Things aren’t going too well with my current fling. Let’s call him “Austin.” I am dating him because… well mostly because my friends are so damn enthusiastic about it. He’s a friend of a friend, one of those guys you meet at a bunch of parties and get-togethers, but don’t see much at the more intimate gatherings. In any case, he came home with me on Halloween and we have been seeing each other sporadically since then.
Austin is quite funny, which is probably his #1 quality (as my homies keep saying “You’re dating Austin? That’s great! He’s so funny!”). Turns out he’s also smart and artistic, reads books, writes screenplays, paints, draws. All these things are big sellers for me. But then we get in bed.
The first few times we slept together, I was smashed out of my mind, and I believe he was as well. Who knows what happens at these times. I was, gratefully, lucid enough to produce condoms from the under-the-bed box. The rest was… well, pretty forgettable. I woke with pounding headaches and nausea, he left early with promises to call me soon. And he did call, which was nice. We had dates, attended parties together. All our friends cooed about how adorable it all was.
So the other night we hung out totally sober. As bedtime approached, I was mentally admitting to myself that the sex with Austin was so utterly unspectacular that I didn’t know if I even wanted to go there sober. I hadn’t even shaved my legs. We got in my bed (actually, I’ve never been to his apartment. He said his roommate is “really weird.” Austin didn’t want to tell me what was weird about him, just in case I ever came over. Perhaps this should have been a dealbreaker in and of itself.) in all of our clothes. We chatted for a while. We cuddled.
I like chatting in bed, I like cuddling. But I like sex more, the kind where you can’t wait to get home and get naked. The kind where you reach for each other in the middle of the night, and you set your alarm early so your have a little more time for lovin’ before work. Austin does not seem to want any of this. This doesn’t really offend me; I don’t think it’s conscious on his part, and I don’t think he finds me unattractive or anything. But I realized that I didn’t really want to have sex with him that night. What’s the point if it’s unenthusiastic? For Austin, sex seems to be an afterthought. And I was feeling like a PB&J might actually be more enjoyable.
Then came a telling line from Austin: (big yawn) “Well, I’m pretty tired. You tired?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” I assume this means he doesn’t want to have sex. I am somewhat appalled to realize that I am relieved by this. I am still wearing all my clothes. “I’m gonna take off my bra and pants though.”
I take them off and I am wearing only my undies. They’re cute and lacey, Austin doesn’t notice them. He is still wearing all his clothes.
“Are you sleeping in your jeans?” I ask.
He awkwardly tells me that he always sleeps in pj pants. I am silent, thinking about how he’s definitely slept naked in my bed before, or just in boxers. Things sure are different sober. He seems to take this silence as me thinking he’s weird, which, frankly, I am.
“I’ll take them off, though.” He takes off his pants and we chat more, eventually falling asleep without even kissing.
In the morning, Austin is wearing his jeans again. He tells me he couldn’t sleep, and put them back on in the middle of the night.
He kisses me good bye, and we plan to talk when I get back to town after New Years. And I am beginning to plan my escape from this relationship…