Can you believe Friday night was the first time I have seen The Shawshank Redemption?
So, the BOTM has been blowing a bit hot-and-cold on me. And not in a good way.
And it is an understandable hot and cold. The cold is almost directly a reaction to the hot. He does fancy me - but almost too much. He is therefore reacting to that by not letting him get too close to me, because he doesn't want to hurt himself. He is worried that his job will change very soon and he will end up having to move away, and he doesn't want to get hurt when (if) that happens. I have said he can't go around living on a maybe, but until the job uncertainty is settled he is somewhat cautious.
He outlined all of this in text conversations when I was trying to convince him to come over for Friday night. I had a real concern that he was trying to blow me off for good. Again, not in a good way. But a small amount of coersion convinced him to come over and we had a very nice night in watching films (including the said Shawshank Redemption) and chatting. Lots. We chatted absolutely loads and made each other giggle.
Anyhow, then came time for bed...
This is probably why I do so much better with one-night-stands. You know where you are there. You are both back at yours (or theirs) with a single, very animal instinct. You are going to do bonking. You both know this, so it isn't a surprise when one of you peels the underpants off of the other (if they are even wearing them). In fact it would be a disappointment if you didn't. But this wasn't the case. There was no so obvious a motive. He could have just been staying over; just somewhere to stop because he'd had a drink (albeit a tiny dribble of Pimms). Or it could have just been for a cuddle - we all love just a cuddle. It could even just have been for a chat; or because it was too late to be driving home; or because it was easier than driving home; or maybe testing the water; maybe it was the next step, but the step before sex; maybe he did want sex; maybe he just wanted to spend some time with me; maybe; maybe; maybe.
Well, we went up to bed and I snook into bed whilst he was in the bathroom (I had already done my bathroom bits; I wasn't going to bed dirty). I kept my underpants on - firstly in case we weren't having sex (it's a little bit of a surprise otherwise) and secondly in case we were having sex it forms part of the foreplay. He also kept his pants on and clambered in next to me. We then had a kiss ... and a cuddle... and a chat... and then went to sleep. Still cuddling though, that's always a positive.
So, why didn't I make a move? Well, because I didn't want to. Not because I didn't find him sexually attractive - I did. But because I didn't want it to be inappropriate; to scare him off. He may well have wanted it and have been slightly disappointed that I didn't make the move. As I see it the cons of each circumstance are:
High risk - start off trying to have sex; petrify him as he thinks I am predatory and untrustworthy. He then spends the entire night on the edge of the bed too scared to go to sleep in case I attack again.
Low(ish) risk - don't have sex; he then spends the rest of the night slightly concerned that maybe I don't fancy him.
Yes, if he really wanted sex he could of course have made the move on me; however as ever I am the ever-so-slightly more dominating of the two, and I think it was mutually accepted that if anything were to happen, I would be the instigator.
Obviously I have already staked out the emotional basis for not trying anything on. There is also the logistical side. Well, sort-of. The major problem is that I have an enormous penis. Physically it is challenging. However that is only the half of it. Well, quite. The main problem is that it then becomes a talking point. Once they finally get over the shock of the size of it and stop blathering about "Oh my gosh... that's enormous... I've never seen one so big... seriously, that's huge... "then suddenly it is the centre of discussion.
"Have you had problems getting people to take it?"
"How many people have you actually had it in?"
"Is it natural?"
"When did it develop like that?"
"Does it run in the family?" (slightly odd that last one - firstly, how would I know; secondly, why would you want to know? Are you going to chase around my brother for a bonk as well?)
"Do you struggle getting condoms to fit?"
"Do you struggle getting underpants to fit?"
"Do the footballers in the showers make comments?".
All this time I'm just wanting to get 'at it' and suddenly we're having a full-blown conversation about anatomy, genetics and evolution. And I'm not getting full-blown. In fact, it's actually having a destimulating effect. There's nothing quite to kill an erection as considering whether the size of genetalia runs in the family. Everyone thinks an enormous penis should be amazing, a bonus, but in fact it is a hindrance. So, I kept it in my pants.
And so we woke up on Saturday in each other's arms, cuddling nicely and chatting and bantering. So perhaps it was the right decision. Perhaps what that does is enhance the debate next time as to whether to have sex then, or whether things are going along just nicely without the bonking; increase the expectation; crank up the pressure, the stress. At this rate I'm going to talk myself back to celebacy.
But then he decided to throw it all into further uncertainty yesterday by again issuing his concerns over his job and his emotions, and he hasn't been in contact since. For a chap such as myself who runs things through his mind in a million different combinations, this is never a good thing. I flow to imagining that he is head-over-heels in love with me and is figuring the best way not to scare me off with his devotion; then ebb to concerns that he really doesn't fancy me at all and is just being polite and not wanting to destroy someone who is clearly a fixated lunatic.
Maybe if we'd had sex he've known that it was something worth trying for. That or maybe he would think I operated purely on animal instinct and wasn't in it for a proper relationship.
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