The first time I tried to get this man to hold my hand, we were walking beside a London canal in the early evening darkness. I thought it was romantic – the lights reflected off the water, the gentle strolling pace, the early days of a relationship that felt extremely exciting. The first time I tried to hold his hand he let me do it for exactly half a second before pulling away and announcing “I’m not much of a hand-holding person, actually.” It was useful feedback, of course, and I respect how good he is at articulating his boundaries. However, as I explained ten seconds after I’d collapsed into awkward giggles, he could have said it a little more quietly… so the guy walking past at that exact moment didn’t witness my humiliating rejection. I tell you this only so you can see that the man in question here is not, traditionally, a hand-holding kinda guy. He’ll do it if we’re sitting on the sofa, but when we’re out and about the closest he comes to a PDA is the odd subtle smack on my arse or a peck on the lips. He doesn’t like being publicly affectionate, and would rather save certain types of physical contact for when we’re alone. Fair play.

(more…)