“Will You Be My Friend?”

Will you be my friend?

That’s what I texted this dude I met in my kizomba dance class. Something seemed real, humble and genuine about him. I bumped into him again about a month later at another dance event where we got to know each other a little better in between dancing. 

He was a manly man but without the sexist bullshit. He was cool and down to earth. So, I texted him the next day with this real awkward message.

Will you be my friend?

A few months before this, I had looked around and noticed that I had no close male friendships. Why is that, I wondered? 

Guys need guys to talk to, to get a male point of view on things. I just didn’t have that. I could pay for a male therapist, but this would be a cheaper alternative.

He replied: Of course, man. But we’re already friends.

Then I said: Naw man, I mean, like real friends. Not the corny nonsense, surface-level friendship.

He just seemed like the kind of man that I knew would listen to my shit and give honest feedback. I wanted a male friendship that didn’t require beating our chest, getting drunk, and talking bad about women.

I was never that type of guy, plus I have less tolerance for it since I’m raising little women.

He fit the bill. We talk almost daily about everything. Relationships, spirituality, dance, business, investing. He’s one of my biggest cheerleaders and inspirations, and we have deep fucking conversations. 

He’s now my best friend. I trust him around my daughters and girlfriend. I know that if something were to happen to me, he would be there for them. 

I have a friend for life. I just had to overcome my own internal dialogue about asking another grown man to be my friend.

I have to add, I have a lot of male friends. Real friendships. Unfortunately, we don’t talk much or have a deeper connection because they have families and commitments. I trust them as well. I don’t feel comfortable just calling them up to share a thought or a problem without worrying that I may be taking time away from their loved ones.

By Teevee Aguirre