casual

"is it ever really casual? "- chappell roan. are we kidding ourselves when we entertain this arrangement or can it work under the proper conditions?

If I go back to some of my earliest memories and think about what being involved with someone in more than a platonic way looked like, it came down to this: you wanted the guy to court you. That way, you could trust that he liked you for who you were, not just for one thing. Sex—the word people treated like it was too shameful to say out loud. I never quite understood that hesitancy. To me, sex was simply part of being human.

I remember being in high school and going to a friend’s gathering while her parents were out. It was just a group of girls, all hanging out, talking about a mix of things. It’s been a while, so most of the conversation is a blur—but I distinctly remember when the topic shifted to sex. One girl, nervously, asked, “So… have any of you ever touched yourself?” At first, the room went quiet. You could feel the tension, like everyone was curious but too afraid to be the first to admit anything. No one wanted to say the wrong thing or be seen differently. I raised my hand and said it in a voice barely above a whisper: “I have.” If I’m being honest, the only thing I really remember is the heat rising to my cheeks as everyone turned to look at me, surprised, maybe even a little stunned. They had always seen me as the innocent one, so my answer caught them completely off guard.

Innocent—that wasn’t the first time I’d been seen that way. Not long ago, I was sitting on a guy’s bed, and we ended up talking about how we’re both perceived like that. The way we carry ourselves gives off the impression that we’re less sex-positive than we are. Now, I know what you might be thinking—you probably assume we hooked up. We didn’t. We were both open to the possibility, but once we were in his bed, it just didn’t click.

Instead, it turned into something unexpectedly healing. We talked about past relationships, he opened up about his kinks, and neither of us felt judged. It was pure acceptance—something I hadn’t experienced before. I only wish I could have seen him more as a friend. (More on that dynamic if you click below.)

One of the things we talked about—before we even met up that day—was the experience I’d had just the week before with a different guy. For context, I was 24 at the time (I’m 25 now), and for a long while, I’d felt self-conscious about the fact that I hadn’t had my first kiss or done anything physical with anyone. I felt behind in that part of myself. And for years, I told myself, If it’s meant to happen, it’ll find me. But it wasn’t finding me. So I decided to take it into my own hands.

Back in middle school, I thought I was being progressive by telling myself I didn’t need to be married to be physical—I just needed to be in a relationship. That would be enough. But then 24 came around, and still—no relationship. So I had to ask myself: Do I still believe that? Or am I more fluid than that now?
The answer? I was more fluid than that. So I downloaded the apps, went on some dates for the first time, and one in particular stood out. (More on that one below.)

That led to a conversation with a dear friend about the types of signals guys can send when they are looking for more. After that, I felt better knowing I was coming more prepared.

April 12
The time when it finally came in handy. We had only chatted briefly, but I already knew we had things in common. Then came the disclaimer: “I can only do friends or something casual—I’m leaving in a month.” I sat with that for about two minutes, asking myself, “Am I actually open to that?”
My gut answer? Yes.
I played it cool and replied, “Yeah, that works for me,” but honestly, I was excited. The possibility had finally presented itself, and I didn’t want to overthink it away.

We arranged our schedules, and eventually, the day came—April 12. We went to the movies. It’s the same theater I try to take all my dates to because it’s familiar, and in familiar spaces, I overthink less. He bought the tickets, and we met up at 4:30 p.m. When I saw him in person, my first thought was: “Wait… he looks really good. Better than in his photos”. I didn’t think that was possible. He smiled and hugged me hello. As we walked inside, he looked around and asked, “So… why this theater?” he scoffed.

He was more used to the mainstream moviegoing experience—he had a membership to one of the big chains and saw it as a badge of honor, a symbol of his dedication to cinema. That was something we had in common: a love for film. But our approaches were different. While he favored the chain, I’ve always gravitated toward indie theaters. To me, it’s like comparing McDonald’s to a small mom-and-pop spot. No contest—I’d choose the mom-and-pop every time.

So when he asked, “Why this theater?” I answered brightly, “They play some of the same movies that premiere at Sundance.”
I remember being like him once—treating the big chains like cinematic holy ground because they played the award-season hits. But once I discovered L.A.’s deep-rooted culture of preserving indie theaters, I got hooked. Supporting them felt like doing my part in keeping them alive, because I care not just about what is shown, but where it’s shown. I believe in not letting things from the past die with time. It’s the reason I still shoot film, why I collect records, and why I cherish physical media.

He listened, and I watched him soften. He mentioned he’d looked into this theater before and thought it was cool that they played older films, like ones by David Lynch. I smiled and nodded in agreement.

We made our way to our seats. The previews were still playing, giving us a little window to talk before the film started. He turned to me and asked, “What are your favorite movies?” I shared mine, then he shared his. We went back and forth, diving into our thoughts on each other’s picks and swapping opinions on other films that came up. It became clear pretty quickly—we watched movies the same way.

I had missed talking to someone like that—easy, curious, connected.

At one point, he mentioned how people often said he looked like Finn Wolfhard. Apparently, it happened enough that strangers had stopped him on the street. One thing I’ve learned about attractive people? You don’t want to go straight into flattery. If you do, they stop feeling like they have to work for your attention.

So I played it cool. “Oh really? Interesting.” Then, with a teasing smile, I added, “Honestly, I feel like every guy with brown wavy hair gets compared to him on the internet.”
He laughed, and so did I. It eased the tension between us.

Then he paused. “Wait… sorry, I’m having trouble finding the word,” he said. That’s when he told me English wasn’t his first language—Spanish was—so sometimes, it took him a moment to find the right word. I said if he wanted to switch to Spanish, he could because I also speak it. I saw his eyes light up.

I guess I don’t always give off the impression of who I am.

Some context about my background: I’ve lived in California all my life—except for one year, when I was little and moved to Mexico. When I came back, I had to relearn English. Both of my parents are from Mexico. My mom understands English but doesn’t feel comfortable speaking it aloud. My dad took the assimilation route—he preferred to speak only English. So over time, I got a solid handle on Spanish, mostly from helping translate for my mom. Funny how something like that ends up being useful in situations she’d definitely disapprove of if she knew.

I told him all of that, and he opened up, too, about how he had gone to boarding school in Germany. He wasn’t even sure why Germany, of all places. I laughed and said, “Sounds random,” and he agreed. It led to a conversation about languages we’d each tried to learn. Turns out, we had most of the same ones in common. That small overlap made me feel more connected to him.

Still, part of me wondered—now that he was seeing me in person, did he still want something more, or was he leaning toward just friends? I was open to either.

Then the movie started. We both focused on. The only time I whispered to him was when I caught a transition in the film that screamed “student project.” He glanced over, nodded, like I’d just said what he was thinking. We both thought the movie was awful and had the same take on it. Then he walked to a certain point outside the theater.

He looked a little unsure of which way to walk, pausing for a moment like he’d lost his sense of direction.

So I asked, playfully, “So… which way are you going?” letting out a soft, coy laugh.

He smiled, matching my energy. “I don’t know— which direction am I going?”

I asked, “Have you gone up to a rooftop while you’ve been in town?”

He smirked, “No, I haven’t.”

I tilted my head slightly, teasing, “Wanna?”

He smiled—soft, a little intrigued. “Sure.”

We walked through the city, just a short way, until we reached the building. I unlocked the door with my key, and he held it open as we stepped inside. We took the elevator up.

This was one of my go-to moves—if a movie date went well, I’d bring them to the rooftop.

Once we got up there, I led him to a little seat that only fits two. The last time I brought someone here—a girl—it was where our posture softened, and we adjusted to each other based on the vibe.

So this time, as we started to ease into the space, I slowly turned my body toward him. Our bodies naturally inched closer. I could see the lightbulb flicker on in his head, just for a second.

Then he looked at me and asked, “So… do you want to watch that show we talked about now?”

Without missing a beat, I smiled and said calmly, “Sure.”

We stood up, and I led the way. I never really have people over. But with him, I felt calm. There was an ease to being around him—it felt...natural.

We got off the elevator and started down the hallway. He looked around and said, “It looks like a hotel.”

I smiled and replied playfully, “Yeah, I guess I could see that.”

I reached for the lock and opened the door. The first thing you see when you walk in is my Lost in Translation poster. He noticed it right away and called it out without missing a beat.

Then his eyes moved to the living room. He stepped toward the couch, paused at my coffee table, and pointed at the two books sitting on top—one by a director we both liked, the other by a photographer.

I walked him over to my vinyl collection—rows of albums I’d collected over time. He flipped through them, lingering on a few. The Smiths. Mazzy Star. The Marías. Cocteau Twins. Arctic Monkeys. I have such a male manipulator taste lol. Long story short, we kissed, which led to a makeout. We both were really in sync the whole time, and I was surprised my body knew what to do. Felt very passionate and sensual. I was turned on during it. In between it he could take a small pause and give me this look like he couldn’t believe it was happening. Like he felt lucky it was.

When the pause stretched a little longer, I asked softly, “Do you want to take a break?”

He nodded, just as gently, “Yeah.”

The show we were watching was his favorite—he had really wanted to put it on. He laid back, and I settled on top of him. At first, I kept a little distance, unsure how long this moment would last. But when it became clear he wasn’t in any rush, I let myself relax, laying my head on his chest.

The sound of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath—it gave me a sense of peace I hadn’t realized I missed.

We lay there like that for what must’ve been fifteen minutes. I didn’t want it to end.

But my body had other plans—my foot was on the edge of going numb. I whispered, “Hey, my foot’s starting to fall asleep.” He shifted, and we moved.

We didn’t go all the way—I was on my period. At one point, he asked how I felt about blowjobs. I told him honestly, “I haven’t done one before… so you’ll have to teach me.” I let out a quiet laugh.

With a calm, patient tone, he said, “Yeah, I can show you.”

I learned. I also learned I could speak up—to ask for a water break when I needed it—and he responded with patience each time.

Later, his mouth found my chest, and that’s when the thought hit me, clear and unexpected: I’d be enjoying this so much more if I didn’t have a chest right now. It stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t expected to feel that.

Afterward, we got dressed and kept watching the show. We talked more about movies, and he mentioned one that had a soundtrack from an artist in my vinyl collection.

By the time we reached the door, I asked, “Would you want to hang out again?”

He told me his family was coming to town—they were planning to move here, and he was going to help show them around. He smiled as he talked about them, and I could tell they were close. That made me feel even more grounded in what we’d shared—he seemed kind.

“I’m not super sure about my schedule right now,” he added, “but I’ll let you know.”

We shared a brief hug goodbye.

I went back into my apartment and just stood there for a second. I couldn’t believe it had happened. I smiled to myself—and couldn’t stop smiling.

It felt healing.

Someone could want me. Desire me.

Yes.

We didn’t end up seeing each other again before he left. But universe, if you’re listening—I’d love to run into him again someday. Just to see what happens.

I think I like casual, as long as it still feels meaningful, and as long as it’s communicated from the beginning.

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