Along Came Adam

I’ll admit, I’ve never been one for situation-ships. Call me old fashioned, or boring, or prudish, but generally speaking, if I like someone, I want to date them. I want to see them all the time. I want to hear from them every minute of every day. On the other hand, if I don’t like someone, I don’t want to see them again. I certainly don’t want to sleep with them. Or hear from them. There is no grey area for me. The idea that you could be so lukewarm about someone that you would want to sleep with them but yet not spend any quality time with them sort of confuses me. It’s all a little bit… demeaning? I don’t wish to render an individual as nothing more than a sexual object, whose sole purpose is to satisfy my sexual desire. Equally, I don’t want to be seen that way by another person. Again, call me old fashioned, but I like to think that human beings have a little more value than that.

Ask any man if he wishes to be in a situation-ship and he will probably say the following: ‘Yes of course, it sounds ideal. I’ll get all the sex and none of the commitment, where do I sign up?’ Ask any woman on the hand, and she will probably be less than enthusiastic about it. I’m generalising of course, but I’d say that for roughly 9 out of 10 single women out there, this would be their reaction. After all, it’s easy for women to get sex. We have it offered to us on a semi constant basis, even when we don’t want it. Sex is easy to get. Commitment and emotional intimacy on the other hand? That's harder to come by and so much harder to keep hold of.

No person, in the history of the species, has entered into a situation-ship and found that it didn’t get complicated, (either for themselves, or for the other party involved.) After all, when you have two naked, sentient people, exchanging bodily fluids on the regular, it’s only a matter of time before feelings appear. People become attached. Egos get bruised and trampled on. Boundaries and lines get blurred and signals get mixed. You can go into a situation-ship with the best of black and white intentions. Hell, you could sign a sodding contract promising to keep everything between each other uncomplicated. But it doesn’t work that way. Sex confuses people. Sex changes people. 

Women in particular have a tendency to get emotionally attached after sex. And no, this is not just me being sexist, thanks very much, it’s bloody science. And yes, before you screech at me, men get attached too, but often not as much and certainly not in the same way. It’s not our fault that we women get clingy after intercourse. Evolution designed it to be this way.  Ya see, the female body releases volumes of oxytocin during intercourse, (the hormone which creates bonding.) From an evolutionary perspective this is fairly helpful, for then the woman is much more likely to want to seek out that same sexual partner again, have sex and (hopefully, for the sake of the species) make a baby. After all, the only reason we’re really meant to have sex is so we can get pregnant and propagate the population. In fact, if it was up to Elon Musk, I’m pretty sure that’s all we’d be doing. I’m sure there’s more anthropological science that goes into it besides what I wrote here, but the point is this; when women have feelings they’re more likely to want to mate with their fella again. And all that mating is what keeps the species going. 

Don’t mock women for ‘catching feels’ after sex, because a) they can’t help it and b) they’re just doing what their bodies were built to do. Nature doesn’t want you having no strings attached sex. It wants you to get all wrapped up in your male counterpart so that you want to make a baby.

In the old days, this all seemed to work fine. Women were considered adorable for writing love poems about the men they were screwing, or leaving locks of their hair in little envelopes. Men ate that s*** up. But then situation-ships were invented and suddenly women started feeling guilty for getting attached to the men they were shagging. Equally, men tried to shame them for getting so attached. They were called ‘clingy’ or ‘needy.’ Eugh. Part of me wants to take my amateur anthropological hand and slap these men for not understanding that we women, we CANNOT CONTROL these feelings!

Situation-ships, like Twinkies, have no natural expiration date. They can last forever (at least until one person in the situation-ship either meets someone else or dies), and they are far too easy slip back into. People can spend years, decades even, on situation-ships that never come of anything more than heartbreak and an annual STD check up. It’s sad that romance has been substituted for something so emotionally unfulfilling. Personally, I never wanted anything to do with situation-ships. 

That is, until I did.

You see, the issue with having a long term disability like M.E is that it (often) makes the sufferer fairly self involved. Sure they can still have friendships, and enjoy their time with family and friends, but M.E is so consuming that it doesn’t leave a whole lot of room to focus on other people or their needs. 

Largely, M.E takes up about 98% of my headspace, leaving only a small percentage of my day available to those I love, (friends, family, neighbours), my hobbies and interests, not to mention charitable initiatives and creative endeavours/my hair.

Despite always being on the hunt for a boyfriend in the past, and craving a serious, stable relationship with a man who’d sweep me off my feet, in the past few years that I’ve been sick I can think of nothing worse. 

For starters it would eat into the minuscule 2% of time I have available for those I care about. If I were to have a relationship, I would no doubt see my friends even less than I already do. And given that my writing and creative work is so invaluable to me, I certainly wouldn’t want a romantic distraction eating into the time I give to that pursuit. I mean, if I want to be a published author by the end of this year, I need to get my arse in gear and finish that novel that I’ve been working on. (NO DISTRACTIONS, SOPHIE! You need to send that proposal off! Quit making excuses and shopping online for electric foot warmers.)

So for the first time, something light and frivolous may be the perfect path forwards. It would mean I could enjoy many of the benefits of a relationship (sex, some cuddles, a fellow human to watch Netflix with) and none of the responsibility. The fact that I was even contemplating a ‘no strings attached’ relationship was mind blowing to me. It showed me how far I’d come, how much my priorities had changed. And in that moment I saw zero downsides.

So who would be my willing culprit?

There was one chap I’d connected with on Hinge during the pandemic named Adam. We’d have a few FaceTimes and then, just when things were opening back up again socially, my health had taken a nose dive and dating was the last thing on my mind.

In a show of transparency, I’d explained the situation to him at the time and he’d been more than understanding.  And, despite this setback, we’d kept in contact. We’d still speak on the phone, message often and we generally cared about what was going on each other’s lives. As far as I knew, Adam wasn’t dating anyone. In fact, as far as I knew, he hadn’t dated anyone for years. Adam was relatively solitary and, socially, a bit reclusive. He didn’t meet many women, and he hated the app world. He found meeting new people intimidating and tiring in equal measure, although I didn’t find out about that until much later when I got to know him. So in my eyes, Adam might just be the perfect fit. We knew enough about each other so as to go into this as more than strangers. In a weird way we were friends, or ‘online, socially distanced’ friends to be specific.  There was a level of respect and appreciation there which was helpful. I also knew enough about him to be sure that he wasn’t a complete sociopath or serial killer. (In fact, he was a teacher and the Head of Politics at a Sixth form college near Harrow. I’d looked him up on LinkedIn and everything. I’d even googled the College website and seen his name and photo on it. In short, he was legit. Criminal back ground checks are pretty stringent in the school system, so really the Sixth Form college had done the safety investigations for me.)

I messaged Adam one afternoon and asked him how he felt about a friends with benefits situation. Unsurprisingly enough he replied immediately, saying he’d be very keen, provided I was well enough mentally and physically. I replied that I was. I was well and eager to do something a little different, and break out of the M.E stupor I’d find myself in for the past year or so.

I’d spoken to my therapist a few months prior about just this. She had encouraged me to pursue something that put my sexuality back online, to do something (anything!) that would make me feel alive and attractive again, provided of course that it was safe and consensual. 

When you’re ill, be it with a long term sickness or a disability, your sense of yourself and your sexuality goes totally out of the window. You feel less like a sexual being, and more like a broken, useless body. Just limbs and sinew and blood and muscle that don’t always work the way they’re supposed to. Disability isn’t sexy and it’s easy to get caught up in that narrative, to forget that you have urges.

But my wise therapist was encouraging me to lean back into my sexuality. And, like a good patient, I will do anything my therapist says.

So, I invite Adam around for drinks that Saturday and the poor chap diligently travels in from Harrow just to see me (it is an hour and thirty minute trip when it runs smoothly, and this only serves to demonstrate how keen he is on fulfilling such a social call.) 

Adam and I have never met in person before and I must say, the thought of seeing him for the first time makes me nervous. I’ve seen photos of him on Hinge of course, and we’ve spoken on FaceTime, but an in-person meeting always feels different to one that’s conducted on screen. I could only hope that it wouldn’t be awkward. That I wouldn’t be intimidated. That our ‘smells’ would work. (Yes, this is a thing, people!) 

Adam arrives with a bottle of wine promptly at 7pm. He's smartly dressed, and he smells nice. It’s weird that this person, who until recently only ever existed in my iPhone, is now here, in person. I can prod him and everything!

We head upstairs to my flat which is pristine as always, and Adam opens the bottle of wine.

‘How do you feel about being here,’ I ask him, ‘Were you nervous to meet me?’

‘Not really,’ he replies. ‘I feel like I already know you, to be honest.’ He seems so calm, and yet my stomach is doing backflips. I haven’t been on a date for a while. God, Sophie, pull it together. You used to be good at this! 

We chat a bit about his work, the school he works at, the students, the other teachers. I am endlessly impressed by those who dedicate their lives to educating young people, particularly with the amount of anti social (and occasionally violent) behaviour happening in classrooms these days. Adam is clearly deeply passionate about his work and I find this a huge turn on.

It occurs to me then that, thanks to my suggestion of a situation-ship set up, I am now expected to, as the adults say, ‘put out.’ But even though the idea of having sex feels quite exciting, I realise that I absolutely do not know this man well enough to do it. Call me old fashioned, but I like to feel familiar with someone before inviting them into my bed and under my sheets. (I’m also extremely fussy about bedroom hygiene, and do insist that people shower before getting under my duvet. It’s a whole thing.) Something about Adam being here, and the expectation of the night itself, makes me feel nervous. Not that Adam has in any way made me feel pressured to do anything besides talk to him. I’m just in my own head. I’m overthinking it.

From what I can see so far, Adam is a gentleman and not at all sexually aggressive. Honestly? It helps. At this point in my life, I haven’t dated anyone for almost three years. I haven’t even so much as kissed a person. I’ve more or less been living like a nun, focussing only on my recovery, and I have never felt less sexual in my entire life. Even the simple act of putting on makeup and a nice bra for this evening feels like a small nod back to my old self. Sex feels like too much right now. But kissing? I think kissing would be a good starting point. Okay. Here we go.

I move to the sofa and drape my legs around Adam, in a thoroughly suggestive move. Adam seems to like this but doesn’t quite pick up on the signal I’m giving out because he doesn’t do much. I move a bit closer to him, as we continue to chat and I place my hand on his. At last! It seems to send the right message. He smiles at me. I know that look. I know that look all too well.

‘I’d really like to kiss you if that’s alright,’ I say. Adam nods (a little too eagerly?)

That familiar feeling rises in my chest. The mild anticipatory excitement that I always get right before I’m about to lock lips with someone new for the first time. 

Adam moves towards me, our lips touch and…

Okay. Not bad. Not bad at all.

So we don’t have sex that night. And we don’t have sex the next time we see each other either. But as Adam and I spend more time together, I feel the old me slowly coming back online. I feel attractive and desirable again, a sensation I haven’t experienced for years, and honestly wasn’t sure that I would ever feel again.

The first night that Adam comes to my flat we do nothing more than make out and have a bit of a fumble. (Sorry, Dad. Sorry, Mum. And sorry to my little brother who may or may not be puking into a bucket right now as he reads this.) In a nutshell, it’s a pretty PG night at mine. I don’t even take my top off. (Sorry, sorry, guys.)

After a lengthy make out session, Adam and I spend the remainder of the evening sat on my bed watching Succession and eating my leftover stash of Christmas M&S chocolate coins.  It felt good simply to lie in bed with someone, doing a perfectly mundane activity, like watch TV. 

The next day I was a little panicked. Obviously ‘making out’ is not part of my typical physical baseline and OBVIOUSLY it counted as an activity, and yet I didn’t have the foggiest idea as to just how much of it my body could handle. Would a sixty minute make out push me over the edge? These are the things an M.E warrior must think about, as she pursues her sexual conquests.

Even if I were well, and up for a relationship, I don't think Adam and I would have much chance of a future together. And that’s a good thing. It means there is no chance in hell of me falling for him, or him for me. 

As things between Adams and I continue to evolve, I realise that this whole ‘no strings attached’ situation has its merits. Because I am not obliged to see Adam on the regular, his irritating quirks and habits don’t annoy me, in much the same as they would if they were coming from someone I were actually dating and trying to build a life with. With Adam, it’s a bit of a take it or leave it situation. The pressure is always off. There’s bits about each other that we like, and bits that we really don’t. We see each other when it suits. When it doesn’t we might not hear from each other for a while.

I tell my therapist how things are going with Adam. She’s thrilled to hear that I’m getting my confidence back, and experiencing a bit more pep in my step, something I haven’t had for a long time. However things end between me and Adam, this experience can only be a positive one. Right?