Rollin' with tha Honeys

Few people are more important to the development of a gay man than his honeys, his HOMO-honeys. I actually prefer that term to the more derisive "fag hag." And tell you that I've been a homo-honey whore. I've had several in my tenure as a sorta-out-and-mostly-proud gay man. And each one holds a special sweet spot in my homo-heart.

Kym - She was my first, even when she didn't know she was the first. Hell, I didn't even know she was the first. Back in high school, it was a love-hate relationship. She loved me, and I didn't particularly like her, but we were drawn to each other. She was the first person I actually came out to (and that's another story for another time). Now she's married with a child, and remarkably, we still stay in touch.

Jennifer - Ah, bless her sweet little heart. If any homo-honey was smacked with the curse of the pink wand, it was her. A college friend, she was one of the first people I came out to (actually I was outed to her, but again, another story, another time). If I had been straight, I'd have married her, and we'd have had the perfect suburban life. I questioned the sexuality of every guy she dated, and even the guy she eventually married. But our friendship eventually deteriorated after she got hitched. Oddly, we just didn't have that much in common any more.

Virginia - Probably the greatest homo-honey of them all. The Grace to my Will, She gets a bronze bust in the Homo-Honey Hall of Fame, right up there with Liza Minelli. She was supportive and critical, and loved to watch award shows, and indulge in nights of Miss Clairol hair color and mud masks. She could hang out in gay bars, and share make-up tips with drag queens. She had a bevy of beautiful gay boys with whom she spent many fabulous and festive holidays. And then real life settled in. Boys got boyfriends, and people drifted away. The Family was ripped apart. And then she married and moved away.

Amy - Boy, did I hate leaving her when I left Nashville. She was the pretty-in-pink, ex-sorority, nails-always-done, Mary-Englebreit (ick) girly-girl, and typically I would have avoided her like the 60-year-old barfly in the black satin baseball jacket. But she just had the personality I couldn't resist. There was just a little bit of hellraiser about her, and it helped that her office was just a rubberband-shot away. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have kicked down the closet door at a work function. Yet, another story, another time, but highly embarrassing.

And now I'm in Memphis where I am surrounded by some pretty dog-gone wonderful friends, but I miss my honeys. Every gay man needs a honey in his life, sipping cowboy cocksuckers on the sofa, with perfectly painted toes, watching the Golden Globes or Sex and the City, talking about cute boys, bitching about work, gossiping about our friends, taking Cosmo quizzes, and wishing life never had to push us on.