulterior motives as he had done. I mean seriously, who wouldn’t want a day off, free to do as they please?

“No problem,” I said, thinking I’d hit on why he didn’t want a break. “I’ll still tip you for tonight even if you go home.”

I’ve said a lot of stupid things in my life. That one makes it to the top of the list of things I’ve said I’d like to take back and erase from the record. On the plus side, I finally got to see what Noom looks like when he gets mad. It’s not a pretty sight.

“Dat Bullshit!” he screamed, veins I didn’t know he had bulging from his neck.

Fuck me. He was right. That was bullshit. I knew it wasn’t about the money. We both knew better. It hasn’t been about money for a long time. It’s a relationship, not a cash transaction. Even as difficult to label as that relationship may be. I apologized. Profusely. I dropped to my knees – an act of contrition – wrapped my arms around him, buried my head in his stomach, and poured out my heart. Begging for his forgiveness.

Wiping tears from his eyes, he repeated himself, “Dat bullshit.” But softly, in agreement, not in anger this time. That’s one of the things I love about Noom. He’s willing to forgive me when I’m an asshole. While still acknowledging that I am.

Smart enough to quite while I was ahead, I shut up. We held each other for a while, not talking, allowing instead what neither of us could express to have its say. Eventually we broke, and then went out to dinner. He stayed the night and the next day too, his ‘day off’ forgotten.

Later, I think he replayed that day over in his mind and realized what I had proposed was out of love and concern for him, that I had no ulterior motives. That it wasn’t about me, but rather about him. The next visit I made to Bangkok, a day before we were scheduled to fly out on a trip together, Noom casually announced he was taking the day off. And smiled, quite pleased with himself.

I keep falling in love with straight guys. Always have, always will. It’s not a healthy need, this want of mine. I know that. The idea that you could have a successful relationship with a straight guy that includes the whole enchilada is preposterous. The inherent difficulty in sustaining a bromance that includes sex should prove that you can’t always get what you want. But this time, undoubtedly thanks to the distance and long periods of ‘days off’ that distance results in, it’s working out well. So maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s not about wants. Maybe Mick had it right: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need.

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