decided everyone need to know my business because im cool and special.
now, dear reader, let me preface this by saying, i was in a LOVELESS relationship for THREE YEARS. loveless, souless, orgasmless (for me.) as we know, men are selfish fucks (literally) and often only care about how they feel during sex. so after my relationship, i found MORE selfish fucks to fuck me. then i found my fwb (on hinge of all places.)
so now we hookup weekly, sometimes more, rarely less. we have great sex, we both finish more than once. but thats all we do. i’ll spend the night at his and we’ll occasionally get too drunk and talk about our feelings and shitty home lives but we’ll then lie together in a sex-soaked bed and think about how we love each other sexually. not platonically, not romantically.
he’s a good fuck. ive been trying to quit smoking, and he’s been one of the few people supporting it.. by threatening to not fuck me if i smoke. but it means a lot that he cares enough to even jokingly threaten that.
sometimes, we only have sex once then its too late and we’re too tired so we lie tangled in each others limbs, some lame sex playlist buzzing away from an old speaker on the desk, and just enjoy each others company.
its nice. for those few hours after sex, we pretend we’re in love. or at least i do. i pretend we mean the world to each other as he holds me. he holds me in ways noone ever has. he will scratch my head, play with my hair. but never hold my hand. because of this, every time we have sex, i tell him i hate him. we hate fuck. i dont hate him, and he knows i dont. but it reminds us that we arent in love, we just pretend to be. keeps the sex as just that, sex.
so when he did hold my hand, i was confused. we’d had a cheeky shag in the park and he was helping me back to the path by giving me a hand, and then his hand never left mine as we walked. it didnt leave mine as we left the park. and when we got to his bus stop, our fingers tore apart and it my hand felt empty.
he feeds me too. not in the cringe “have you eaten today” way. he knows the answers probably no anyway. so after sex, he brings up a plate of food, either oven pizza, or leftover homemade curry, something authentic and real. he feeds me himself, taking the food from the plate to my mouth, barely looking at me. he focuses on the tv, whatever background noise we’ve put on in a pathetic attempt to mask the sounds of sex.
then he makes a joke about how “not casual” it is of him to hand feed me and i laugh, probably unattractively, between mouthfuls. i never knew food could taste so good.
he shows me his favourite books, a book that seems sexist until he reads it to me and i realise its disguised as sexist to get sexist men to read it and understand. theres a quote that he places emphasis on, a quote about how sex should never be selfish. he reads it to me as i lie naked on his chest. i think i understand the quote.
when we went out with his friend for drinks, i gave him all my cigarettes, saves throwing them away, and he makes a comment about how good the head is im gonna get as a thank you. his friend laughs. i didnt even know his friend knew about “us” until his hand is around my waist in a dark corner of the bar, where the tables are disgustingly sticky, and the lights buzz.
but hes just a friend. we are just friends and we occasionally have sex. “occasionally” is more than i ever did in my relationship. its more meaningful that it ever was with my ex. its everything i thought sex would be. but he is just a friend, i dont even know if he’d call me a friend too. we’re not even really fwb. we are just two people who fuck.
and then when i tell my friends, they say there MUST be feelings there, i must love him, or he must love me. and i do love him, just not in the way they want me to. because im content with what we have. except im not.
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