A man’s best friend is not his dog.
Vincent and I are intimate. Sexually and sensually, yes. But we’re more than that. We’ve become best friends.
Best friends are made. They are forged. They are fueled by brutal honesty like wildfires are fueled by winds.
Best friends accept their charge: to be present when needed. They put their own needs second. Nothing is ever as important as the need of their best friend.
Best friends become best men, the highest honor given to a man in a wedding party. The best man is the grooms wing man. He’s there to ensure the groom does his job.
Vincent is my best friend, my wing man, my best man.
And I love him for it.