“This is a golden rule: do not fuck your flatmates,” said my sister before I even made a step in Barcelona.
Why seems a simple question to answer to – you do not want to be in the awkward situation where you have to walk around the boy who broke your heart in the likely case things ended up bad. And this goes for the other way round: you kiss one night, things spice up, you end up in his bed to wake up the next morning hating yourself and breaking your flatmate’s hopes.
But reality is different and you’d have guessed it: I broke the rules.
I grew up with one sister, a mum and a dad who never walked around me naked or in underwear as far as I can remember. In other words, the only males I have seen in their intimacy were also sleeping in my bed – and doing other adult things with me.
When I saw him the first time, I didn’t find him particularly attractive. I like tall, “skinny type” or strong, classy type of guy – Kyle was about 5ft7, wore glasses and was totally stoned – not classy.
During the few weeks that followed that day, we barely talked to each other. We were going to the same school but he still managed to ignore me or act as if he didn’t know me in front of his friends – which were in my class. We fought over the air conditioning and complained to our common flatmate without knowing the other was doing the same.
Nevertheless, the excitation of discovering what the student life was like caught my attention enough to not care too much about my Kyle’s weird behaviour – as long as he was nice and polite at home, which he was. Moreover, I had a big crush on one of the boys from my class, with whom I was growing closer and closer…as friends.
The day we decided to make our first flatmate dinner is the day everything changed. Kyle cooked while we opened the wine and set the table in the living room. It was delicious – we drunk, talked and played cards altogether for the first time. The warm and joyful atmosphere led us to a club by the beach, awkwardly walking next to each other, hoping for a good night.
I was tipsy, the music was good, his shirt fitted him perfectly, and then – he danced. My pêché mignon, guys not knowing how to dance but still doing it. That’s the exact moment it happened: the arrow had just brushed my heart by its tip, and little did I know it would very slowly but surely get through it.
I became OBSESSED with him. I became horny for him like never before. I was longing for him all day every day.
We went to a football game together just him and me (it was very expensive but…what would have I not done to be alone with him) – that’s the time he realised I existed when he accidentally saw me in a bra just before the game (ah, boys…).
Fast forward to the day it actually happened.
My cousin had come for the weekend, so he went out with Justine, Kyle and I. We hopped from bar to bar, where I had the chance to get my first one-on-one talk with him about his love life – no girlfriend since a very long time, after he got his heart broken twice. We had quite a few shots and drinks, until we ended up in a small bar Plaça Reial, in the heart of the city.
Justine wanted my cousin, thus I suggested I’d take Kyle away so they’d be alone together. We danced in our corner of the room, one meter away from each other until I grabbed him by the neck to tell him he should sometime try to flirt with other girls. And I meant it – I never in a lifetime thought he would be interested in me for the good reasons that he was older than me and my flatmate. He didn’t understand what I said so I came closer and shouted: “You should find a girl!”. That’s when he thought I meant me – he took my hand, danced closer to me, and a few minutes kissed me.
Justine saw it, she couldn’t believe it and was not too happy about it. We just ignored it and made out during the whole night.
The following week was filled with sexual tension. Since we didn’t know what the other was thinking, after the kiss we didn’t really talk about it nor made a move towards each other. I told Justine I would never do it again, or if I did it would only be a one-night thing.
One night as we were watching a movie all together, he held my hand under the blanket we had over us, the following night too, which I ended up by crawling into his bed.
It was one of the best night I spent with someone, the first of too many that followed.
We were only supposed to have sex. But then came the cuddles, the little kisses that last longer than they should, the afternoon naps on the couch and the good morning breakfasts. The “don’t touch him” look to other girls, the hugs, and finally holding hands in public.
We never really talked about our relationship, although our common friends saw us as a couple. Until the very last day, the idea was that he would leave back to his country and the story would end there.
Nevertheless, we casually continued to text and Facetime during winter break until we met again in Budapest for a weekend with Justine. From there, we started to see each other in our hometowns, meaning we’d stay together no matter the distance.