Anti-Christ Love Song.

So one of my heterosexual friends said he was attracted to my personality. And I was both giddy and kinda freaked out about it.

I understand the concept of emotional and intellectual attractiveness, and I know that's what he was speaking of. He's not physically attracted to me. Still, I was a little confused about all this.

I think I may actually be too conservative, as the straight guy suggested I was, because I worried for a day about what he meant.

I guess I'm more comfortable in a black-and-white world where straight guys are hot, closed-minded and completely unobtainable.

When we get to the point where I like a straight guy and he says that he finds me attractive, the open-minded aspect of my personality goes, "OK, cool. I can handle this. I'm an adult. He's a nice guy paying me a good compliment."

But another side of me freaks the hell out because my mind starts going wild, brainstorming consequences. I start wondering what exactly's going on, what I did to him. The freak in me wonders whether I've hurt or tempted this incredibly kind, funny, intelligent heterosexual, propelling him into a state of sexual confusion that may take years of therapy and seedy one-night-stands to overcome. I wonder if I've somehow, through charm, introduced him into a hell of dark corners, dangerous strangers and a lifetime of difficulty.

Why can't I just be cool with a compliment from a neat guy who happens to be straight?

Because I don't trust myself. Maybe I don't trust compliments. Maybe I don't like a sliding Kinsey scale. Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe I don't like possibility. Maybe, if something good looks like it's about to happen in my life, I have to nip it in the bud right away. I don't know.

Maybe I'm more comfortable when straight people are straight, gay people are gay and bisexuals say up front, "Hey, I'm bisexual. So, watch out, I might just up and mack on ANYBODY!"

In this specific case, I'm attracted to the hetero's personality. I think he's neat. I'm very, very glad that he's my friend. I care about him. I care about his happiness. I want the best for him. When we began talking, I was scared that I was going to smother him with creepy advances and endless, confused phone calls. (You know, like I do with most of the promising guys I meet.) When I didn't scare him away, I felt more confident in my ability to meet strong, non-psychotic people. He's a friend I want to keep.

I had a mild crush on him, which I admitted ages ago and tried to let go. And I didn't think much past it. But, he told me he thought I was attractive, and the dreamy, stupid kid in me lost restraint in moments and thought, "Oh my God, this isn't in my head. This is happening!"

And, allowing myself that thought, I unfortunately was unable to control further, ridiculous thoughts that stemmed from that one. (I'm on anti-obsessiveness medication to control these, but, to my own embarassment, I will give you a glimpse in my head.)

In my head moments after he made his kind comment, the straight guy and I were holding hands, traipsing through fields of marigolds and daisies while flutes playing a variation of the "Little House on the Prairie" theme echoed from the heavens. Then, in a flash, it's 10 years later, and the straight guy and I were bottle-feeding our adopted Mongolian refugee children. Then, we're celebrating the 14th anniversary of our tasteful, black-tie-event, invitation-only commitment ceremony held in a posh hotel ballroom. Then, further into the future, the straight guy and I were giggling with delight over thoughts of women and how he used to find them interesting.

In addition to those thoughts, though, came the ideas that I had the amazing, god-like ability to convert anyone's sexuality at will. I imagined snapping my finger in the direction of any random person and being able to control their sexual preference. BOOM, you're straight. BOOM, you're gay. BOOM, you're attractive. BOOM, you're a duck. I had power. I snap my fingers, and Michael Jackson becomes a believeable heterosexual. I snap my fingers, and Rush Week isn't the only time that muscled, drunken frat boys are naked and violating goats. I snap my fingers, and I forgive Jude Law for being in "Cold Mountain" and let him into my house - the house I share with the straight guy and our Mongolian orphans.

These thoughts, which start at "ridiculous" and end up "somewhere beyond reality," happened within moments of him telling me this compliment. I felt foolish having them, and I now confess them as penance. I don't like where my mind goes when it runs around off its leash.

I am already in therapy, and now you all know the reasons.

I don't like being able to have free range over these thoughts as plausible realities. I don't trust myself to love anyone. I become selfish.

I like my heterosexual friend. I don't trust myself enough for there to be any sort of "attraction" possibility there. I don't want to hurt my friendship with him, so that's all I want it to be.

Actually, I want more from someone, but I can't have what I want with the straight guy. I want to meet someone new and love him. And I want to keep my other friends straight.