Not in love. Just looking, thanks.

Sometimes it’s difficult when you are twenty something and you think that the only important thing in life is when you’re next going to be held.
Sometimes in life it’s also very hard to realise that not only are you alone; but everyone else from the opposite sex wants not to hold you but just to get in your pants. It’s difficult then, to distinguish the difference between that good guy and that bad guy.
The Good Guy: he doesn’t call as often, doesn’t reply to many texts, and he isn’t really the smooth talker either. This all doesn’t sound like he should make it under the “good guy” category but its the other things he does that really matter which bring him on top. He spoons you, and when lying next to you he encourages you to put your head on his chest. He moves the hair from your face as you speak, kisses your forehead just because and holds your hand in front of people. He hands you your favourite Haribo from the packet without you even asking and makes sure he always brings enough BBQ sauce for the both of you when at McDonalds. The good guy is the one who will watch Eastenders with you even though he hates Sharon Rickman, just to make you happy and only complains before it starts, never during. The good guy will be your boyfriend and your gal pal, listen to your dramas and keep your feet on the ground.
The Bad Guy: he says all the right things and is always telling you about how fantastic your body is. He calls you gorgeous and makes you feel like a million bucks for the five minutes of intense attention he does spend on you. He skilfully helps you undress and gives you a gaze hotter than the sun (ugh gross… sorry…). But then you think to yourself that he never really helps you get dressed again. Nor does he romantically hand you your knickers from the floor when it’s all over. He doesn’t spoon you and tell you cute things about himself, he just turns around and falls asleep, there is no pillow talk. There is no sweet, heart-warming, tingle inducing moment. And when you wake up the next morning he’s fully dressed and halfway out the door with a “Take care, darling!” The messages begin to dwindle and the phone calls stop altogether. He doesn’t want to hold your hand anymore, but then you realise that he never did in the first place…
Maybe it’s just me? Maybe having had a relationship where trust and loyalty and friendship were a given, I’ve been led to believe that I can have it with any man, that all men will offer me the same protection I felt. Perhaps I had something I’ll never find again. But half the adventure is getting out there, window shopping, wading through the bad guys, to find the good, right…?

Aside