I'm sometimes astounded at how far I'll go to avoid social discomfort or confrontation. I was remembering an event from a while back, and the sadness I endured in order to avoid a scene is pretty depressing.
I was on a half-date. It wasn't a date-date, but it was a drink with someone I had once dated. He'd asked enough times for a 'catch-up' that I finally succumbed and agreed to a drink. Let me preface this by saying he was (and no doubt still is) a lovely person. We'd dated for a couple of months about a year before, with no hard feelings either side. A lovely guy.
We had a couple of drinks, and I was looking for a convenient pause to make my move and head home. He was pretty tipsy, having not eaten, and had become a little over familiar. I didn't shrug him off, as I said he's a nice guy, and he was just reading something different into our evening. He leaned over to kiss me, and I politely moved my face away, so that he'd kiss my cheek instead. Alcohol fueled his boldness and he persisted in stealing a kiss.
It was a busy bar, and I didn't want to kiss him. However, I knew him well, had certainly kissed him many times before, and there was no harm in just giving the kiss over for a short second. No harm done. No scene necessary. It's just a kiss, with someone I've kissed before. I wouldn't want to embarrass him, would I?
I'm conflicted about how I feel about my reaction. It's nice to not want to embarrass someone who hasn't done anything wrong. It's nice to put other people's feelings above your own sometimes. Yet I didn't want him to kiss me. I shelved my feelings for the ease of the social situation.
I'd also not eaten dinner yet, and when I walked home at 9:30pm, leaving a very confused date wondering why I was going home so early (he'd definitely read it as something different to me!), I cried. I was tipsy for sure, but crying is a pretty unusual activity for me. I struggled to catch my breath, as if it'd been knocked out of me with the kiss. I'm also not one for panic attacks, and my gasps hit me even harder.
I couldn't work out why I was so sad to begin with. I was sad that it was possible for two people to experience the same couple of hours with such contrasting understandings of what was happening. I was sad that he liked me, and I didn't want him to touch me. I was angry that I gave a kiss to be polite, when I didn't want to give anything of me at all. I'm sad because he would be gutted if he knew I'd walked home sobbing; he'd texted saying how lovely it was to see me, and he'd love to see me again. It was all literally in my own head. How do we go from liking kissing someone to not at all liking it?
I told an ex of mine about it, and I was surprised at how strong his reaction was. He was gobsmacked that I'd allowed someone to kiss me, when I didn't want them to. Yet I'd most probably do the same again. Which feels fucked up even as I write it. I've written this post (and deleted it) a few times over the months, as I'd hate the guy to know how I felt. There I am again, trying to be polite, and agreeable. I've decided enough time has passed now, so here I doing what I do best; sharing.