If you find yourself sofa-surfing while in a relationship, there are three main crisis areas to consider: spontaneity (and lack thereof), independence and sex in general. I’ve suffered from them all since moving out of a dungeon in north London to sofa-surf while hunting for a permanent job as a writer and saving for a non-dungeon (I was freelance at the time and my income was sporadic at best).
It took six months to find something I could afford, during which time I stayed on five different sofas, and not once uttered the words: “Hey, come back to mine,” “Let’s play it by ear,” or “I have my own bed”. In short – it wasn’t the sexiest way to start a new relationship.
Take, for instance, what happened to me on my second date with a new boy. The date was going really well until, halfway through, I received a text letting me know nobody was around to let me into my ‘house’ that evening. He knew I was sofa-surfing – and nobody’s expecting full-on Independent Woman Part II (Destiny’s Child, 2000) while living on a couch – but I’m sure he wasn’t prepared for what followed.
I call it Crazed Roof Flirting – others would say it’s flirting for a roof over your head. My attempts ranged from “Hahahahaha god you’re funny and have the nicest eyes I’ve ever seen,” to “Where do you live? Is it far? Can I see it? Do you have central heating?” all while undoing some buttons.
After around 15 minutes, during which he became increasingly unnerved by the sudden change in my behaviour, I came clean and just pleaded. He took me back to his place but we didn’t have sex because I was too tired from getting up at 6am. The girl I stayed with had a double locking system that meant I left when she did. To go to Starbucks/Wetherspoons and use the wifi. And sometimes cry in the toilets. Instead, I fell asleep, ironically, on the sofa.
I call it Crazed Roof Flirting – others would say it’s flirting for a roof over your head
Luckily, it didn’t put the boy off. But the first time we actually got round to trying sex wasn’t much more of a success. We decided to go back to “mine” because the guy I was staying with was out.
When my boyfriend threw me onto the giant airbed I’d been given, I bounced off and broke a coffee table. Something of an irreplaceable one-off family heirloom, I would later learn. Needless to say, the shock and worry somewhat killed the mood – and I had to buy my friend a fruit basket to say sorry for the broken table.
A few months into our relationship I realised that, if I wanted sex, it was going to have to be at his house or not at all. That even included sex with myself – when you’re homeless you can’t even knock one out because nobody wants to be the girl who got caught having a go with herself on her friend’s sofa.
But it was the spontaneity issue that really got me, because it happens so subtly that I didn’t realise the resentment I was feeling for my situation and, by extension, my new boyfriend. Try lugging toiletries, laptops, phone chargers, a change of clothes etc all day on the off chance that someone invites you round – without occasionally snapping.
About once a week, in response to my boyfriend saying, “Hey, I think I’m going to have a drink with the guys tonight,” I’d blurt something weird like, “BUT I’M SO PREPARED I’VE GOT SAVLON AND EVERYTHING” like a sexually frustrated girl guide. Then get surprised when he didn’t want to hang out with me.
Of course it made signing for that shitty flat-share six months later all the sweeter. Except, after all this time, we’ve sort of got into a routine of me going round to his. Y’know, he’s used to it and I’m used to living out of a bag. Which is the last real kicker of long-term sofa-surfing in a relationship: once you start, it never really bloody ends.
Photograph: Ada Hamza
Follow Stevie on Twitter @5tevieM
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.