I haven’t started 2011 in the best style. I made a boy cry, I was an arse, it really wasn’t my finest moment. I’ve been ‘dating’ Mr S.A for a few weeks now, though I say dating in inverted comma’s because all it’s actually involved is hanging out at my place, watching lots of movies, eating vast amounts of food, and having someone warm my bed. We get along brilliantly, have lots in common, and I enjoyed the affection through cold winter nights. For a hermit like me, spending almost a day in someone else’s company is quite a miracle. However, as per usual, though Mr S.A is a fantastic guy, for me there is no extra spark, no extra firework to really make me crave his undying attention.
Trying to be as honest as I could, before Christmas we had ‘the’ chat where I explained that though he was a great guy it simply wasn’t working out for me. He’s going home this month so nothing could happen long term, but I don’t like to fuck with people and could feel that he was more emotionally involved than I was. It all seemed fine, we chatted, we decided that we’d still hang out, we’d take the pressure off because, after all, we actually do get on extremely well.
It seems however that I was rather naive in my decision to let this continue. There’s a thin line between flings and friends and last night that line ripped with emotional force. I met Mr S.A in town, we had some dinner, chatted, shopped, enjoyed each other’s company. There was affection, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t instigate it but I didn’t stop it because feeling someone’s hand on your back, or their fingers intertwined with yours is something hard to pull away from. This is especially the case if you’ve had someone in your bed for weeks and already have that intimacy. The night went sour however, when a friend of Mr S.A’s asked me whether I’d miss him. I was caught off guard, I didn’t know what to say, and before I could stop myself the words tumbled out of my mouth. “We’re just friends. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. We’re just having fun.”
I suppose, at a fundamental level, it is the truth – for me anyhow. However, upon hearing this Mr S.A. got un-expectantly upset, there were tears, it was awful, I felt like the biggest arsehole to have ever graced Soho. We exited the club, talked on the street, explained our feelings. Mr S.A begged for me to come back to his, I said that it really wasn’t a good idea as self discipline is not one of my fortes and we’d simply add another string to our already sticky cobweb. I missed my tube and spent two hours on the bus feeling like a bastard.
It only goes towards my feeling that you simply cannot be friends with benefits in any way. Whether Mr S.A was going back home or not, I’m not sure there is a long romantic future in it for me. But it seems that where intimacy is enjoyed wires cross, emotions develop, and someone always ends up getting hurt. And the worst thing is, I’ve probably lost someone who could have become a very good friend.