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I had never thought about the expression “sweating bullets” before in my life. For me it just meant you were, like, nervous about something and that was it. Tonight however I found myself understanding that idiom in levels I wished I didn’t.

I had been gay, openly gay that is, since I turned 21 years old. My family was reluctant at first and I could very well bore you to death telling you the excruciating torture my coming out had been, how I suffered (metaphorically speaking) the process of “acceptance” from most of my relatives whom I didn’t give a flying fuck about, yet I won’t. I had decided to step away from the family environment I disliked so much. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my relatives or anything is jut that… they always acted with hypocrisy towards my personal business in particular: if my brother or sister went on a date, it’s nothing outside from this world; if a cousin got his girlfriend pregnant, well mistakes are prone to happen to horny teenagers; but if I happened to go on a date with a MALE friend, even if I made clear he’s just a friend (fact that I emphasized over a dozen times), then drama poured over me like a monsoon. My mother was the one that cared the most for this details; always bombarding me with questions about my outings: “Who are you going with?, where are you going?, why today?, are you spending the night out?, have you seen his serological results?”; even though I know she does it because she cares, sometimes I feel suffocated by how she treats me. And that would all be bearable if I was younger but at the age of 28, with a steady not underpaid job and having my thirties so close I’ve decided it’s time to move away from the house where I was raised. Please don’t be stunned about my age and the fact that I still live in my parents’ house: in my country this isn’t weird at all, some bachelors get to live with them way longer than me. Anyway I’m derailing from the main story.

Before explaining why I’m sweating bullets while sitting at this fancy restaurant table all by myself, let me tell you about the reason for my momentaneous loneliness. I was about to introduce my current boyfriend to my mother yet neither of them had arrived yet. Why was that such a stressful event for me? Well, for instance, my mother had never met any of my exes. And my current mate was… unique in many ways. While waiting I started remembering how we met. Let me tell you about it.

I decided to stay single until I had the chance to leave my city. I wanted to take any decent job offer I could that drove me as far as possible from “home” thus I didn’t pay much attention to personal affairs. Yet life’s a bitch that just loves to see how an individual suffers when she throws a tantrum which consequences kind of turn one’s life upside down. I had had my fill of jerks and dicks that wanted nothing more than casual sex or a willing slut to appease their balls; I had also had one or two serious relationships that ended due to boredom from my part: I wanted a partner that I could always look up to nonetheless guys I stumbled upon usually looked up to me. My best friend says it is because of my attitude: she argues that it is kind of refreshing to find someone as open minded and versatile as me. I, of course, never believed that: I firmly think I’m just a lazy underachiever that just happened to get a degree because the system can be easily hacked and twisted. Leaving my self perception issues aside, I was eating a volován (traditional pastry with different fillings from the harbor of Veracruz), when a guy a little taller than me stepped next to the counter and ordered the same I did. Street eating is one of the few delicacies that my beloved city could offer to most tourists and I was sure as hell that this handsome guy was exactly that: a tourist. And yes, he was hot, like, steaming hot, therefore I ventured to start chatting with him. To my surprise he responded to my conversation with a deep yet lovely manly voice that I instantly loved. After doing some small talk standing on the street we finished our snacks and introduced properly: his name was Alexander and although I hate that name, it fitted him like a glove. I offered to act as a tourist guide while he was in the city and he accepted: my direct offer came out of the blue so it kind of surprised him and you could see it on his face. He gave me his number I gave him mine and we arranged to go out on saturday. At first I just wanted to get inside his pants, honestly, but as we started going out more I discovered he was quite an amazing individual: he was a mathematician and computer programmer working for some companies here in the city, yet most of his work was done online, thousands of kilometers away from his contractors; he had visited our humble town in order to evaluate some hotels and other touristic and harbor industry companies inner systems (whatever that means); he told me he was surprised how warm everyone was in this city and despite the criminal rates most of the natives were actually quite likeable. For me, he seemed perfect, he had it all: the looks, the voice, the scent (I swear I almost came inside my pants the first time he hugged me and I could perceive that subtle musky yet fresh scent of his); and it was then that my self esteem issues kicked in.

We had been going out for some time, always as friends, and he never gave any strong signal that he was gay or bi. I had chickened out from asking him out or trying to force him into a kissing situation since the very moment I started learning more about him. So, even if he was into guys, how could someone as seemingly perfect as him could be interested in someone as bland as me? He was like the cereal, the box and the prize and I was nothing more than the label on the soup can three aisles away. We kept going out nevertheless and during one of our street food huntings my heart exploded when he told me: “you know, I think you’ve become my best friend here in the city”. I was abashed by his words: somehow I had entered the friendzone without trying. Yay. He perfectly knew my preferences and most of the time joked about my tastes in cocks and the like; he seemed perfectly comfortable hanging around me, but I never gave him a single sign or comment that could make him think I liked him as something more. After the sixth month of going out with him and not coming out about how I felt I decided that I’d keep him as a friend (a noble, wonderful, intelligent, super interesting and sexy friend) rather than jeopardizing my relationship with him. Nonetheless my decision was soon overruled by one very memorable event: we were eating ice cream near the pier and were walking silently side by side when, he turned my world bottom-side-up. As casually as you would ask someone for the hour he told me: “I think I really like you”. I froze in place and stopped licking my ice cream midway; with my tongue out, eyes as big as dishes and a blush that I swear was noticeable despite my tanned skin I turned my head towards his. What looked back into my direction had to be the warmest, sexiest and most desirable grin I had ever seen in a living being. After about a minute of static silence between us he replied: “you really are cute. Would you like to go out with me, like, on a romantic date?”. I basically choked. My ice cream was melting transforming the holding hand in a total dairy mess and I couldn’t come up with a better answer than a meekly: “ok”. He smiled from ear to ear and gently gave my nose a peck: “you won’t regret it”, he said. Well, of course I wouldn’t regret it, he was a freaking greek god to me and he had just asked me out!

I had to cut my daydreaming once I heard the noise of chairs being pulled in order to accommodate another person at the table. My mother had arrived to the restaurant and seemed to be a little bothered that I hadn’t noticed that fact earlier. Talking about my mother is quite simple: she gave birth to me, I’m sure she loves me but I don’t feel comfortable sharing my private life details with her which seems to upset her quite a lot. We have a… troublous kind of relationship.

–Well, good evening son. Why are you sitting alone? –she asked me as she sat in front of me.

–Evening, mother. Alexander hasn’t arrived yet, he had some last moment things he had to solve before coming.

–Well, so far he hasn’t made quite a good impression, don’t you think?

–Mom, please, don’t start…

–I’m just saying that if he truly cared about what we’re doing here he would’ve tried to be on time –I hated when she so casually threw those passive-aggressive claims.

–He tried to but his job kept him busy longer than what we expected –anger was starting to seep into my voice, god she always knew how to make me angry.

–Very well… I guess we should wait for him before ordering. I guess reading the menu for a while will help build my appetite– I swear sometimes she just wanted me to get mad at her.

I didn’t answer her last cheeky retort however. I opted to try and keep my cool while turning all of my attention to my cellphone. I sent him a SMS: “Where are you? Mother has already arrived :(”. I was worried mostly because whenever unexpected issues at work arose that meant a 1-2 hours delay. Personally I had no trouble with that, I knew he was a perfectionist when it was about his work, yet I don’t think my mother would withstand politely a 1 hour delay. My phone rang, he had sent his reply: “Already on my way. Had to pick up something. Be brave kitten. xo”. I blushed as soon as I saw the message. He knew I got week on the knees whenever he called me kitten; he came up with the nickname around the second month we were going steady. He claimed that whenever I was in a very good mood or in a post orgasmic state I would start rubbing against him like a little kitten: “I swear of god one of these days you’re going to start purring”, he told me once. I loved whenever he called me like that and he knew it and he took advantage of it.

–What got you flustered son? Are you chatting with him?– my mother’s voice ripped me from my memories (again), she asked the question in nothing more than a mere curious tone.

–Yes, mom. He says he’s on his way, it won’t be long before he arrives.

–Very well, at least he has enough politeness to let us know that. Would you like to order something to drink meanwhile?

–Actually yes, that would be nice –I said this noticing my throat getting dry from the sole idea of Alexander meeting my mother.

She ordered a pitcher of clericot and also two glasses of “Agua de Jamaica” while we decided on what to eat. I also told the waiter to have a cold jug of root beer prepared for when the next diner appeared. Alexander loves that thing; to me it tastes like dirt. Even the ideal man has to have flaws I guess.

–So, are you gonna tell me why you’ve decided to introduce me to this particular partner of yours? I mean, not that I’m complaining or anything but this would be the first of your lovers I get to know –my mother spoke with a disdain in her voice that made me cringe. Sincerely since long time ago the mere sound of her voice made my blood boil.

–If I have to be honest mom, he is the one that insisted about doing this exercise in futility –my answer came as cold and dry as stale bread and cheap wine.

–Son, please, you have to at least try to understand that I worry about you all the time…

–Oh, I do understand it mother. Yet I see no reason to be so eager in prying about my personal life; you had never worried about it before and suddenly now that I’m a grown man you are worried to death that I may end up with a pimp, a degenerate or a STD –I admit that I lost control easily, that may have been ruder than I had intended.

To this, I received no answer. My mother had her lips sealed tight and her expression was like if she had suddenly received a punch on her stomach. Perfect, thanks to my short temper now we could begin the guilt games.

–Your father and I worked our entire lives in order to provide you with everything you or your brothers may have needed –she was speaking slowly and crestfallen. –We gave our everything for you and yet you insist in always complaining about how we were never there, how we didn’t care about you; you claim that I don’t know my own son…

–Do you mom? Do you? Because I clearly remember how I told you I wanted to go with a psychologist when I was 15 years old but you told me: “what would you need it for? Don’t speak nonsense!”; I was depressed but it wasn’t until I turned 20 and you happened to find one of my self loathing letters, which I wrote just to be able to carry on with my daily life, that you actually got worried and you forced me to go with a psychologist that happened to be an old and not secretive at all friend of yours.

–I was worried! Why didn’t you tell me you felt like that?

–I did! For Christ’s sake I did and you just disparaged what I told you and how I was feeling!

–How was I suppose to believe in what a teenager told me? They usually just like to call for attention

–Because I am your son! That’s the reason why you should’ve at least suspected something was off! But then how about how you didn’t believe me when I came out and you just told me that I should, and I quote: “at least try not to be gay for the sake of my health”.

–Well, you just dropped that bomb on your father and I and I was worried!

–So was I! I was freaking terrified! Yet I swallowed my fear and I tried to be as honest to you as I could. Even Father said nothing about it but you just kept on insisting that I met one of your friend’s daughters, that I went to the church and all the annoying things you made me do only to convince you about that I was not “just confused”.

–Son you’ve got to try and understand how I felt about this

–Well, mother, deal with it. I like dudes, I love guys, and the one that you’re going to meet tonight is my boyfriend to whom I’m deeply in love so try at least to act a little civilized.

Again, she said nothing. The waiter then came in and poured three separated glasses of clericot, left the beverages in front of each of us and one in front of the empty chair to my right. Deep, cold silence ensued.

I always thought about how I totally lost my shit whenever I talked to Mother. She always made me feel like I was… awry or inadequate.

–Son, I don’t want you to resent me –she said that with a very motherly tone. It seemed that truly worried her.

–It’s like, ten years late for that, mom –I said lower that I had thought, my attention felt urgently attracted to the menu

–I just don’t want you to hate me son –when she sad this her voice broke a little.

–I don’t hate you mom… I could never do even if I wanted, which I don’t –this was true, one hundred percent honesty from me.

She looked surprised at my words, but before she said anything my phone rang and I picked it up. It was a SMS: “Finally arrived. Where are you?”. My hands started to sweat profusely. Despite that I wrote him the answer: “Just ask for L’s reservation”.

–He’s here –I felt a lump in my throat. Was it me or was the restaurant’s air conditioner malfunctioning?

–Good. Just moderately late then.

I was about to give a sassy retort when the hostess came walking with Alexander by her side. If there was any dessert on the menu I would surely trade it for that beautiful creature. He was carrying a small square box under his arm; he also was wearing that purple tie I gave to him as a present some months ago. I was feeling like I was about to have a panic attack and then he smiled at me; that was everything I needed to calm down a bit. I smiled him back.

I stood up in order to receive him properly and mom followed my lead.

–Good evening everyone. –he greeted before turning his attention towards my mother. –I’m really sorry for the delay ma’am. Nice to finally meet you. My name’s Alexander, I’m your son’s boyfriend.

The expression on my mother’s face was priceless. If it had been captured on picture it could have very well been the next viral meme on the internet.

–I see you dressed yourself up for the occasion –I told him with a small laugh.

–Well, you told me it was an important event, I couldn’t come here in my birthday suit, right?

–I would’ve paid to see that –I hugged him and gave him a little peck on the tip of his nose

–Hey mister, behave. We are in front of your mother –Alexander returned the little kiss in the same way, it hugged me firmly and then proceeded to take a sit on my right.

–He’s… Alexander? –my mother asked.

–The one and only ma’am

–But he’s…

–Gorgeous? –I quickly interceded. –Unbelievably handsome? Highly charming? Absolutely loveable?

–Aw, stop it, you’ll make me blush in front of your mother –the tips of his ears were already turning red.

–Well I’m not saying anything that isn’t true...

–He’s a shepherd –my mother suddenly spat out this phrase, interrupting me.

–I actually am a mathematician ma’am –he said with a slightly frowned brow, then he said to me: –I thought you already told her what I did for a living.

–Well, yes, I already did but…

–He’s a german shepherd –she said, interrupting us again.

–Well, he clearly isn’t a chihuahua.

–Like you would settle for a chihuahua you insatiable creature –Alexander said this before kissing me on the cheek and tickling my skin with his muzzle.

–Shush it or I’ll be the one blushing –I leaned and caressed the side of his muzzle with my lips.

–Your boyfriend is a dog.

–He’s actually an anthro, mom.

–My son is going out with a dog.

–Mom, it is kind of rude to say it like that…

–A dog, a big dog, is sleeping with my son.

–Sleeping is kind of an understatement… Ouch! Hey! –Alexander had nudged me hard on the ribs.

–No intimate life retorts in front of your parents, babe.

–Where’s the fun in that? –I said while sticking my tongue out at him.

Then, out of nowhere, my mother chugged down her glass of clericot then went ahead and did the same with mine and Alexander’s. This took both of us by surprise.

–Before any of you says one more word, I need two things: first, a couple of daiquiris; second, an explanation of why my son is bedding an animal.

My mother’s eyes were filled of so many emotions: rage, disgust, motherly preoccupations, but more than anything, befuddlement. After hearing my mother call him an animal, Alexander’s ears went flat on his skull and his tail went limp. Boy, mother surely knew how to make anyone feel miserable. Before she could say anything else I called the waiter over and asked him for my mother’s cocktails and Alexander’s root beer. It was hard for me to believe that not long ago I was pondering over the meaning of sweating bullets; it seemed that I was about to understand that expression way better than I had thought before the night ended. And man, it sure promised to be a long, challenging night.