The Diary of a 20-Something

on sleeping with male friends

When I was first venturing into the world of love, sex and dating, someone once told me to heed the age old metaphor, “Don’t shit where you eat.” Perhaps this explains how I spent most of high school and college in an intimacy deprived, academic and alcohol fueled haze. I was desperate for physical intimacy, but felt trapped in a world of male friends with no romantic prospects on the horizon. It wasn’t until I moved to New York City after college that I began to forget the small town wisdom that had once been imparted upon me and lose my inhibitions once and for all. 

The first time I slept with one of my male friends, it was a drunken accident. My roommates and I hosted a true summer rager in our Brooklyn backyard and the two of us fell into bed together after hours of drinking with the intention of simply passing out. The problem occurred when our drunken giggling in the dark lead to something much more and we woke up in the morning slightly red in the face butwith smiles on. Of course I over analyzed the situation starting the second he walked out the door and he (wisely) avoided direct interaction with me for weeks.

Eventually things went back to normal, and we may have let ourselves drunkenly fall into bed again, but this time we woke up sober and enjoyed a guilt free round of morning sex before he kissed me once more and exited the bed, which I came to recognize was our line in the sand. In that bed we were an unstoppable blur of body parts and guttural moans, outside of it we were just friends, the only reminders of our late night rendezvous were the bite marks and bruises well hidden from the public eye. This wenton for a couple months during which we both openly saw (i.e. slept with) other people, and eventually we drifted apart due to new jobs and new apartments, no hard feelings, just life as usual.

It’s now three years later and not much has changed, except I’ve seen a whole lot of my male friends naked. Whoever said sleeping with your friends is a bad idea, wanted to chain themselves to a monotonous and monogamous life. Sure I’ve slept with guys I’ve been romantically interested in, guys I’ve been dating and saw a future with, but I’ve had the best sex of my life so far with my male friends.

There’s just something about being with someone who sees you day in and day out post-work, fresh out of the shower, with wet hair, no make-up, and wearing sweats. Chances are they’ve seen me cry and have probably comforted me during one of my several quarter-life crises, they’ve seen me a drunken mess and have been the ones to get me high as a kite when I needed it most, and vice versa. The best part about these hook ups is that they’re low-maintenance, there’s lots of giggling and no one is afraid to say what they want. Now granted, there is no way I would even think about sleeping with some guys I’m friends with, but when it works, it works, and makes life a hell of a lot more fun.

don’t you tell her how i give you something that you never even knew you missed…

Just when I think it’s become a silly joke between us and we’re destined to carry on with funny Facebook chats and the occasional text, it happens again. I hadn’t seen Stubble since the last time I mentioned him, we’d talked here and there but obviously he was a little preoccupied with his actual relationship and the new job that he started not long after we had our last tryst. Our conversations were usually brief, always silly and never seemed to leave either of us wanting more. Sneakers and I were in a great place and he held me together through a lot, our friendship was rock solid and I promised myself I wasn’t doing the randoms thing, nothing but boyfriend material aside from Sneakers. 

So when a random message turned into a spur of the moment plan to spend several hours together with Stubble, I wasn’t sure where the night was headed. I went straight to his place after work and it only took a minute  before our natural ease with another took over right where it left off. Several beers later I was pulling him on top of me and we learning each other’s bodies all over again, right there in his living room, in full light, we fucked and cuddled naked, before we fucked again this time against the windows, afterwards he told me how cute the freckles on my back were. We drank another beer and then departed.

Together we took the subway back into Manhattan, giggling while I massaged his hands most of the ride and held his hand while I still could. I think it startled him how naturally it all came for us. We stopped at Shake Shack and shared my fries and his beer before getting a custard (he wanted Salted Caramel, I wanted Peanut Butter, we went to order and the flavor of the day was Salted Chocolate Peanut Butter) to go and eating it arm in arm while we walked to the bar. We watched his co-worker’s band and I rested my hand on his thigh under the bar. We left to go meet my college friends. 

Bless his heart, he dealt with my drunk college friends, including my ex-boyfriend, like a dream and gamely went along until I made the decision to leave. Five minutes later we were at my apartment, dealing with a whole new set of drunken friends, and the first chance I got I pulled him into my room promising a back rub. 15 minutes later, I was kissing his shoulders when he rolled over with a smile on declaring round three for the evening and 20 minutes later round four was on the books. 

Waking up this morning covered in stubble burn, bruises and bite marks, I could only smile to myself. My entire body aches with the memory of last night and pleasant memories dance through my brain. But that’s where the story ends. Stubble is the first to acknowledge that we offer each other something, we provide a certain fix to one another, it’s like a drug we can’t stay away from, but it’s not enough, he’s comfortable things are easy, we as humans never want to make the hard choice. I can’t say I don’t get it, but god things could be so good.

…call your girlfriend, it’s time you had the talk.

2013

at 6am on new year’s eve i told you i fought for you. you said you were flattered & unworthy, but so glad to know me. i said i was glad to know you too, even when you make me crazy. you said the crazy isn’t what you’re afraid of… it’s everything else.

stop being afraid.

just friends.

I’ve always had a very bizarre relationship with the opposite sex. Whether it’s a side effect of seeking approval or just some weird underlying daddy issue, I constantly am attracted to male friendships over female ones, which in my personal life has probably lead to more friends with benefits type situation than I’m proud of. In fact it’s been a bit of a surprise that over the last few months I’ve been spending time primarily with female friends, and I think it was only a matter of time before the shit hit the fan so to speak. 

As is the case with most people, I have several groups of friends. Some of these groups know of each other, others don’t. Being that I work in music (still a virtual boy’s club) I have a lot of male friends at work that, despite appearances, I have not and never will try to sleep with. In fact, my own boss has qualified my “charming and flirtatious” personality as my best asset in this industry. So it should come as no surprise that after being introduced to a DJ by one of my female friends, he and I quickly found a common conversation topic over music. 

As we the evening progressed drunkenly, we exchanged numbers before I left the bar and when I texted to say it was a pleasure to meet him, he responded and the conversation continued for a bit and started up again the next day. Yes, it was at points flirtatious, but never in a sexual way, and the conversation mainly stuck to common interests and drunken stories. 

I was completely open and even shared part of the conversation with our mutual friend that I thought she would find amusing. She & I progressed with our normal conversation through out the day and I even point blank asked her, just to make sure, if it would bother her that he & I were talking. That was when she stopped responding to me. Literally completely shut off, despite any attempts I made at maintaining normalcy, she just continued to distance herself, then seemed surprised when I began to ignore her in return. 

Now this has exploded into a completely out of control situation. Drama on drama on drama because I attempted to be friends with someone. I’m so done with this crap. New Year, new people. 

but bear this in mind, it was meant to be…

The way you look at me is terrifying. It’s like you see me in a way that no one else ever will. Your honesty is disarming and the trust you have with me in all situations is flattering to say the least. While our physical encounters are limited to one, I would say that we’re more intimate than most. It’s obvious in the way you fold your body over mine and hold me a little longer than you should, or how our eyes search the room for each other even when we’re content to be apart in a crowded room. Every kiss you’ve ever given me tingles on my body, and if things we’re different I wouldn’t be torturing myself the way I do with guys who aren’t worth my time. I’ll always compare everyone to you, and if I had to breakdown in front of you for you to understand how important you are in my life, than I’m glad it happened. 

…and it all makes sense to me.

if i didn’t know better…

stop saying those sweet things you know i’d like to hear…

The moment Stubble opened his mouth I knew we would end up falling into bed before the night was over. It hasn’t happened many times, but when it does, the feeling is undeniable. Mutual friends introduced us outside a bar, early in the evening, and we were almost inseparable from that point on. We talked for hours as alcohol poured into our systems and the only inevitable ending was losing our place in time and coming to just as we stripped our clothes off. That first night is a blur, I know that at the end of it, things were left in a sort of uncomfortable limbo. 

why do i keep drinking? wasting my time on you…

You see, Stubble is smart and kind, likable, but dorky, easy on the eyes, but not stopping anyone in the street. He is the guy I’ve spent my entire 24 years waiting to stumble across. He has an education, but is not afraid to pay his dues, he’s unemployed, but not lazy, and sweet, but not a pushover. The problems only start to pile up when it becomes known that he is in a four year relationship. Yup, another one. I’m a magnet for taken men. 

there’s a hole in what you’re saying i can plainly see, you have a lover that’s waiting, but baby you’re right here with me…

So things should never have gone past that first night, but we just get along so well. It’s hard to completely disregard someone who I can conversate with non-stop for hours at a time, who will accept my overly-sarcastic tone and throw just enough jabs back not to trigger my sensitive emotions. He’ll eat off my plate when I lose my appetite and manages to be appropriately embarrassed when he drank too much and told me how awesome I am 17 times and creepily hugged my roommate’s friends goodbye. He didn’t mean to spend the night, I’m sure he had his reasons, but when he did, wasn’t horrified and asked if I wanted to get breakfast before he left my neighborhood.

you might as well be the devil, oh keeping me out past three… so baby, you can’t blame me, why don’t you keep drinking? get me one night with you….

Now, a week later and he’s on my mind again. I’ve always dealt well with being the other woman, thought it is hardly a roll I’d like to be accustomed to, but something about him is getting under my skin. Just once it would be nice to be able to allow myself to think about a guy without the overwhelming sense of guilt that accompanies being a mistress. Tim to dig deep down inside and find that sense of self that tells me I should be number once in somebody’s life. 

if i didn’t know better, but dammit i do…

the crumbling difference between wrong & right

Things are better these days. You make me smile again and I’ve begun to lose sight of how much I miss the nights when you used to cuddle up to me all warm-skinned and stubble-faced. So much has changed in this life of ours, yet at the same time so little. I feel it in the way I still get sad that it is always her over me, and the way that I’ll always be the reliable one, here taking care of you even though you never asked me too.

You’ll always make me shiver inside with a well-placed glance of your big brown eyes, and other than our firm denial of romantic interest, the line has always been so blurry with us. We’re walking on eggshells which isn’t really our style and we’ve both been guilty of saying yes when society says we should’ve said no. Our rights and wrongs are morally questionable at best and I know we’ll never stop challenging each other, daring each other to just go ahead and say yes. 

Where is the line? How do we tell the difference these days? Do we actually care? I struggle to come up with answers to these questions even as we try to maintain our composure. It’s only a matter of time before one of us slips up, which is why I’m starting to learn that keeping you at arm’s length might be the only way to keep you around.

Ready… set… don’t come any closer.

Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off…

… but it’s better if you do.

When you don’t even trust yourself, it’s impossible to trust anyone else in your life. I feel like a mental patient because I’ve become so untrusting of everyone around me that I literally make myself hysterical. Most of them have not given me reasons not to trust them, but my own poor judgement and dishonesty is enough to make me believe that everyone else must behave the same way I do.

I’ve lied to my roommate, my best friends, my current love interest, every one of my past love interests, literally every person important in my life. In fact even the one person I haven’t lied to (he’d probably be surprised, but somehow not to find out it’s him) there is still truths that have been omitted, things that go unspoken between us. Things that I have a hard time even admitting to myself. The number of guys I’ve slept with, my gaping insecurities, my desperate craving to be wanted, needed. My addiction to affection, to human touch.

I’m falling apart and begging to be put back together, but not letting anyone get close enough to try.

do you remember…

that hot day in early September when we rode the 6 all the way into the bronx, deeper than i’d ever been, and you played me your beats on your Beats while i smiled and bobbed my head. we spent all afternoon getting high and watching Pirates of the Caribbean and Star Wars on the commercial breaks. then we had sex in a bed that didn’t belong to us and ate pizza until we couldn’t move for another hour. you walked me to the train cause it was dark and kissed me on the sidewalk. 

…well, do you?

That Boy is Dangerous.

It was never supposed to be like this with him. He was supposed to be simple, a friend, a brother, mainly just someone entirely non-sexual. I barely even took notice of him the night we met, immediately dismissing him as bland. The second night we met things seemed more normal, we were both drunk and talkative, we spoke of a mutual love of photography and music. But that third night, he walked into the room like a man on a mission. 

I should have known from the second that comment flew from his sober lips. My legs he said, they were sexy… huh? Did I hear that right? Laughter and drinks were poured, friends flowed in and out, every time I turned he was almost always at my side. Neither of us drank as much as usual, and every time he caught my eyes it was like he was looking deep inside me. Stupidly I brought him back to my apartment. I didn’t have conscious intentions, not wanting to complicate my life further, but somehow I think we both knew. 

There was talking and giggling, sharing of music until the sun was coming up and finally when I looked over my shoulder and our lips were just inches apart and our eyes were locked, there was no stopping it. He kissed me like his lips had been waiting to taste mine and his hands touched me like they wanted  to learn every curve of my body. We kissed for hours and every time I felt his lips separate from my skin and looked up into his eyes, I’d catch a sly smile playing on his lips before he came back to mine.

I woke up a few hours later to find my fingers interlocked with his and our legs completely intertwined with his face nuzzled into my neck and immediately cuddled in tighter and fell back asleep. That’s what killed me. I don’t sleep like that, ever. I can’t it drives me nuts. But there I was, sound asleep in the arms of a boy I didn’t even have sex with. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I would kill for a repeat performance. Move heaven & earth if I could. But I can’t. He isn’t mine and won’t be. He belongs to someone else. Like always. 

crushed.