Single & Fabulous? | 'When it comes to f**king your friends, always trust your gut'

Those first few seconds when you wake up, dazed, in a foreign bed feel like they last for an eternity. Where exactly the f**k am I? How did I get here? Add to that the naked silhouette of a stranger sleeping next to you, and it’s ten-fold. As I lay there shaking, all I knew was that I should have listened to my gut…

24 hours earlier…

It all started at lunch when my friend cancelled our evening plans for cocktails and cocktalk. But like all well-trained social butterflies, I had other options: I’d meet my friends at Winter Wonderland. But my gut told me from then that despite my best efforts at planning, the day’s outcome was going to be random – not ‘wake-up in a gutter with a homeless woman pissing on my foot’ random, but enough for me to sense something was going down (or, at least someone would be at the end of the night). And I was right… because your gut usually is.

Halfway through my business meeting, and second Long Island (I mentioned it was a casual business lunch, right?), and I’m pleasantly surprised to bump into Scott. Scott is a friend I’ve known for years, through mutual pals, and just being general hot messes on the gay scene. You know, one of those people that you don’t arrange to see, but when you do, you end up cackling away in the corner like the ugly sisters. He invited me out for drinks after with another friend of ours. So I agree – and not just ‘cause I’m a lush with time to kill. I enjoy their company.

A few drinks with them, and I’m sending the ‘I’m going to be late’ (aka I’m not coming) text to my other mates. Things get stranger when Scott pulls me out for a cigarette. Not so weird? Well, Scott doesn’t smoke. So when he suggests going back to his, I’m naïve enough to think it’s an open invite.

“No… Just me and you.”

I should probably state that our relationship – minus one inebriated fumbling – is purely platonic. The keyword (apparently) being ‘was’. Imagine being friends with someone for five years, and then suddenly they lay it on you. It’s like being hit by a bus. Only instead of a bus… a penis.

I have reservations about ruining a friendship, that, no matter how casual, I value. I’m not a sister-shagger; someone that can’t differentiate friendship from fucking. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t intrigued. When you get along with somebody so well, and already have some-kind of sexual history – you start to wonder…

‘Always trust your gut’, that’s what nana said. So I listened. I could feel something. But wasn’t sure if it was uncertainty or just the Long Islands. Ultimately, it was curiosity that had the final say. Like it always does. Curiosity may have killed the cat… but I ain’t no pussy, bitch. *Hails taxi*.

Back at his, he kept pausing mid-sentence to listen for his flat-mate coming home. I felt like the princess locked in the tower (getting jiggy with the stable boy), quivering over the evil step-mother’s return. Anybody who’s had a few one night stands knows there’s nothing worse than a moody flatmate to kill your vibe. And your erection. Fortunately we fell asleep before the wicked witch came home.

I woke abruptly in the early hours, with this awful gut feeling. One that I couldn’t help listen to this time. It wasn’t regret. Nor was it the sudden realization that I’d been in that apartment before and already banged the housemate.

“I’ll be right back…”

Walking out of the bedroom, I could feel the heat searing up my chest; the Long Islands. Before I knew it vomit was shooting out of my mouth, through my fingers and spraying all over the bathroom; the floor, the walls, the sink.

Cut to me on my hands and knees scrubbing away like the help. Every gay boy fantasizes the Cinderella story at some point, but it usually jumps straight to the riches, and skips the rags. Speaking of rags, I’m pretty sure she never had to mop up litres of bile with a half-torn baby wipe. This happened every hour on the hour, and by the third time, I was over it. I awoke that morning with the shakes. And a snatched waist line – every cloud, etc.

As it turns out, that strange silhouette wasn’t so strange, after all. But when it comes to friends and fucking (or even fumbling), if you want the naked truth, sometimes you have to try it to know. But you should always trust your gut: sometimes it’s message is literal, not metaphorical.

Ultimately, what my gut told me was that no matter what happened, me and Scott could go back to being friends – because we’d done it before. And that drinking heavily on an empty stomach is never a great idea.

Anthony Gilét is a London-based writer, blogger and YouTuber – follow him on Twitter @Anthony_Gilet.

To read more from the Single & Fabulous? series click here.

Single & Fabulous? | ‘When it comes to f**king your friends, always trust your gut’

In This Article: