Island Hideaway 48 - Two lonely modes connecting, but not connecting

After the elephant we never spoke again about going out. We just accepted it. Well, I just accepted it. ​​​
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With the relationship issue firmly billeted once and for all Mo and I were, strangely, free to spend all our spare time together without implication. We were, if anything, closer than ever, there was no longer the elephant in the room, apart from the elephant I'd given her, obviously.​
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We spurned opportunities to play gooseberry with Andy and Kaz and spent our time joyfully bemoaning our fate. We'd drink in pubs, just the two of us, like we were a couple. We'd go for long walks on the beach, saying nothing, sharing everything, like we were a couple. We'd share bizare jokes that nobody else understood, we'd make each other corpse during important speaches, we'd share jumpers and T-shirts, we even cooked meals for each other and read the same copy of the Guardian. Like a couple.​
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But we weren't a couple.​
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And late at night, when we'd eaten loads, drunk loads and beachwalked outselves senseless, we'd return home, go to one of our rooms, sit on one of our beds and talk more, long, long into the night. and we'd collapse on the bed together, and cuddle, getting the man on woman contact we both needed, though saying nothing, going no further than fully-clothed-no-straying-hands affection. True, my penis would push against her, as penises do, but nothing would be said, but there was no follow-through, no kissing, no sexual contact beyond the awkward protrusion in my pants. ​​​
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The relationship filled a need, for both of us, physical contact with someone of the opposite gender​​. we were two single people, two lonely satelites whizzing through space alone and without a space-captain, and we needed each other.​