to say I’d effectively tasked him with being the one to tell me I ponged like a rabbit hutch.
A very noisy silence.
‘Right, I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. There’s only so much I can take,’ Ben said. ‘Did I say kissing you was like kissing a sister? Yes I did, because we were being goaded into getting off with each other. Was it like kissing a sister? No, it was bloody amazing, like kissing someone you fancy very very badly usually is …’
I physically started at this, a whole body twitch, my heart going at a woodpecker-on-speed bpm. Did he say fancy? No – he couldn’t have. I’d misheard.
‘… Was Pippa nice? Yes, she was, she wasn’t the problem. You were the problem. I split up with her for the same reason I have with everyone in the last three years. Men who are hopelessly hung up on someone else tend to make crap boyfriends …’
I was in a cold sweat. ‘I couldn’t believe what I was hearing’ is usually hyperbole, yet here it was entirely apt. My ears took delivery but my brain wouldn’t sign for the parcel. I kept thinking he’d drop a hot girl name in like Beth or Freya and I’d go ‘Ohhhh I thought,’ and then have to kill myself when he realised what I’d thought.
‘… Will you be OK finding someone else? You’re the cleverest, funniest, nicest, most beautiful, if occasionally most infuriating, woman I’ve ever met, so, yes, I’m sure you’ll have tons of blokes after you. But given I’m in love with you, the thought of you with anyone else makes me want to kill, so forgive me for not encouraging you with handy hints and tips on how to take men home who aren’t me.’
My chest rose and fell with shock. I couldn’t speak. And if I had been able to speak, I wouldn’t have known what to say. Love. He said love.
‘What was the last one? “Do you have any off-putting habits?” Being with someone else was the only one that bothered me. However, it at least allowed me the fantasy that was why you weren’t with me. Now that’s gone too. There. We’re done.’
My fingers were grasping the bed as if the furniture was suddenly tilting at an angle.
Ben added: ‘I’m sorry if you now feel massively weird. Tell me if you’d rather I went. I’d understand.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said in a strangled voice.
Pause.
‘Fuck, great timing, Ben, staying in her bedroom,’ he said, with a rueful, humourless laugh. ‘And look, you don’t have to break it to me that you don’t see me that way. I know you don’t, trust me. This is my problem. We’ll just have one helluva awkward cup of tea in the morning and say our farewells.’
Tomorrow morning. I was having trouble imagining a world beyond this bedroom, one that would keep turning and bring daylight and other days. And farewells?
‘Did you really not know?’ he asked.
‘Nope,’ I squeaked.
‘Oh God. I always thought you had some clue, even if you didn’t know how much.’
He tailed off, waited for more, and when I didn’t say anything, continued: ‘Christ, please at least say “Ewww, gross”. The silence is killing me.’
‘It’s not gross,’ I said, trying to find words in the psychological tumult.
Where were the words I needed? Ben’s words had made me to face up to feelings I’d been ignoring, twisting out of shape and denying for the last three years. It was like not giving a plant enough light to grow properly, only very rarely watering it, but the seed in the soil still being there.
He felt and thought those incredible things about me? ‘Likewise’ ‘Why’ or ‘Good God Merciful Jesus Hooray!’ didn’t do the moment justice.
Uncharacteristically, I made a snap decision. I pulled my voluminous pyjama top off over my head. I wriggled the trousers down, kicking them off my feet with a swimmer’s paddling motion. I balled up the body-heat-warm nest of fabric and threw it out of the bed. I thought this would be enough to make my intentions clear, but Ben didn’t react at all.
‘Ben.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Do you want to get into bed?’
‘Floor’s not that bad, thanks. And also – no.’
‘No. Into bed. With me.’ Then I added, like the silver-tongued, erotic adventuress of the age: ‘I took my pyjamas off.’
A stunned pause.
‘… Are you sure?’ he said, quietly, into the crimson gloom.
‘Very sure.’
This was when the scene should’ve rippled into a woozy sexy slo-mo with a boom-chicka-wah-wah bassy soundtrack. Instead what actually happened is, Ben got caught in the sleeping bag, needing less haste and more speed to achieve a t-shirt-less exit from a well-made camping accessory my dad got from Millets.
‘Bollocks,’ he muttered, trying to push it down and getting caught.
‘Unzip it,’ I giggled. ‘I’d help you, but I’m nekkid.’
‘You don’t need to mention that again, I’m on my way,’ Ben said, and I giggled some more.
There was something absolutely brilliant about being in this situation and being friends already. Suddenly it wasn’t: how strange to be doing this, it was how strange we’ve never done this before.
Ben wriggled free, climbed into bed. When we’d successfully grappled with his boxers (Rachel starts, makes a poor effort, Ben takes over, result still delightful) suddenly there was skin on skin, all over the place, all of Ben and all of Rachel pressed against each other. It felt strange, but very-very-good-strange. Rhys was solid but reassuringly soft round the edges, and hairy; Ben was a lean, football-playing, smooth and muscled contrast. I didn’t know bodies could have that little fat on them and still function. I thought a physique like his might make me feel like a chonker but it actually made me feel womanly, even more like myself, somehow.
We got tangled in the sheet and it was soon thrown aside completely. While admittedly he was seeing me by a light that could’ve probably made the elderly dean of the university look fairly sexy, Ben evidently had no issue with the full unedited version of my appearance. He was confident, and I understood why. It was obvious it wasn’t his first rodeo and I very much hoped I was meeting and/or exceeding expectations – my experience no more than a string of times with a clumsy sixth-form boyfriend, and Rhys.
Only now I discovered there was a kind of intense desire that bordered on nausea. I finally understood what everyone was going on about. Who knew that the outer frontier of lust was the urge to regurg?
And although I was outclassed in the company, I didn’t fret it might not be mutual: when I murmured a sweet nothing along those lines, minus any implication I might actually vomit on him, Ben replied forcefully: ‘I’ve never wanted anyone or anything like I want you’, proceeding to kiss me so hard I thought my mouth might suffer minor lacerations. Nnnngggg.
Then, at the point
