I was kissing my boyfriend – until I had a startling realisation

 I assumed it was Oli and turned to kiss him (Picture: Getty Images/iStockphoto)

As we kissed, I melted into my then-boyfriend, Oli*.

Standing in our local university club after too many drinks, music filled my ears and I was drunkenly lost in the moment.

People surged around us as Oli and I slowly backed up against a wall, passionately running our hands over each other’s bodies.

Then, out of nowhere, my back was pushed in a way that didn’t feel like someone shoving past. It was more of a deliberate poke.

I shrugged it off, furrowing my brow as I continued to make out with Oli.

I felt the poke again – harder this time – and then, over the music, I heard my name uttered in a shocked tone. It sounded surprisingly like Oli.

‘Sydney?’

I paused. That was definitely Oli’s voice.

Pulling away from the man I was kissing, I waited for my vision to clear, blinking while my eyes searched his face. Gradually, I realised that, while I had no idea who he was, the man I was locking lips with was definitely not Oli.

People surged around us as Oli and I slowly backed up against a wall (Picture: Getty Images/iStockphoto)

It was 2009 – and like many students, I spent most of my time having Bacardi Breezers for lunch.

I should have known my boyfriend’s face, though – I had been dating him for almost a year at that point, after all.

Oli was a tall handsome man. When our eyes first locked across our university bar, I knew I was going to date him. 

We spent that first night drinking and kissing in the bar, before later falling into my bed.

After a few dates like that, we started calling each other ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’, in a childish attempt to ‘confirm’ our relationship. We didn’t talk about it – we simply started using the words. It felt natural.

Our relationship was good, but as the months went on, I started to get bored. While Oli was a lovely guy, he didn’t put effort into kind gestures, or make much time for me.

My mindset was set to ‘party’ (Picture: Getty Images)

And being at university meant our lives revolved around drinking and friends, instead of working on ‘us’.

So, unsurprisingly, we started to grow a bit distant.

Nonetheless, Oli and I would usually head out for the night together. On the night in question, though, I’d wandered out on my own instead, texting him to meet me at the club.

It was the local on a Friday, so I wasn’t worried about going solo – I knew around half the clientele would be my friends.

I’d been working on a particularly hard uni project that week, so I needed to blow off some steam – I was on a mission to drink too much to forget about my coursework and my dwindling interest in my relationship.

My lipgloss was effectively smeared over my lips, my skirt was sufficiently small, and my mindset was set to ‘party’.

I was ready.

hree sambuca shots later, I turned around to find somewhere to sit (Picture: Getty Images/iStockphoto)

A couple of hours into dancing, I realised Oli hadn’t arrived. I checked my phone to see if he’d texted me, but there was nothing there. The crucial fact that I had no reception didn’t cross my – by then, drunken – mind.

Shrugging, I went to the bar with a group of friends. Three sambuca shots later, I turned around to find somewhere to sit.

That’s when someone grabbed me from behind, and whispered in my ear: ‘Hey, baby’.

Drunkenly smiling with my eyes closed, I assumed it was Oli and turned to kiss him. He kissed me back; and that’s when I found myself pushing him against a wall with someone poking my back.

Looking back, there were so many signs that this man wasn’t my boyfriend.

He smelled different – Oli didn’t usually wear Lynx – and he also kissed differently.

But, since I was drunk, I’d neither noticed nor cared.

As I pulled away and realised I’d been making out with someone who wasn’t Oli, though, all those things came flashing to the forefront of my mind – along with immense guilt.

‘Oh god!’

I pushed away from the strange man and spun around to be faced with a very angry boyfriend.

‘Sydney, what the hell?’

He looked hurt. I tried to reach out to him but my head was spinning from all the sambuca. I pathetically watched as he stormed out of the club, leaving me with my shame.

The man I’d been kissing also disappeared – he was someone I luckily never saw again, and I was grateful for it.

I left the club and walked home, trying to call Oli – who had switched his phone off. I left a tonne of messages, all spelled incorrectly and brimming over with drunken desperation, before passing out in bed.

The hurt look on Oli’s face burned into my brain as I slept.

The next morning, alongside my hangover and guilt, I was met with a knock on my door.

It was Oli.

Oli claimed I’d been growing more distant by the minute (Picture: Getty Images)

He wanted to ‘talk’, and I knew what that meant. Sure enough, my stupidity led to the end of us.

But it wasn’t just the kiss. Oli claimed I’d been growing more distant by the minute, and that this incident was proof. It also turned out that the way I was feeling about him was mutual.

I wondered whether my subconscious made out with another man in an attempt to end things between us – a strategy I now consider the most immature way of ending a relationship.

I continued to see Oli around university and we remained friends. Once, we even made out again.

The guilt stayed with me, though. I realised that, if there was a relationship I didn’t think was going anywhere, I needed to make a decisive decision about it – instead of pushing it to the back of my mind by drinking too much.

I never want to see pain I’ve caused written all over someone’s face again.

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