Because First Impressions Last

I have always been all about first impressions. Like it or not, when you first meet someone the way they look, dress, talk and behave are imprinted on your mind. I read a study once (or who knows, maybe it was in Cosmo) that women have usually made their mind up about a man 10 seconds into meeting him. But if I've learned anything from my 4-month single struggle in Sydney, it's that I should not be too quick to judge.

Enter friend of a friend and fitter/welder. Let's call him McTrashy. He was 'friend suggested' to me via Facebook (I could go off on a tangent about modern dating and technology but will refrain), got in touch, had a friendly chat which turned into a 'friendly dinner' later in the week at Darling Harbour. Not being entirely sure what 'friendly dinner' encapsulated, I dressed in a nice skirt and top (but not a dress), heels (but not my platforms) and nice but not OTT makeup.

This man turned up in his 'scumbag' work truck (his words, not mine), a t shirt and jeans. During dinner I discovered that a) he never finished high school, b) he didn't go to university or tech, c) he smokes like a chimney (though was respectful enough not to do it in front of me), d) he left NZ because he had a 'drinking problem' and e) he enjoys ecstasy on a weekly basis. The real crowning glory was when he asked the bemused maitre d' if they could take the parsnip out of the parsnip mash.

I would never judge on any of these points alone; however, being exposed to them all so truthfully and at such an early stage left me reaching for the red wine, and crossing this one off the dwindling list of male dating options. How discouraging.

Yet, despite the trash factor, it seems that I judged too early. The next weekend I found myself alone with McTrash for several hours at Ivy, having lost the rest of our group. Despite being a drunken brat, and not only asking him if he had herpes, but also declaring that he was 'the trashiest person I have ever met,' we had quite the insightful conversation.

Not only this, but McTrash turned out to be a bit of a diamond in the rough, and - crass language and casual drug use aside - quite the gentleman underneath. Examples include ditching his friends to meet me safely at the train station, paying my entry to the exclusive Ivy bar, buying me countless drinks, carrying my handbag and making me (a demanding drunk) a hot chocolate at the 24/7 at 4am. After telling me that he had 'fallen in love with my eyes' and paying me a ridiculous amount of compliments, I felt obliged to give him a kiss, (just one!) while also obnoxiously warning that we were "just friends, McTrashy, just friends."

This was perhaps my downfall, for after that one very nice kiss I felt a certain fondness for this trashy man...and realised that, damn it, I really cared about his feelings. It would be cruel to lead him on; to make him think I wanted to be his girlfriend. I knew that I must cut (or at least cut-down) the contact. Yet we kept being thrown together at drinks and ex-pat BYOS, and McTrash continued to worm his way into my affections, with numerous compliments, drinks, hugs, kisses, laughs and even a dinner for two at a nice Chinese restaurant at 2am, after a particularly hideous BYO meal in Chinatown.

Now I find myself wondering whether it is wrong to 'use' someone. Is it so bad to be keen for the odd back massage or spoon in winter? For a male companion to eat out with? What's the general consensus on this? I know girls, lovely ones, who have similar relationships all the time. I try to keep the boundaries clear, slipping the word 'friend' or 'buddy' into conversation and texts regularly.

I may have blurred these boundaries, however, by sleeping with him last weekend...

B