“Trauma bonding! Trauma bonding! Trauma bonding!” The voice in my head was screaming it.
I could feel that it didn’t feel good. I knew what that meant. I’ve finally felt what it’s like to feel good in a romantic/sexual situation, and this felt like all the other times. Which, conveniently, is still a gendered split. Women feel good, and this felt like all the other men.
So I’m a bit crushed. He was just like all the other men. I’ll say this now, hoping I’ll disagree with it later, because it’s my best friend we’re talking about. “Best friend.” Or whatever. A dude. A Nigel. We had for a number of years maintained strict platonic boundaries. I think maybe that’s the only thing that made it possible for us to relate as pseudo-equals.
But now that’s busted. I did it, and I wish I hadn’t. I was so confused in the moment, feeling ill, and telling myself that doing something was better than doing nothing. No.
I guess I’ll just say: If you think you have a male friend who doesn’t see you as an object, don’t ever give him that chance. Don’t ever let your guard down. Because once you see each other that way, and you see each other seeing each other that way, I’m not sure you can ever really go back.
If there ever really was something to go back” to. Maybe there never really was.