Last night once again proved how badly suited Tall Boy and I are as friends.

We met at the cinema, I got the tickets this time because he was late, having worked like an ox since his latest promotion, but he bought us popcorn and a drink to share.

We sat in one of those double love seats, and feeling and smelling him next to me was wonderful.
We shared the popcorn and had a little banter, I know he didn't have a clue what the film was about but he had been there at my suggestion nonetheless, like a shot.

Barely ten minutes into the movie, his hand found mine and my whole body began to tingle into life.
Without the arm rest between us there was no good way to sit without touching, his hand rested on my thigh and my hand on top of his, then my hand stroked his leg and his hand grasped it, I could feel the hairs on the back of his hands and his large, smooth nails as he stroked me and I stroked him.

Such an innocent gesture, yet not so innocent at all. Whilst Salsa Boy's hands feel lifeless and reluctant, drip-feeding molecules of his insecurity right into my heart, Tall Boy's hands are alive with passion, they feel like they are mine, yet not, but should be.
Familiar and newly exciting, all at once.

Still, I was shy and polite, I didn't slide my hand into his jeans although I could feel the hardness of an erection stiffening his magnificent cock just beyond the reach of my fingers and heard his breath speed up, but I held back.

I love him, and I want to be his friend, or his wife, not the infuriating half-breed I seem to have stayed for the past year.

Our one-year anniversary of our first night together is coming up in exactly a month's time, and nothing is clearer, nothing resolved and I am not satisfied.

After the film neither of us suggested a drink, but on the way to the tube station he mentioned the drunken, horny and despearate texts I had sent him a couple of times in recent weeks. He wore the biggest grin and seemed to expect to be in for a night of passionate abandon.

I am not sure what happened, in idiotic "preparation" I had put on new and more seductive underwear, cleared my bed of clothes and magazines, wore his favourite perfume and wanted him so badly, but I couldn't go through with it.

When I was drunk and getting carried away by the music at a Hoxton club a few weeks earlier, the thought of Tall Boy turning up and taking me loudly in the disabled toilet had really appealed, but now I didn't feel like taking him home to my bed after all.

I felt like talking to him over cocktails in a dark bar, or fast-forwarding to being in an uncomplicated relationship with him to enjoy a night of cuddling up on the sofa, flirting, him sitting on my feet to keep them warm, me massaging his hands... but not this, yet another night next to him hiding my tears after our orgasm, wishing he'd come inside me, willing him to love me.

On the platform, still holding my hand he bent his head as if to kiss me, so close I inhaled his breath and could feel his stubble on my lips but I pulled back. "We are really bad at being friends", I told him, once again, "you can barely keep your hands off me".

He smiled, too, and didn't deny it, yet he was obviously on his way home because he hadn't suggested a drink. Or he was really sure about what would happen and that I would succumb to his charms, despite my continued restraint all summer, and since our last tryst past Novemer. Or he just really didn't want to talk to me, and didn't really care what happened.

"Where do you plan to get off?", I asked him when he followed me onto the train, drinking in his eyes. He opened his mouth to show me his teeth and asked if there was any popcorn stuck in them. "Why, do you want me to lick it our?", I asked, loud enough for the whole carriage to hear. We laughed. I love laughing with him, and offending people. He bent down to my ear and said: "I don't have to go home, you know...". "Yes, you do", I replied, pushing him out onto the platform when the train stopped. He leant in and kissed me warmly on the cheek so I could feel his familiar stubble, and didn't let go of my arm until the door shut on us.