Author: Eli Matthews
Art:Esther LaLanne
How I discovered what it means to be intimate, through an encounter on the street with a complete stranger. It’s not what you’re thinking, but I’ll leave you in suspense for now.
“I didn’t think it was a problem! Because we’d shared a certain level of intimacy.” Said my ex, after spontaneously deciding to show me his junk on a call, months after we’d split (so, emphasis on the “had shared” part). The display prompted me to end the call, and the comment prompted me to think about what we really mean when we talk about intimacy. What is physical intimacy? Is it a level of familiarity you reach with someone: familiar enough to pee with the door open…or to try rimming for the first time? Is it entitlement: some kind of access granted? (And then later taken for granted, as in the case of my ex). Does ‘intimacy’ mean something different to everyone? Are we misunderstanding what intimacy really means? Or do we need a new definition?
The word has its origins in Latin. It comes from intimare, ‘to put or bring into’, and intimus, ‘innermost’. Some obvious innuendos there for sure! But that’s not all; it also means ‘to make familiar’ or ‘to (im)press’. So really, we don’t need a new definition: intimacy can mean to hold someone close in confidence, but also to press them tight in affectionate embrace. And one simple embrace was actually all I needed to understand what intimacy means. A few months after, and in stark contrast to that incident with my ex, I had an intimate encounter with a complete stranger on the street. That moment helped crystallise what intimacy means (to me at least). It also made me realise I’ve had maybe three such physically intimate encounters with complete strangers, without ever speaking a word. I’ll recount them in order.
“I discovered that, with the right person with the right intentions, you can have intimacy between strangers, without ever exchanging a word.”
#1: 2015. A visit to my hometown. It was the end of a uni reunion night out. I left the bar and joined the crowds of other people also being disgorged onto the streets. I don’t think I was even seeing straight, at that time of the night and after a few, but I know that I looked left and right, caught the eye of a cute Brazilian guy, did a double-take, and without a word passing between us, we were drawn in. We kissed passionately, as if at the beginning of a film based on a Nicholas Sparks novel, bound to end with the love of my life being taken out by either cancer or a plane crash. Of course it didn’t end that way, or even with any romance; just a fun fumble and a hungover cuddle-sesh the next day. Another factor that made it all slightly less ‘romantic montage’ was my friends coming out of the bar behind, asking the Canadian guy I had been kissing all night, “What’s happening?! I thought she was with you?!”, and him replying sadly “So did I.” Awkward…
#2: The Philippines, 2017. I had fallen asleep on the bus. Backseat, retracted jaw, deep-sea-fish face engaged, head lolling around, from the headrest, to my chest, to the window, to the young man sitting next to me! At some point I startle myself awake, realise what’s happening, and remove myself from his shoulder. I offer him an embarrassed look by way of apology (undoubtedly wiping drool from my mouth). Instead of looking bothered, he smiled and gestured to his chest, lifting his arm and shifting round to offer me better support. Still half dozing (and never one to refuse a good napping opportunity!), I turned and fell asleep against his body. I don’t know how many hours we travelled like that. And when we woke again, I turned my back to the window and offered to return his kindness. We continued that way until we came to his stop. We smiled and waved goodbye. We had never said a word.
“It was one of the most intimate moments of my life; to hold and be held by a complete stranger, to feel sad and vulnerable together, and to offer each other comfort, all in the middle of a crowded street.”
#3: Finally, 2024. Lima, Perú. I was walking down the street, totally despondent. I was homesick. Not for a place or a person, but for community. More specifically, a community also enraged by and engaged with what’s happening in Palestine. That week had seen a particularly tough stream of updates from Israel’s live-streamed genocide in Gaza. But I was surrounded by fellow travellers who either didn’t know, or didn’t seem to care. Surreal. I had concert tickets and decided to go, despite not feeling up to it. I was walking down the street, head down, wearing my Palestinian keffiyeh scarf across my shoulders, just going through the motions. When I looked up, I caught sight of a guy in the crowd coming my way, also wearing a keffiyeh. I smiled, more to myself than anything. As we got steadily closer, he clocked me, and he smiled too. We reached each other and, without a word, we met in a firm embrace. In the middle of a crowded street, like two old friends overwhelmed to see each other again. We stayed locked like that for I don’t know how long, and I had tears in my eyes when we eventually pulled away and spoke. He was Swedish, also travelling, and had been feeling the exact same.
It was one of the most intimate moments of my life; to hold and be held by a complete stranger, to feel sad and vulnerable together, and to offer each other comfort, all in the middle of a crowded street. I couldn’t help but compare the beauty of this, with the ugliness of what my ex had done and then tried to call “intimacy”. This was something very different. It was not based on familiarity, or entitlement, or sexual gratification. Instead it was based on trust, vulnerability, and the offer of comfort, without anyone taking advantage of these things. I realised that all three incidents shared those three important elements (of course the first one also came with the bonus of sexual gratification). I discovered that, with the right person with the right intentions, you can have intimacy between strangers, without ever exchanging a word.
Many men would like to believe (or even fantasise) that they would protect the women in their lives from those same strange men, theoretically a threat to our safety. But statistically, *they* are more likely to be the threat. The World Health Organisation1 and the UN2 among others have found that, worldwide, “the most common perpetrators of violence against women are male intimate partners or ex partners”. It’s wild to think that we are statistically safer with strangers. But maybe that’s precisely why: because they haven’t established a familiarity, or a sense of entitlement yet.
Currently, as they are purportedly suffering a “loneliness epidemic”, a lot of men could benefit from re-examining their understanding of intimacy. But we’re also living in a time when men have claimed that not only does a husband have a right to his wife’s body, he is also entitled to offer her unconscious body to men across the internet! More than any concern for men’s apparent loneliness, it is imperative to women’s safety that men reexamine and learn the true meaning of intimacy.
About the Author:
Eli M is an education professional and holds a doctorate in archaeology. Her writing is just starting to see the light of day and speaks to themes for which she has personal experience: feminism, polyamory, autism, OCD, archaeology, academia.
Find them here: Eli Matthews