I want to do cute things with you. I bring them up sometimes, hinting but never coming right out and saying ‘will you go on cute dates with me?’

There’s a concert not far from me where a string trio will play songs in a church filled with lit candles. And I’d like to sit in a pew with you, our thighs touching as we listen to classical versions of Fleetwood Mac, me sneaking glances at you and smiling.

There’s a free drag event nearby that I saw on a local meetup group. It only lists one drag queen but one is all you need, right? I imagine us sitting on bar stools, our knees touching, laughing with each other in the bits between the spectacle.

Or I’d like to go paddle boarding with you. There’s a lake nearby that rents by the hour and I wonder what my balance is like, what yours is like. Would you laugh seeing me wobble on my board, would I splash you with my oar? Maybe we walk around the lake before our time on the water, arms brushing against each other, me wanting to hold your hand.

I don’t remember your answer when I asked if you liked roller coasters? Maybe we end up at Thorpe Park, deciding whether to queue for the new roller coaster or whether we race around to see if we can do all the other big rides in the same time as queuing for Hyperia. Or at least my favourites, The Swarm and Saw. Maybe Nemesis or if I’m trying to impress you, Stealth. I see myself bumping into you as I’m telling a story, touching your arm for emphasis, moving in closer to you as crowds of other people circle around us.

It could be anything, really. It doesn’t matter if we’re in the cinema or a museum, walking along the river or sitting on a bench somewhere. The point is that I want to spend time with you, I want to see your face, I want to hear your voice, I want to thrill at the idea of touching you, of you touching me.

And instead we do what we always do. I message you first, you respond. Occasionally and far too infrequently for my liking you show up in my bed. My bed, and never yours, and we have this brief, intense, pleasurable experience. Where I’m left spent, sated and wanting so much more.