The first time I slept with Guy, we were living together. After our initial date, we went out a few more times but nothing was very serious and we were friends more than anything. He didn’t try anything on, which I was rather surprised about, but I was still so young I didn’t have the confidence to make the first move. After two months of hanging out with him, the lovely people I shared an apartment with were all moving on. I didn’t really fancy living with yet more strangers, so I decided I would travel up to Darwin in northern Australia and down to Ayers Rock so that I could keep the promise I made to myself and go and see some more of the world. When I mentioned it to Guy, he sounded concerned and asked when / if I would come back to Sydney. At the time, I hadn’t really thought about what I’d do after Ayers Rock; anyone who has been backpacking will know that is half the fun. But when Guy said I could stay with him, rent free, in his three-bedroom apartment for as long as I liked, how could I say no? It would give me a few weeks to work, save up money and hopefully go and see some of New Zealand. So, without even considering the consequences, I agreed, and on the day I returned from Ayers Rock, he picked me up from the airport.
It was a Sunday night, and I was absolutely exhausted from my travelling, so when he said he was having dinner with his dad and one of his sisters (he had three sisters!) and that I should come, I immediately didn’t want to. Now, in Australia (and maybe even the rest of the world), it would have probably been acceptable to decline the dinner invitation and go to bed, but being British, I of course went. I wish I hadn’t. Dinner was awkward, to say the least. His dad seemed nice enough but was eyeing me very suspiciously; it was clear Guy didn’t really bring girls along to dinner very often. His sister Kayley, on the other hand, was not nice at all. She made it very clear she didn’t like me, didn’t want me there and would do anything to get rid of me. The funny thing was, Guy honestly seemed not to notice. Imagine my horror when I found out Kayley actually resided in the third bedroom of Guy’s apartment! Something he had neglected to tell me when I had agreed to stay. Shoot me now, I thought to myself. Nonetheless, I was obviously far too polite, and in way too deep, to just leave. After dinner, all four of us went back to the apartment and I was honestly speechless. It was huge, absolutely beautiful and had views of the Harbour bridge. Actually, it felt like we were so close to the bridge that we could touch it. No wonder his family didn’t like me, I thought, giggling to myself. They think I’m a gold digger.
I could see where they were coming from, though. After all, I had been backpacking for months, and to be quite frank, I looked absolutely awful. I was overweight, I hadn’t had my hair cut or coloured in months and most of my clothes had holes in them. However, when you are backpacking, everyone is in the same boat and so you just don’t care. It becomes very much the norm not to care about your appearance. Maybe if they had met me at a different point in my life, when my clothes didn’t have holes or when I wasn’t overweight, things would have been very different and they might have given me more of a chance.
That night, as it got later, Kayley went to bed. Then his dad went to bed. I can remember thinking, Oh, I wonder where his dad sleeps? Yes, that’s right. His dad headed straight for the spare room. As I now know, his dad actually stayed over twice a week and slept in the spare room. Guy casually asked me if I wanted to go to bed and I asked where I was meant to sleep. Surely he wasn’t going to ask me to sleep on the sofa, but being from completely different cultures, I wasn’t sure of the etiquette in Australia. But no, he wanted me to sleep in his room, in his bed!
It instantly felt weird to me. He was my friend. But this late at night, there really was no escape route and so being British, I politely agreed. Although we didn’t have sex that night, everything changed. I began to realise that he did in fact like me. He was just as nervous as I was.
Less than one week after I moved in, we got drunk and had sex. The next day I was pretty withdrawn and quiet. Although I had slept with a few men by that point I could still count them all on one hand, and I was no way experienced. Particularly with the bit after sex. I was always awkward and immature and often ended up giggling for no apparent reason. It felt wrong to sleep with a good friend like that, particularly when he was a close friend of my family. After all, I assumed that after he had gotten what he wanted, that would be it and I would lose his friendship. Imagine my surprise when he sent fifty—yes, fifty—red roses to my work on the Monday morning. I was smitten.‘Maturity is not when we start speaking big things; it is when we start understanding small things.’ — Unknown.