I can’t. I honestly… I just don’t…. AGAIN? Lets back this up for a second.
About 10 days ago, I went on a trip to Vegas, it’s a long story as to how and why I was there, but lets suffice to say I had a suite at a bangin’ hotel all to myself. Lets also suffice to say that I’ve been extremely lonely lately and a gigantic hotel suite all by lonesome was not ideal for these feelings. On our way to Vegas, my friends and I (who also had their own suites) decided that perhaps we’d use that new app, Tinder to try and meet some guys and find places to go.
We landed at 10am Vegas time and within two hours were poolside, where I logged on to Tinder to see what Vegas had to offer. It wasn’t long before I began chatting with a 26-year-old Philosophy student and DJ. The flirtation was minimum, but he was a born and raised local, who seemed into hanging out later that night and lets face it… he looked cute. As the day dragged on, we meandered from the pool to our rooms and my companions got drunker, and I tried to maintain a nice buzz while continuing to text the DJ.
Eventually it became clear that we all needed to eat, and while I wasn’t super enthralled with just jumping into meeting this mysterious DJ, I offered to let him come join us. After accidentally splitting up while walking and trying to navigate a meet up, we all eventually arrived at a table at one of the fine tourist traps on the strip. For the next hour, he and I awkwardly made conversation while my friends drunkenly wandered away from the table and eventually after much commotion and many pit stops we finally ended up alone in my room.
The thing about the DJ was, he was extremely hard to read. I thought I felt the tension, but I couldn’t be sure. So when he hoped under the covers and curled up towards me to warm up, I took my cue and let him kiss me. It wasn’t long before we were having some of the best sex I’ve ever had, and we curled up afterwards, I expected him to want to leave, but he stayed because he knew it was what I wanted and I fell asleep to him kissing my shoulders. Waking up the next morning and letting that slow sleepy morning sex take over, was absolutely perfect.
We hurriedly got dressed because he was late for work and I was late for breakfast, and split up with an awkward hug goodbye in the casino. He’ll be moving east soon to work on his doctorate, so I figured we might loosely keep in touch. We surprisingly texted here and there, even since I’ve returned to NYC, always cute and just hello, whats up, good luck on your finals, glad you rested up this weekend. Until today, he added me on Facebook…. HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND.
Cue my life spiraling downward. Every fucking time. I am so sick of this. STOP CHEATING… I know I’m an enabler when it comes to Stubble, but goddamit if I wouldn’t take it back to get rid of all this bad karma I’ve clearly brought upon myself. What does a bitch gotta do to meet a single man? Somebody tell me cause I just don’t know.
He left his hoodie here again. Not his favorite one this time, the one I picked out for him that just fits his style in such a way, that it really made me sad to think of him without it. He swapped it out for an older, inexpensive number that his mother or sister or ex-girlfriend probably got him somewhere along the line. It’s been here so long that I had to wash it, but I can still smell his cologne on the wrists and the neck.
I hate it when he does this to be honest. I come home sad and depressed or have days where I just don’t want to get out of bed and it’s the first thing I reach for. I wrap myself up in it and dive under the covers to try and let everything go. The security he offers when he sits and talks with me, is transferred into this piece of material that becomes all I want when I’m hurting and lonely. It gives me everything he can’t and won’t.
So now I sleep in his hoodie, it’s the last thing I pull on before I turn off the light and I hang it up on the back of my door every morning. It fits into my room just like all the others things he’s left behind over the months we’ve been friends. The problem is that it will never replace lying in bed with him at 4am and giggling until our breath catches and we look at each other and we just know… for a second we just know.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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…
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.
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.
When the Bouncer of our neighborhood dive bar, started chatting me up a couple weeks ago, it wasn’t that weird. I know he is a friend of my Baby Bro since they’re both fixed gear riders, and I’ve certainly been to the bar enough times both with BB and other friends. The Bouncer is also not your typical bouncer, nor is he your typical fixie boy, but rather something in between. His tightly knotted dreads are usually pulled back and his weathered face is covered by a layer of stubble more often than not, plus there is just the slightest bit of mischief behind his smile. So when it was past 3am and the Bouncer and I were making out in the men’s room of the bar and then he came back to my place, I wasn’t exactly expecting for him to momentarily put the brakes on in order to “be honest” with me.
I must be some kind of magnet for cheaters. I repeatedly attract guys with girlfriends, oftentimes I’m not even pursuing them, and I never know they have a girlfriend initially. So SURPRISE! The Bouncer has a girlfriend. Ok whatever, moving on, his belt was already undone, he was in my bed, what am I going to say? I naively assumed that as has been the case in this sadly repeated story, the girlfriend was probably someone he wasn’t that serious about, and would probably break up with sooner rather than later, not for me, just because the relationship had run its course or else he wouldn’t be cheating.
Cut to a few weeks and an afternoon of boredom later, let the Facebook stalking of newish people in my life commence. What a terrible idea. First I come across the girlfriend, she is adorable, a manicurist, but in the cutest most indie way. Next I come across the pictures, then the anniversary 2009… wait… what…. 2009? They’ve been together for three fucking years?! Holy shit. What kind of dude cheats on a girlfriend of three years so impulsively? Like I’m just some cute light eyed girl in a bar that you happen to know from around the neighborhood, who you have a very similarly adorable girlfriend too. Damn after three years, if you’re gonna cheat then just break up. I feel so horrible for this girl. I pray I never run into her at the bar, let alone have to look her in the eye because sweetie you deserve better. I deserve better. That schmuck needs to grow the fuck up.