Once upon a time, I found myself dating a guy. I had never liked a man so much and so soon in, well, my entire life.
There was just something about him that made me feel 100 percent myself.
No silence was awkward, and no joke was misunderstood. All sarcasm was responded with sarcasm, and sitting alone with him in an empty bar on a boring Sunday evening was the most fun I'd ever had with anyone in a very long time.
It's safe to say I liked this guy enough to not want to fuck it up. I tried to play it cool, be myself, relax and see how things progressed naturally.
Yet, there was only one problem getting in the way of our happy ever after. We lived in different counties.
Now, it sounds extreme, but we both lived fairly close to the borders, and it wasn't something a two-hour drive couldn't solve. It was still an annoyance, and I couldn't see him as much as I wanted to (which was practically every day). But, it wasn't impossible to meet, and we had both done our best between our work schedules to make time for each other.
So, what happens when the guy you're completely smitten with and who lives in another country comes to stay the night at your place?
Well, eh, nothing...
I was so terrified of ruining anything. I wanted to get to know him better, and I'd never met anyone I wanted to know everything about before.
To me, the good old-fashioned, "A guy's only ever after one thing" saying was circulating firmly around in my mind, and I really didn't want it to be true. Not this time.
So, I warded him off a lot. Any chance I got, I told him he was more than welcome to stay at my house, but under some conditions. We could Netflix and chill, but without the actual "chill' part.
And he was the perfect gent about it. That is, until the sun had set, and he was cuddled up beside me in my squeaky little bed.
To say this boy had wondering hands was an understatement. I kept reminding him of our agreement, and oh boy, it took everything to keep remembering it myself. Why did he have to be so attractive?
Thankfully, I'd pulled the "don't shave your legs trick," so that way, whenever he tried to make a move, I didn't let him. I didn't want this guy to feel my prickly legs, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn't discreetly shave them in the bathroom without him thinking I was having a poo.
The sexual tension was killing me. At the time, I was proud of myself for how long I put off having sex with this handsome guy. The more I saw him, the more I wanted to jump on top of him.
And when the day finally came, well, let's just say I regretted waiting.
We'd both waited so long. We both knew it was going to happen, so it was just plain awkward. We'd built up the sexual tension so much that it felt like we just did it to get it over and done with.
It was as if we'd both gone back in time and reclaimed our virginity. It was awkward, it was clumsy and it just wasn't the burning desire that had been there before.
It didn't live up to our expectations, and we were both bitterly disappointed. This isn't something I ever thought I'd say, but I wish I had just given in the first night he stayed over. It would have been more natural, and it was what we wanted.
There was no pressure, no tense buildup, nothing.
I regret not having sex with him that first night. I guess things just work out that way. We killed our own mood later on by setting our standards too high.
Thankfully, once the shock of the disappointment wore off, we got ourselves together and tried again. That time, things went better. They went way better. And they have gone nowhere but up ever since.
So, don't worry about social norms or moral expectations. If it feels right and natural, and it's what you want, then do it.