Don’t Go Breaking My Heart
By Michael Bach

I got an email from a friend of mine the other day. It doesn’t matter who and it doesn’t matter where he’s from. Let’s call him Bob. Because Bob is the only name I can think of that gay man don’t have. Well…hopefully. Robert is fine. Bob is something you do to an … apple.

To say Bob and I are friends is a bit of a stretch. We’re not really close. We’re acquaintances. I met him a year ago when we were living in the same city. I met him and his partner, let’s call him Dick, through mutual friends. They were nice guys. I had a thing for Bob, but not for Dick (Ironic, I know. For all the reasons you’re thinking). And they were more than willing to play, but I just don’t do couples. It usually ends up like an episode of Full House: Disastrous.

Bob and I did share a kiss on that first night we met. And it was one of THOSE kisses. The kind that curl your toes, and make you want to fall on the floor in some dramatic mock-passing out thing. It was a good kiss. It was DAMN good kiss.

Bob and his boyfriend had been together for years. Like 5 or something when I met them. And they seemed quite happy. They seemed like one of those perfect couples that can play together, and explore their sexual desires while still being totally dedicated to each other. Seemed. Things aren’t always what they seem.

So I got an email from my friend Bob. I love getting email from my friend Bob. He sends me naked pictures of himself. I like naked pictures of Bob. This is not the point. This is an aside.

But this email didn’t include digital treasures. In this email, I found out that Bob and Dick had split up. Dick left Bob (which I can’t imagine because Bob is SO much better than Dick – I know…Irony). And apparently this wasn’t the first time. In their 5 year relationship Dick had done this 3 other times.
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