I’m lying in a bed, or on the floor.
It’s been a pretty fun night, it’s been loose. A night for people who don’t care too much about the rules or what stuck-up prudes have to say.
Young people who know better, women who swear, who don’t go to church, who don’t care about bank balances or five-year plans. My people.
There are guys here. Not boys, but certainly not men. They don’t ask women out on ‘official dates’, but they wouldn’t drag you down an alley or anything.
I see the slightly juvenile games they play with the girls, getting close enough for intimacy without admitting that’s what they’re after. No admission of desire means no bruised egos. I don’t have time to pursue them, but I don’t want them repulsed by me.
We’re all tucked in for the night. People are shouting out dumb, rude things to make each other laugh.
We work together. He tells off-colour jokes, but I know he’s educated enough to know what they are. We don’t have sexual tension, I can tell that he’s not charmed by me.
He’s not gone in for the kill, but he warns me he’s a ‘cuddly sleeper’. I’m not fussed by him or the charms he thinks he has with younger girls, so I turn over and roll my eyes.
It starts far too soon for him to be asleep.
His hand is on my hip, then my stomach, then eventually, plainly on my breast. It’s not doing much, but it’s there. Nowhere I haven’t been before, this territory has been covered at other parties.
Maybe those other times, I was secretly dying for it to happen. I hoped a casual hand held there for long enough would lead to real intimacy, something deliberate. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if after broaching that gap between us, they could say, ‘I want to kiss you’?
Other times, I was curious to see how they’d do, if they’d have the guts. This time, I think he’s a bit of a twat. Spoilt, crude, unimpressive. But my response is the same.
Play dead. Play dumb. Feign ignorance. Feign sleep.
Don’t sit up, don’t cause a scene.
I wish I’d said something like ‘If you’re that obsessed with my tits, you could at least own up to it.’
But as much as I’m unimpressed with him, I don’t want everyone else to think I’m a prude, unapproachable, a naïve girl who thinks kisses and dates should come before a good time. I don’t want it to seem like I construed an innocent misplaced hand for a come-on, like I was secretly hoping he would make a move.
I let it (the hand) stay there for a while before moving so that it gets brushed aside. Just natural enough for us to keep up the charade of sleep, though his breath isn’t deepened or audible, and neither is mine.
Eventually, it comes back. Eventually I move again.
This is how you know they think you’re hot. They let it happen ‘accidentally’.
Their mouth a bit closer to your neck.
If you like it, play dead. If you’re not fussed, play dead. If you’re hoping he stops, ignore it, play dead.
Only if he were really aggressive, only if you’re 100% certain that he’s not asleep, could you even pick up his hand and deliberately move it. He might get offended, but he’d probably still pretend to be asleep and roll away, forget everything in the morning.
It’s less awkward for them to claim you in the dark, when your back is turned.
When you’re ‘asleep’. When they’re ‘asleep’.
All bets are off, you were in the same bed together. If it’s really bad, you could always move. He’s not covering your mouth, you could say something.
I want to get a cab home, but I’ve lost my shoe. I’ll find it in the morning under another guy’s pillow.
Just put your own arm across your chest and keep your legs together.
He’s a cuddly sleeper.
It didn’t really count, he didn’t try to kiss me, didn’t turn me over, didn’t go for my pants. He didn’t embarrass himself by admitting he wanted me. He didn’t hurt me, only wanted to feel what that section of my flesh felt like.
He tried his luck. I played dead.
It wasn’t that big of a deal