If you want sex, say sex
If you want me, say that. “Let’s see where it goes” is a man keeping the exit door oiled.
I used to think that sentence made me look chilled. Easy. The sort of girl who does not need a label to enjoy herself. Turns out it just made me available on his timetable and unpaid in the feelings department.
I can do casual. I have done casual. I like filthy and I like leaving before sunrise when that is the deal. What I cannot stand is the costume. The whole “we are just flowing” act, when one of you is planning a life in your head and the other one is keeping you warm enough that you do not go looking.
It is not mysterious. It is unpaid labour
People talk about situationships like they are this modern invention. They are not. We just gave the half measure a prettier name so nobody has to feel like the villain.
You sleep there. You know how he takes his tea. You have a joke that only works in that kitchen. His jumper lives on your chair. And still, if you ask what this is, he looks at you like you have brought a solicitor to bed.
That is not chemistry being protected. That is access being protected.
I see it in the group chats too. Someone posts a screenshot of “busy week babe” sent at 11pm on a Saturday, and twelve people try to translate it. We have turned dating into a second job. Decoding. Waiting. Performing unbothered. Meanwhile he has had the benefit of a girlfriend without ever having to introduce one.
The phrases that should make you put your shoes on
There is a whole script now. You have heard it. You have probably used a version of it yourself. I have.
“I don’t do labels.”
“Why do we have to define it?”
“I like you, I am just not sure what I want.”
“Let’s not put pressure on it.”
Pressure. As if wanting to know whether you can text him on a random Tuesday is the same as asking for a mortgage. As if a grown man will catch fire if he has to say the word girlfriend.
Last minute plans. Never a Saturday booked like you matter. Soft launched as a wrist, a table edge, the back of your head. Future tense dies the second you use it. You get “what are you doing tonight” and never “I want you there in three weeks.”
If the only time he is sure about you is when his hand is on you, that is not a grey area. That is a preference. He prefers the version of you that does not ask.
Sex is not the problem. The silence after it is
I am not anti sex. Please. I like it. I am good at it. I will not pretend a dry spell makes me more moral.
Casual only works when both people are telling the same story. You can have someone in your bed and still be honest. You can say, I want this and I do not want a relationship. That is adult. That is clean. I can decide if I am in or out.
A situationship is when the story changes depending who is speaking. In the dark it is “I miss you” and “stay.” In the daylight it is “I do not want to rush.” Same mouth. Different contract.
And I know why it lands. For a bit you feel chosen. Body against body and the day shuts up. Then you are on the night bus with your makeup sliding and you check the chat like an idiot because he said something soft at 1am and now it is 4pm and he has gone quiet.
Quiet in a man still does me in. I will own that. I fill silence with jokes and lipstick and other people. Does not mean I should keep volunteering for the same disappearing act.
Consistency is not the same as a lack of spark
This is the bit that makes me want to laugh and then have a little cry in the bathroom mirror.
We got trained. The one who keeps you guessing feels like chemistry. The one who texts when he said he would feels “too sure.” Too safe. A bit boring. So you go back to the one who breadcrumbs you with a song and three days of nothing, because at least your stomach drops. At least it feels like something is happening.
I have watched a mate end things with a man who introduced her to people, planned ahead, stayed kind. She said the spark was not there like it was with the one who left her on read. She is back on the apps “figuring out her dating goals.”
No she is not. She is addicted to the uncertainty and calling it taste.
Spark is real. I am not going to sit here and pretend I want a spreadsheet boyfriend. I want filthy and funny and a bit of heat. I also want to know if I can use the word us without him flinching. Those are allowed to exist in the same person. If they do not, that is information. Not a puzzle for you to solve over six months of your life.
Have the conversation once. Then believe the answer
Do not hold a tribunal. Do not write a speech. Do not send a paragraph at 1am after wine and a voice note from your flatmate.
Say it in daylight. Something like: I like this. I want to know if we are dating or if this is just sex. Either is fine if it is true. I am not doing the in between.
Then shut up and watch.
If he is in, you will feel it in the plan, not the poetry. Saturday appears. You get a name in front of his friends. He does not punish you for asking.
If he goes vague, sulky, suddenly “stressed at work,” suddenly very good in bed and very bad at sentences, you already have it. Do not translate. Do not wait for him to become brave. Bravery that needs a three week runway is not bravery. It is him hoping you get tired of asking.
Women waste months lowering the bar so a man can stay comfortable. We say we are easygoing when we are just quiet about what hurts. Then he tweets later about wanting someone who communicates. Mate. She did. You just did not like the content.
Casual is allowed. Cowardice is not
I will say it again because people hear “I want clarity” and assume I am marching everyone to a jewellery shop.
You can want a body and not a boyfriend. You can want a boyfriend and still like it filthy. You can be 30, share a bathroom with two mates, chase a promotion, and still not want to be someone’s secret Tuesday.
What you cannot do, if you have any self respect left, is keep accepting relationship behaviour without relationship intentions and then act shocked when he treats you like an option. He told you. He told you in the gaps. He told you every time the future tense died in his mouth.
“Let’s see where it goes” only works if both of you are actually looking. Most of the time one of you is looking and the other one is parking.
I want sex when it is honest. I want a person when it is honest. I do not want a brand name for being kept in the hallway of someone else’s life.
Say it. Or go. Those are the grown options. The rest is just better lighting on the same old exit.
