It started off as a bit of fun. A quirk, not a red flag. He would pull down my trousers, and my underwear, then mockingly inspect my dick. He would pull back my foreskin, bring his nose very close to my dick, and would let me know if it smelt. I found it a little mortifying and uncomfortable, but laughed it off. I think before you’ve had sex with someone, to be analysed in such a desexualising way is pretty awful. I found it super uncomfortable but tried to not let it bother me too much. He told me I need to wear my foreskin back all the time in my underwear so that my dick doesn’t smell, like dick. I know my dick is clean, maybe the PH balance will go slightly off now & then if I use the wrong soap, but my dick is clean. I’ve never encountered a guy with this sort of OCD approach to male cleanliness, but I wasn’t a fan. I personally quite like smells. A slightly musky, unwashed man can be a bit of a turn on for me, call me an animal. Not for this boy however. He wanted me to smell like a bar of Dove soap, which, knowing my body, was never going to happen. Also, I didn’t want it to. That being said, i think if you pulled back the foreskin of any unexpecting man and put your nose on it, it would, surprise, smell like dick. This sort of mocking of my genitalia & sexuality continued. Every time we met he would do the ‘penis smell inspection’. Desexualising me more and more with every encounter, while also keeping me firmly outside of the friend zone. I didn’t know where I was. He would kiss me almost every time afterwards to reassure me and not make me feel insecure. ‘Oh stop it’ he would say if I looked offended. He joked that he was strictly a bottom, but being vers myself that didn’t bother me much, he however seemed to have a clear problem with our height difference, and would sometimes pretend to fuck me by throwing my legs over my head while saying ‘yeh I’m such a top, fuck yeh’. This understandably never made me feel particularly sexy either, even less so when he used to pull down my underwear to have a look at my asshole, and inspect it similar to a doctor in a clinic. I would throw him off me with a sense of discomfort masked in humour, while deep down feeling frustrated and insecure. He would then grab me and hug me, kiss me, and make me feel loved. I thought it was all a game in some way, while actually I was just being friend zoned in the most bizarre way possible. I allowed this to go on for quite some time. I’m so disassociated with myself at this point in my life that allowing myself to be treated inappropriately like this by men is something second nature to me. I somehow try to make logic of their bizarre behaviour, and normalise it in a way, so that I can adjust, won’t lose them, and ergo, not be left alone, yet again.

We dated for a few weeks. With absolutely no sex. Not one ejaculation between us. One night he even sucked my dick, deep throated, but it was also a joke. Everything he did was done in jest. He jerked me off while we watched Netflix a few times, but I would never cum. I’d be left with blue balls, and confusion.

One day I left his apartment in the morning, & did some work at home. He told me he was making dinner for 8.30 and I shouldn’t be late. I had a bath and thought it might be a good idea if I jerk off before going to his so as to not give myself another night of blue balls. I was late to dinner, and he asked why. I told him ‘actually I jerked off before I came here that’s why I’m late’. He laughed and said he did too, twice. I felt a rage rush up inside me. I’d only jerked off because I thought he had this weird aversion to any sort of sexual practise, but no, this fucker had jerked off twice the moment I was out of his sight. What a mess. This was an absolute mess. We’d known each other only 2 weeks and were already jerking off separately & alone.

Of course all of this logic in my head made sense, but instead of pulling the plug and walking out, I stayed. I stayed for dinner, and for Netflix, and for breakfast, and for another week.

Eventually I’d had enough. I blew my lid one night while I was out, and after a few drinks, I felt super fucking insecure and finally the suffering in silence had reached its limit. Thankfully jagermeister helped release it from it’s shackles.

I wanted to know what was going on, while I’d been so desexualised by him, and why he was behaving the way he was. He’s 22 so obviously there was no clear answer.

Having dated multiple fuckboys over the past decade I came to my own conclusion. This guy liked me, but he didn’t want to fuck me. He was confused and didn’t quite know how he could work things out in his favour. When I started talking about my feelings, because he proclaimed that honesty meant everything to him, he then said it was too much pressure and I was going to give him an anxiety attack. Oh I remember being 22.

I should’ve known better. I got carried away at the beginning. We spent the first few days together consistently. It was funny, but stupid. I felt free & careless, and enjoyed the company. Unfortunately the devil has an exchange for everything, and enjoying this boy’s company so much was always going to end up in drama. Too much of a good thing and all that.

I wasn’t so worried about the lack of sex at the beginning. Sex is easy, and I was just enjoying the intimacy, and cuddles, and companionship of a man that seemed to like me. But after a while, without sex, it’s almost impossible to seal the bond. It feels somewhat empty and unsure. That being said, I wanted all the good things to continue whilst ignoring all the bad. I thought, if I just keep quiet and don’t discuss my issues with the lack of sex, or my issues with the way you treat my body like I’m your pet golden retriever, then I’ll be happy with you.

This obviously says more about me than it does about him.

Anyway, I decided to walk away from things yesterday. He talked some 22 year old nonsense to me about wanting to hangout and not wanting pressure, or labels, or planning on a future. And in between the laughs to myself, I decided it was time to act my age and walk away. I hugged him and said ‘thanks, it was fun’. He jerked back & said fuck off, in disbelief that I was low-key saying it was over, whatever ‘it’ was. I said bye and walked home.

He messaged me only a few hours after. ‘Do you still want to hangout? I wanna have you around’.

Don’t we all wanna have someone around? That’s the dream. But we can’t just have someone around without accepting the things that come with that person. We can’t all just have what we want all the time.

This was a lesson for both of us. Too much of a good thing eventually runs its course, and unclear intentions are destined to get somebody hurt further down the line.

He can act his age, but I really need to start acting mine.