The Housemate: Part VII - Mosbied?

Continuation of The Housemate: Parts I, II, III, IV, V, and VI. I kind of decided that I didn't want to write specifically about my relationship with the Housemate anymore, that the last one would be the end of it (how unrealistic was that?). And I should be doing problem sets right now, or at least instead writing up posts about my visit to Germany. But this is what's on my mind, and it's got to get off of it. So here again I reveal what I consider too much (embarrassing, personal) information...

I hadn't really made out with the Housemate for two and a half weeks, ever since that first night. One of those weeks I'd been in Berlin, where I'd really missed him--more than I would miss a typical roommate friend, I observed. Another of those weeks, I'd been completely stressed out about preparing for Berlin. In any case, it had been a while. My body was telling me a little touch was long overdue. All day, I couldn't get him out of my mind. I had it planned. We had already decided we'd watch some TV shows after dinner (I had so many to catch up on from last week...). After the end of the show, while we're still sitting there with the lights out, it would be the perfect time for a make-out session. We wouldn't do too much, just the things we'd done before, and maybe just maybe I'd let him take my shirt off, though I'd probably wait until some other day for that; it was a school night, after all (I know, I'm too rational in these plans).

It's night. Things are going according to plan. We watch the TV shows, and afterwards we're sitting there with the lights off. We lie down and start to make out. But as we're going at it, for whatever reason, I'm not craving it so much. I try to recall that craving from earlier in the day, or how it felt the time we made out before, but it's not coming up readily. I have no idea why. Maybe it's that I'm concentrating too much, not entirely comfortable in my inexperience and trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing. Maybe it's just the ups and downs of my hormones playing with me. But I keep going, going through the motions, concentrating on doing what I think I'm supposed to be doing. I'm gaining experience, getting better, at least, right? Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying it, getting bits of excitement and arousal, but not as much as I expected. Is this how it's supposed to be? Is this how it is? I let him take off my shirt because maybe that will make me feel something more. His stubble is too scratchy. It doesn't help.

I finally manage to wrap the make-out session up. We're sitting on the edge of my bed, I'm sending him off back to his room with one last kiss. As it releases, in a whisper, he lets slip three little words. Yes, those little words. It's WAY too early for that.

I keep thinking about what I should have said. Maybe something like "I love you as a friend--that, I know. But I'm not sure I know yet what it means to love someone as a lover. I think I'm getting there, and when I do I'll be sure to tell you, and you'll know that I mean it." Sounds awful when I write it out like that, but it's better than nothing. Which is what I said instead. All I did was give him another short but what I hoped would feel like a passionate kiss. I acted like I maybe hadn't heard him. Then I sent him off to bed. (At least I didn't say "Thank you"--right?)

As I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, I kept thinking about that moment. It was so quiet--did he know that I heard him? Was he lying in bed wondering if I heard him? Was he lying in bed totally depressed that I hadn't said it back? How could he expect me to say it back? I don't even think he meant it. How could he? We haven't known each other long enough! He must not have been thinking straight. It was only the second time we were making out! He is a dear, dear friend, and I care about him a lot, but I really don't know whether "love" is an appropriate word yet, and until I'm sure I won't say it. But that whole time we were making out, he was concluding that he's in love with me, while I was just kind of going through the motions. I guess I must have been convincing. Was I just playing him? Acting? Does this make me a faker? A manipulative liar? A whore (without the pay)?

Today, everything was back to normal. If he was bummed about me not responding to him the night before, he didn't let it show. And I didn't act weird as if I'd heard him say it and hadn't said it back. All normal. My affection for him is no less than yesterday, but my desire for him is considerably less. Not gone, but I could almost see it being gone--if I chose to, I might be able to get over him (does that make sense?). Is this temporary or permanent? Is this just the vicissitudes of the female libido? Or have I been Mosbied*?

There is hope yet for the Housemate. Yes, he may have pulled a Mosby on me. But I frequently (well, to anyone who asks, which is usually just myself) cite Ted Mosby as the guy on TV I'd most want as a boyfriend.


* In How I Met Your Mother's pilot episode, Ted Mosby tells Robin that he's in love with her after their first date. Such a premature statement shocks Robin into being completely uninterested in Ted romantically (at least for a little while). This technique is dubbed "The Mosby" and put to use in the Season 4 finale "The Leap" when Robin is trying to make Barney fall out of love with her (and it works until he finds out that she was just Mosbying him). I tried to find a clip or a good quote but couldn't with the time at hand. But you should watch the show. My favorite sitcom on TV.