The Last Ever One Night Stand

And another month has gone by.
Well, after finally fully recovering from the flu, it was time for packing. Have spent the last two weeks cleaning, painting and unpacking. Not done yet, but getting there.

Anyway, also started chatting online a bit more with this guy I know vaguely, Tom, a friend of a friend. He lives quite a bit away, moved for his job and is often bored at night. He’s very funny and we’ve often exchanged awkward stories about our dealings with the opposite sex. But sometimes we’ve become rather intimate, in the way that we’ve confided in each other about well, private matters. I just found it amusing and relieving to share these things with Tom, not ever expecting to see him in person. I’ve told him horror stories about awful lovers I’ve had and we’ve asked each other very personal questions. Somehow, it felt all right to answer honestly questions like: 'What’s your favourite position?' or 'What’s the one thing that always turns you on?' – so I actually told him about the secret spot on my body where if I’m kissed there, I completely lose might and would collapse on the floor if the one kissing me wouldn’t be holding my upright. And other things, intimate things. For me this was just talk, in order to kill time or something and I had no intention of seeing this guy at all.

But a few nights ago, I received a phone call. It was Tom. He was in town and in the area and would it be OK to drop by for a cup of tea and have a look at the new flat? I knew I’d feel guilty if I’d said no, after all our weird, intimate talks, so I just said 'Yes' and made us tea. He sat for hours and we had a nice chat ‘n all but it was getting late and so I started to sigh and badly hide a yawn, to imply he was just about to overdo my hospitality. That’s when he announced that he hadn’t really sorted out a place to stay overnight and since it was well after hours, well...?

I’m so terribly co-dependent that I felt rude not to allow him to stay but, having just moved and not bought a sofa bed yet, I could only offer him the other side of my Queen sized bed. I made him promise to behave though. A promise which he of course didn’t keep and for some reason, I decided to go along with it, who can refuse one night of passionate, casual sex with a handsome, trustworthy guy?

However, Tom's moves in the bedroom were anything but passionate, or enticing, or surprising for that matter. He never seemed to act on impulse but rather came across as mechanic and meticulous. Everything he did was as if he was following a recipe and I realized he had cautiously studied everything I had ever said to him in our chats, memorized it all and was doing it all to me, in the order I had told him. But I didn’t feel as if we were having passionate sex; I felt as if I was a prop he needed to be able to follow a script. There was no impulse, no giving and receiving, just Tom putting on a performance to try and please me and impress. I didn’t like it at all.

It bothered me that he had actually ‘studied’ me like a possible opponent in a football match. He never asked me what I wanted to do or whether I enjoyed what he was doing; just assumed he knew exactly what I liked.

So I faked it, for the first time in years, turned away and went to sleep. Got up early to shower, before Tom would get any ideas and told him I had some work to finish at the office (it was Sunday) and had him drop me off there. Haven’t seen him or heard since. Mind you, I blocked him.