Lets get it on (or better yet over with).

Lets get it on (or better yet over with).

By Ollie.

So, I’m seeing a guy on Friday. At least I’m supposed to. Ideally, I’d be able to say that it’s chill and doesn’t mean anything, but anyone who knows me will knows that I’m about to die of a panic attack any moment. Something about guys, relationships and romance speaks directly to the part of my adrenal gland which is responsible for pure potent dread. And I often compare my experience with dating like being thrown into the final week of Strictly for Samba week but… you don’t know the moves. Everything about dating scares me. The vulnerability, the unknown, the awkwardness. For someone who considers themselves quite the conversationalist, I always seem to choke on my words in any context where a spark may ignite at any moment.

I think what separates any kind of socialising between friends and romantic partners apart is comfortability. When I’m around friends, its easy, I know them and they know me. I don’t have to worry about what the other person thinks of me because they probably have seen me in the most embarrassing moments of my life. You’re not actively concerned about the way you look, or your horsey laugh or table manners. Because you don’t have the same standards on them that a suitor might. This is why I often feel the need to religiously quaff my hair, even though it always falls the same way anyways. Or douse myself in a flammable level of cologne. You want to show them your best self. Which often, isn’t really your true self.

With this in mind, you’d think it would be easier. Just be yourself and attract the right energy for you. Someone who gets you and likes you for just being you, warts and all. The only downside is that often you’re not trying to shag your mates. So regardless, we still act polite and reserve ourselves to be more palatable to the other (or same) sex.

Sex itself terrifies me. If a conversation with a guy is enough of a foreign dance, then imagine what could be more intense and physical. Will his pieces fit in mine like this home-made mismatched jigsaw? Will I know how to do all the steps in the right order as if were a duo doing dance dance revolution. Up, down, in, out, wait what comes after. If sex is the act of losing yourself to pleasure and not thinking, then I am definitely in the wrong building. Where are the printable flash cards, is there a way I can colour code the experience? Green for good, red for bad. Guess not.

Of course I’m kidding, to a degree. But this author is the same person who kisses with his eyes open and laughs in nervous situations… not sexy I fear. I just hope that when I meet the right person, I’ll either get sent an instruction manual like a catholic idol to the brain, and my christening will finally pay off, or that we will both be able to laugh off how neither of know what we are doing. Nevertheless, I am still excited for Friday. And I will try to keep my anxieties at bay so much that they present themselves as a voice crack or blush rather than incapacitating fear or worse, death. Wish me luck!

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