I smile with him. “Straight as a lamp post over here. But seriously. Maybe it could happen with Tony.”
“I am almost certain it won’t.” Giles' grin fades. “He's too similar to thehundred other guys I’ve been with that all ended up going nowhere fast.”
“Hundred other guys? Didn’t have you down for a player.” I wink at him, which seems to take him momentarily by surprise but then that frown is back.
“Let’s just say I’ve not had much luck with men,” he explains.
“So why not give it a try with a woman? You said you're pansexual so that means you like women too, right?"
“It means I'm attracted to people, not genders,” he explains kindly before wincing. “But generally speaking, I have even worse luck with women, although it has been a long time since I tried.”
My eyes widen. “You have bad luck with women? What hope does a blob like me have then?”
“You are not a blob, Marcello.”
I find myself still smiling and it's not because of what he's said. It's because I like the way he says my name. Firm and yet gentle with the soft “ch” of an Italian c. I like that he's always said my name the right way.
“And the reason I don't date women is nothing to do with my physique. It's because I find women don't really like dating me.”
“Again, why?”
“Because I'm pan, and I've mostly dated men.”
I blink. “You are joking, aren't you?”
Giles shakes his head and indeed looks very serious. “Nope.”
“I don't get it. Why would it make a difference? If I found out a girl I was interested in was bi or pan or whatever, I'd fucking—”
“You'd fucking love it, I know,” Giles finishes for me. “But maybe not for the right reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
Giles inhales deeply before speaking. “Pan or bi women are fetishised while pan or bi men are stigmatised. Straight guys want a queer woman because they just think 'threesomes', and straight girlsdon’t want to go near queer men because they’re worried they’ll get cheated on or dumped. Or worse.”
“Worse?”
“There’s this stupid stigma that’s stuck around since the 1980s and 1990s, from the AIDS epidemic. That we’re going to contaminate them. That we’re more likely to give them an STI.”
“That’s fucking toxic,” I shake my head. “What about a bisexual or pansexual woman? Maybe that could work?”
“Maybe it could,” Giles admits with a small shrug. "But I'm not about to start screening prospective dates based on their sexuality. That would make me as bad as the women who have dumped me for being queer."
“They really dumped you?”
“Many times," Giles confirms with a sad smile.
“I just don't get it—”
“I know, I know. Because I'm built like a tank. But muscles don't make the man. You'll learn this when you're as jacked as me.” He winks at me and yet it doesn't seem remotely playful, more perfunctory.
“I'm not talking about your muscles, Giles. I'm talking about your personality, your character, the way you're a decent bloke. Any woman or man or fuck, gender non-conforming human would be lucky to fall in love with you.”
Giles' face goes completely blank and for a split second I think I've said too much or put my foot in it some other way, but then composure quickly returns and he's smiling again, without a single bounce of his moustache, however.
“Maybe I'll talk to Tony the next time I see him,” he says but I don't exactly hear enthusiasm in his voice.
“Good,” I say and slap my hands on my knees. But I don't feel good. I feel... weird. There's a slow churning in my stomach and I feel a little light-headed. I reach for my water bottle.
