Could It Be That Sex Got In The Way?
I told people that we were just friends. But we had sex here, there and everywhere. Was that bad for our friendship – or good?
Anne Sexton, 01 Apr 2010
We keep in touch. For a long time now we have been friends. But I wonder: how did that happen?
I don’t remember the last time we had sex, or even kissed. If I had known that I was closing that chapter of my life, I would have been sure to memorise the details, the way I remember so much else.
I remember the first time we met, outside a nightclub – both of us far too young to be there. You were a slightly geeky schoolboy, far too smart to be cool. You liked bad metal and played classical guitar. I was trying to act nonchalant despite my teenage pimples and social awkwardness.
I remember the first time we kissed, much later, at a party in the suburbs. You lay with your head on my lap, stroking my hand, then my leg. You sat up, ran your hands through my hair, and the world stood still in those magical few seconds before your lips touched mine.
We got older; your hair grew longer; you joined a band. You were beautiful and popular, you had lots of friends, but by then, so did I.
I remember meeting you on another night, at another club, months after I’d stopped seeing you. I was there with my new friends, smoking cigarettes, accepting drinks and admiration from strangers and thinking it was no less than I deserved. “When did you become such a bitch?” you asked me and although I rolled my eyes at you, I knew you were right.
I remember an argument with you, sitting on a bench in the shopping centre. You had told your friends you had been sleeping with me. I was angry, not so much at the lie, but by the crude term you’d used to describe it.
I remember a party in a condemned building. You were stoned or drunk, probably both, and you grabbed my hand.
“Can you handle pain?” you asked me.
I nodded and pulled up my sleeve and you poured hot wax along my arm.
“I’m not like your other friends,” you said. “I won’t be around all the time, but if you ever need me I’ll be there.”
I remember the first night I had sex with you. We went to an all night garage to buy condoms and in the harshly lit interior while the bored night staff waited, you asked me which ones I wanted. “I don’t know,” I hissed. “The coloured ones?”
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