In a fit of feeling confessional, confrontational and wanting to clear the air as well as my head, I sent a late-night text to Tall Boy:

"I think you don't realise just how much you mean to me. I've been pulling back because it upsets me being close to you, knowing you don't love me".

There we are, the L word again.

For a man like Tall Boy, probably only slightly less frightening than the C word- commitment.

Just what was I hoping to gain?
Firstly, I know men (actually, make that humans in general) can't mind-read. He has no way of knowing how I feel and what I think unless I tell him.
Secondly, my mumbled words of eternal love in his bed could have been misunderstood by him, forgotten in the haze of sleep, alcohol and post-coital confusion or simply ignored under the assumption that I was drunk, confused or felt obliged to justify my obvious passion for him by employing that old chestnut as an excuse to get so utterly carried away.
And thirdly, I needed to hear his side of the story.

He has been giving me mixed messages from the first minute I clapped eyes on him, and I needed clarity.
You can't look at, flirt with and touch someone like he has me, if you feel total indifference for that person.
You can't seduce, ravish and possess someone and be unable not to hold their hand in public, if you don't feel some kind of passion for them.
You can't tell them with sincerity, repeatedly and loudly that you love their face, have fancied them for a year and want them to meet your parents unless you want her in your life.

On the other hand, if you want to be with her exclusively, you would attempt to put in the time, to be reliable, genuinely caring and consistant, you wouldn't see other people and you'd be jealous if she did.

After my text (which I regretted the moment it sent), it took him a day and a half to call me.
Still, call he did and I was grateful for his integrity.
I greeted him as my usual cheerful self, and after a couple of minutes' small talk and banter, he cut to the chase.
"I am calling about that text you sent me, to clear the air", he stated, with a confidence I admired.
"Were you drunk?" -"No, I wasn't", I confessed. "I just needed to let you know how I feel because you can't read my mind. You told me you thought I'd been busy since the summer, but I was just trying to hold back and protect myself from getting hurt from getting too close".

He knows the way things are isn't enough for me. I'd told him before that we're bad at being "just friends"- invariably, I reminded him, he ends up holding my hand and kissing me, or my head ends up resting on his chest in the park.
Every night we get drunk together ends with his cock swelling inside me as his semen pumps into me with a passion I have never experienced before, and when I see his face in the morning I want to cry for all the mornings I don't see the sparkle in his eyes.

"This isn't the kind of relationship I want", I told him.
"Well, I can't offer anything else", he replied, "I want to have fun and get pissed with my mates".
"I know", I said, "and there's no reason why you can't do that for another ten years or so. It is different for me, for women in general, I want to be with someone who is there for me, who I can settle down and have a family with and I feel it's not fair of me to expect things from you as I would of a boyfriend. Things aren't like that with us, so I can't expect that you get me a card for my birthday, or see me exclusively, or spend the occasional weekend with me in London. I miss these things", I continued, "the things you get in a relationship in the first three months of falling in love, where you just want to be with that person even if it's just eating pizza on the sofa. And I know it will happed for you, with the right person you would want to be around them, but it hurts me that that's not me... it hurts me that you are seeing other people".
"Yes", he replied, "but, Sienna, so are you!" For the first time I thought I could detect something like jealousy or mild disapproval in his voice.
"Of course", I agreed, "but the difference is that I am jealous and you're not".

"I am sorry", he said, noticing how my voice had filled with involuntary tears I tried to laugh away, "maybe we should just be friends then. I'd like that". I sniffed, not sure what to say. It was good to get things off my chest but it had all gone tits up for me.
"Like your house, I think you have potential", I said, "but in order to be in a relationship you really need to sort yourself out, I can see that. I don't know if I can be your friend..."
"Well, the other alternative is not to see each other at all", he continued, "but that would be a shame..."

I really didn't want to hear this, but what is the alternative? At least he is honest, he's not bullshitting me, he isn't leading me on, all that is keeping me in this game is the vain hope that he will change his mind and fall for me, and, of course, lust, lust, lust.

I feel I am back on familiar ground. Everyone I have ever wanted has made me feel exactly the same.
First Love Boy, First Kiss Boy, as well as a few others are tales of people I wanted but couldn't have, so I had to settle for what I could get: the odd flare of passion with "Mr-Out-of-my-league" (of course, if it's offered to them on a plate...), or the odd relationship with "Mr-out-of-his-league" (of course, they are much more giving).

As I see it, I have only two options in the type of relationship I may eventually have to settle for:
1) Mr Out of My League (if I can get him)- a distant, not-to be trusted, charming and gorgeous guy I desire and love with all my heart - who will betray me or leave me, or
2) Mr Out Of His League (if he can convince me) - an over-affectionate, insecure and average-looking guy who worships me, who I will learn to love and rely on, and who will probably forgive or overlook my occasional indiscretions.