I’ve Danced With George Michael So Many Times

This is street art featuring 3 painted portraits of George Michael side by side, in 3 different colors (magenta, blue, black)
Image by Matt Brown / CC BY

I have a gay male friend who is tall, has a full beard, and is very masculine but often dresses up for house parties in a fabulous dress with matching accessories. The entire glamorous works.

Well, I call him gay. But I think he considers himself Kinsey 5. I faintly recall one time his telling me that he likes boobs and has had a good time in MMF threesomes where he wasn’t directly engaged with the below bits of a lady. In essence, he likes the top half of the horse costume. Which makes perfect sense to me. I’ve known a lot of Kinsey 1 women who were that way, cool on the boobs, not sure about everything below. People like what they like.

Anyway, the first time I ever saw this particular male friend dressed up like Jackie Kennedy Onassis, my mind went instantly to George Michael. My girlhood crush.

And because I’d been drinking, I didn’t think to censor this and evaluate whether it was true. Instead, I just said it really loudly the moment I thought it.

“OH MY GOD!” I yelled at him, as he walked up my porch. “You look just like George Michael! I love you, George Michael! My girlhood dream.”

Sober me looks back on this and realizes that actually, no. My friend didn’t look anything at all like George Michael.

But my friend said, “Damn right, I’ll be your George Michael, Page.”

And we started to sing Wham! in unison. We picked the same song:

Wake me up before you go go 

Don’t leave me hanging on like a yo-yo.

He took me in his arms and twirled me around.

And after a few bars, we stopped and hugged one another. He had to bend down to fully embrace me, but he did, and we pressed our faces together.

“Ah, George Michael, I love you,” I said to him.

“This George Michael loves you just as much,” he replied. “Maybe more.”

And nearly every time he comes to one of my parties, we have a reunion. “Where’s my George Michael?” I’ll call out to him.

“I’m here!” he’ll reply.

It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t look anything like George Michael. And it doesn’t matter that George Michael has passed on.

He’ll always be my George Michael, and we’ll always have this particular kind of love for one another.

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Books by Page Turner:

A Geek’s Guide to Unicorn Ranching

Poly Land: My Brutally Honest Adventures in Polyamory 

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