I can feel when you are half in the room
It is not a vibe I made up to be difficult. It is physical. Hands on me, eyes on a screen, and I go cold. Be here. Notifications can wait.
I am not anti phone. I live on mine. Group chat, rota, banking app I check like a ritual, Hinge I should delete and do not. I will do my face on the Overground with the brightness down and call it multitasking. That is daytime me. Nighttime me, with your mouth on my neck, is a different job. You do not get to clock in for that one while you are still at work in your pocket.
If you want to touch me, put it down. Face down. Not on your chest lighting up every time someone likes a story. Not on the pillow with the lock screen flashing like a tiny jealous third person. On the side. Silent. Then look at me.
I can tell when you are only mostly here
People think presence is a personality trait. It is not. It is a decision you keep making.
You can have your hand up my top and still be gone. I feel it in the timing. The kiss goes slack for half a second while you clock a banner. Your thumb keeps stroking like you are on autopilot. You make the right noises and they land a beat late, like you are dubbed.
I go polite. That is my tell. I get very well spoken and a bit still. I will not always say get off me. I will just stop giving you the good version. You can finish the scene if you want. I have already left.
And no, I do not need a lecture about anxiety or work WhatsApp. I work in a warehouse. I know what a genuine emergency looks like. Your mate sending a laughing emoji is not one.
The moments it properly kills
Kissing first. That is the easy test. If you cannot get through a kiss without checking, we are not having sex. We are having a gap in your scrolling.
Clothes coming off is another one. I am not performing a strip for you to approve between emails. If you sit back on my bed, phone in the other hand, and say keep going like I am content, I will put my top back on and go make tea. I am cocky. I am not a screensaver.
During is the one that still shocks me, and I am not easily shocked. You would think the body would be enough. Apparently not. I have had a man reach for his phone mid way through like he just remembered a thought. I laughed. It was not a nice laugh. He said it was nothing. Nothing is exactly what it felt like.
After is the one that stings more than people admit. You want me filthy, then the second it is done you are on your back in the blue light, thumb going, room gone quiet except that little click. I asked for aftercare. I got a recap of someone else’s night. Water, a joke, a hand on my back. Not you disappearing into a rectangle while I am still sticky and trying to work out if I mattered for ten minutes.
Work is the favourite excuse
I get it. On paper. Managers text at stupid hours. Group chats never die. If you are on call, say you are on call before you put your mouth on me. I can live with a phone on the side for a real reason. I cannot live with you gambling that I will not notice.
What I notice is the face. That tiny flinch toward the glow. You think you hid it. You did not. I am 5’3” and I still see everything when I am that close to you.
Also, be honest about what you are opening. Half the time it is not work. It is a score, a story, a girl you have not muted, a video you could have watched on the toilet like a normal person. If the pull is that strong, you should not be in my bed. Go and have a relationship with the feed. It is very available. It will not ask you to look it in the eye.
This is not about being clingy
I can do casual. I have done casual. I can do a night that does not need a label and still want you present for the hour you asked for.
Wanting eye contact is not the same as wanting a boyfriend. I know I am not meant to say that last word without making it a joke. Fine. Joke. I still want a person who stays in the room when they are touching me.
The internet loves calling everything a standard now. Bare minimum this, ick that. I am not building a manifesto. I am saying a simple thing that should not need a campaign. If your hands are on me, your attention is on me. That is not a parade. That is manners.
You can be filthy. Please be filthy. Talk. Hold my hair properly, not like a handle from a video. Laugh when it gets daft. I like that mix. What I do not like is you splitting yourself in two and handing me the leftover half.
How I say it without turning it into a row
I used to swallow it and go colder. That helped nobody. Now I say it while it is happening, short, not a speech.
Phone.
That is often enough. If he looks confused I say it in a full sentence. Put it down. I can feel you are not here.
If he laughs and keeps scrolling, I stop. I sit up. I do my mouth in the mirror and decide whether I am staying. Sometimes I stay and the phone goes away and the night gets good again. Sometimes I get dressed. Both are allowed. I am not trapped in your bed because we already started.
What I will not do is compete with a screen and then write about it in my diary like I was the problem. I have done that. It is boring. I would rather be called extra than lie there performing want for someone who is elsewhere.
What I actually want
Silent. Side table. You looking at my face when it matters. If you need the time, fine, say give me two minutes and go to the bathroom and deal with your life. Then come back empty handed.
I want the version of you that can stand a bit of quiet without reaching. I want to be able to kiss you without waiting for the next vibration. I want morning hands that are not already unlocking something. Night is easy. Morning is the tell. Same rule.
And if you are the person who needs noise, music is different. Music is in the room with us. A phone lighting up with names is a door opening onto the rest of the world. I did not invite the rest of the world in.
That is it. Not a lesson. Not a girlboss caption. Just me, thirty, knackered from a shift, still willing to be all in for a night if you can be bothered to match it.
Put it away. Touch me like you meant to come over. The notification will be there when we are done. I might not be.
