I saw Trevor at the gym for months: scattered tattoos and a black tank top with a cute patch of climbing chalk on his ears. They always made sure to say hello to me and looked my way frequently. The first time I was asked out was in December.
I asked them when they were free and they said, “Christmas Day?” I thought it was a joke, but now I'm not sure. In January I went on a hike with them. They tried to take me to an old mine in Millard Canyon, which we never found, but we found a shared love of theater and making fun of capitalist overlords and loud, grumpy men at the gym. Overall, it felt so… friendly. No spark, but good conversation for hours.
A few months later, they took me out again, this time to Geeky Tea and Games in Burbank. I had a lot of work to do and barely had time to sleep. But I love board games. We left until 2 am.
After beating them in Catan (without witnessing an alpha male tantrum upon losing!), we ended up at IHOP, where the server remembered Trevor from his youth. Her memory of them being sweet as teenagers quelled the question, “Is this person really a serial killer?” intrusive thoughts.
We started texting each other throughout the day, sharing memes, cat pictures, and jokes about the hypermasculine beasts at the gym. In May, I was working two jobs, hosting a fundraiser and hosting a group vacation.
I got sick and Trevor pounced on me, making me soup, washing dishes, reading to me in different voices in bed, hugging me, and avoiding activities outside the apartment because they just “wanted to talk.” Although I didn't feel romantically connected, I felt protected and loved chatting until the birds sang with someone who was emotionally aware and sensitive.
We laughed at all the ways cis men had to prove themselves (and to whom?!). They repeatedly said that they were happy with the way the friendship was, that they would be just as happy if we never had sex and just slept next to each other at night. As someone on the asexual spectrum, that sounded perfect.
However, they continued to become increasingly touchy in bed, talking about how much it turned them on and how they weren't like other people with male bodies. I was curious and didn't want to lose my sleepover buddy, so we agreed to be friends with benefits. Things went smoothly… for about two weeks.
By mid-June, their communication became inconsistent. Suddenly, the fun messages, the dependability, the relaxing sound of them reading at night (all my favorite things about our time together) were gone. When I asked them what had changed, they said that now that they “had me” there was “no reason to do any of that.”
Sex was fun for those first few weeks, but then they stopped doing any kind of foreplay. I cried. A lot. I felt like I was spending time with a stranger, and someone who didn't care at all.
I knew they were going through a tough time financially, and I thought that if they could get through it, they would be the kind, fun friends of spring again. But they started playing non-board games, like sending me messages: “What time do we meet again?” at the time we were supposed to meet. They belittled the creative ideas I had.
Long talks about our world and our perspectives were reduced to watching a television show cuddling and falling asleep. Where was the emotional connection I enjoyed?
A few weeks later, they mentioned wanting to sleep with two climbers at the gym, two people in separate long-term relationships. They started making unrealistic plans to sleep with them (without people knowing). I calmly pointed out to them that if they continued doing this, they would lose me.
Trevor looked me straight in the eyes and said, “It's okay,” leaving me feeling like our friendship was nothing to them.
I ended the sexual part of our relationship, but kept the door open to friendship. They responded, “Great, now I won't have sex for years.”
This led to a rollercoaster cycle: They would come to the gym saying things like, “I'm going to cry myself to sleep tonight,” and they would text me saying they needed me to go, only to change their mind later.
I stayed over once again to talk about what our future friendship could be like. Trevor lamented that I might want to be friends with them and how bad they felt about hurting me, saying that they just couldn't help but hurt people all the time.
I told them that it seemed strange to ask for compassion for causing me so much emotional pain. I told them that in order to be friends in the future, I needed them to promise not to intentionally hurt me in the future and to let me know if they were feeling anxious or insecure instead of lashing out.
When I woke up they told me that they didn't want me to go back to sleep because “it's weird.” I left but then I started getting texts from them about how the week was going. They also shared YouTube clips without context and fake happy messages.
I felt like they were still pretending with me, when I wanted the real person. Or maybe I finally met the real person.
I wrote a long text message, explaining that our friendship still didn't feel good to me and suggested we chat about our feelings. They responded, “At this point, I don't think we're good friends and I don't want to be your friend.” Oh.
When the friendship ended, I felt like I was mourning someone who hadn't existed. I think I should dislike them more, but the reality is that I miss my fun and talented friend. I look forward to another night where I start laughing and hear them jokingly say, “Wait, are those birds starting to sing? Oh, nooooo, what are we going to do?
I'll never know if my spring friend was really there or if it was just a long-lasting mask. But I am grateful for the friends who validated my feelings of sadness and confusion and strongly advised me to run far, far away. For the next partner, I'll hold the bar above the shirtless grumps at the gym and raise it to someone who can laugh while the birds sing and communicate even when they can't.
The author is a queer, multiracial writer who took a part-time job at a climbing gym, only to accidentally unionize it. When she's not playing outside, she can be found playing at comedy venues around town. She is on Instagram: @jessadventurin
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