Episode 5: The Fuck Buddy, Visited and Revisited

So had a vacay with The Fuck Buddy this weekend. However, The Fuck Buddy has been demoted to “That Friend I Had Sex With Once.” “What happened!?” You’re exclaiming (I can hear you over the interwebs, yes.) Well here, let me tell you…

Spent the weekend with the Fuck Buddy and things were all right and good. We’re still friends so things weren’t awkward or anything. We drank, went out for drinks at some silly club, did Tequila shots, and then, oh yeah, we drank some more. So by the end of the evening, I’m pretty far gone, and I’m expecting to get some. Sweet victory.

Oh wait. Monkey wrench.

So he doesn’t seem to catch on to any physical cues (odd) so I decide maybe I need to be more direct. Like with text messages. (Which have always been direct. Sense any sarcasm? I do.) So I start the evening with the good ol “Fuck Me” text message, which I think may have been misspelled because I was drunk texting, but the point was still received Well. At least the text was received. I didn’t actually get any confirmation or response.

Then I sent the ol “don’t answer that,” like I’m thinking “Oh my God, I didn’t actually send that?” But I know I sent that. He knows I sent that. It was sent. Whoops. I send that thinking that he’ll think I’m embarrassed, but I’m actually not. I just want him to react.

No reaction.

So by the time we return to our lodging, it’s very late, I still haven’t heard anything from the Fuck Buddy about my text messages. He disappears for a moment, and I catch him on the phone… for what probably is an hour or so, talking to a girl he was in a long-distance relationship with. Uh, okay. Whatever. Doesn’t bother me. They aren’t “together” anymore, and facebook says he’s “single,” so F that. But then it starts to occur to me that maybe he doesn’t want to fuck, and he’s still stuck on this girl, so in a final attempt, and my last bit of willingness to embarrass myself in the hopes of sex, I send “honesty is the best policy” thinking he’ll feel guilty and tell me the truth: to fuck, or not to fuck.

He finishes his phone call, sees my text and laughs: “honesty is the best policy?” he asks. Then he snuggles up next to me on the couch.

Talk about mixed messages.

The next day, things are good and fine. We go through the day as “buddies,” the “fuck” prefix started to fade from our situation. That night, we’re partying again, and I’m not as drunk as I was the night before for sure, but he’s gone. We’re talking blackout. Like I won’t be surprised if he calls today and was like “what happened?” But during this delicious moment of drunken hilarity, he made a call to a friend, who had hooked up with some random girl, and it sounded like, offered to hook my buddy up with someone too.

“No,” he says over the phone “I’m committed to somebody right now.”
Or something like that. Paraphrased. Sue me. Trust me, that’s pretty close to what he said and I don’t think I could have possibly misinterpreted it. Woah.

So he wasn’t sleeping with me because he was “with someone.” Who, I have no idea. I’m thinking it’s long distance girl… and I have some reasons as to how I know. It includes reading text messages over someone’s shoulder (whoops) and reading things I could have quite frankly gone without knowing.

Officially, we are at friend level. That One Friend I Had Sex With Once is still a dear pal and I will continue to kick it with him regardless of who he’s having phone sex with long-distance style. He’s a great friend, and was there for me this weekend when I needed to escape my big city life. Thanks, Buddy.

Episode 2: Craigslist Adventures

In a random attempt of pushing myself to new ridiculous extremes, I responded to a slightly sarcastic, and intriguing, craigslist personal ad. What was I thinking? Apparently not much. I picked one that was a little less sketchy and sent an email to the guy. His ad didn't have a picture, which I thought was bold, not knowing if this guy would end up hideously deformed or with a giant facial tattoo or something (just the type to bring home to mom!) He eventually responded, and seems like a generally nice guy. He sent back a picture that was a little on the tiny side (aka, if blown up in "preview" bigger than 1x2, it looks like colored squares.) Anywho, he seems generally chill, but had a tendency to mention how busy he was with his job: a full time pastry chef at a 3-star restaurant. (He mentioned this multiple times.) The Baker also mentioned that his schedule consists of working and then going home to sleep. 

So I responded to the personal ad of someone who doesn't really have time for anyone else right now? Cute.

He also mentioned that my specific career has weird hours too (it does) and that I probably had a similar lifestyle (I do?) Anywho, we've been shooting emails back and forth (shorter by the day...) and I'm beginning to think that, oh hey, maybe he's just not into me. I'm getting craigslist rejected? Ugh.

It's not just the fact he seems to have ZERO time to socialize (or just chooses not to?) or that his emails never include any questions about me (just responses to the things I ask him, usually clarifying the previous email), but it's that he has made no attempt at "we should get coffee" or "want to go see the new Hulk movie?" It's just "I'm so busy. I work and sleep and when I get out I'm tragically disappointed with the bar scene." (Join the club.) Okay, so should I take this as a hint for me to be like "want to get coffee" or is this a hint that he's just not that into me?

Or maybe I'm just not that into him. I need someone a little more aggressive and less... depressed about the social scene I suppose. I need more encouraging to go out, not to stay in and be tempted to call The Fuck Buddy for another round

Episode 1: The Fuck Buddy

I slept with a friend. I'm not sure if it was a mistake or not... it's kind of a question of: "OMG do I care if my friend knows how terrifying my vagina is?" (Well, my vagina isn't really terrifying, I just think it is. I've been told it's quite nice, actually. My vagina and I just disagree on a few things.) 

It was good sex. Surprisingly good. Much better than I expected for a insanely drunk evening. In reflection, I feel like a total tard. I wish I could erase half of the things I did. Somewhere between a slightly over-exaggerated moan and the "bored of missionary? let's doggy style!" moment, lies the one sentence I wish I had never uttered, what in my mind is the equivalent to an unexpected fart (no. DID NOT do that.) I said, the lamest thing you could say post-coital: "Was it good?"

Of course it was good. It was fucking. It wasn't even sex or making love. It was fucking. You got off. I (sort of) got off. It was great. We had a good time. No need to kill it with a "was it good?" moment. Fuck, I wish I hadn't said it. But it was so quiet. The moment was so dead. I had sobered a little up between missionary and girl-on-top, and after he came and we were lying in front of the fan, in his now very sweaty, very naked, very sexy room, I asked if it was good. I'm a fucking fresh-out-of-the-kennel puppy looking for sexual confirmation that I do not suck in the sack and that my ex did not steal every bit of sexuality I owned. I got an exhausted, eyes-half-closed "yeah," and I guess at the time it was good enough for me and I passed out in his drunken arms. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I slept in THE NOOK. Oh GOD it was lovely. I wished we had woken up in the morning and I had snuggled into the nook more and he looks at me and goes: "the nook, was it good?"

Only in my horrifying, embarrassed, dreams. What a mockery.

What I think was the best about this sex, and why it actually became "fucking", was because we were both in the sexual mindset of a "man"; neither one of us were concerned with much emotional aspects or consequences associated with two friends having casual sex. We fucked. It was good. That's it. No emotional attachment. I don't even want to date him. Not even slightly interested in dating him or being his girlfriend, which struck me as odd, because whenever hookups happened in the past, it's ALL I wanted... it was almost desperate.

But with him, the "fuck buddy," it was like we just accepted it as us having fun. It's like if we played a board game or baked cookies together. Just another thing friends do together... apparently.

Don't get me wrong: he's not unattractive by any means. He is probably one of the hottest guys I know. But I guess I'm not intellectually attracted to him, just... perpetually want to have marathon sex with him over and over again.

I don't see anything wrong with having a "fuck buddy" but it hasn't been discussed (I plan on doing it next time we are lying naked together in bed... doing the "girl" thing with "labels" - fuck, what dude wouldn't mind being labeled a non-monogamous "fuck buddy"?) but what I've heard from friends is bad news. I stray from the norm, however, and maybe me and "The Fuck Buddy" can just be really good friends that show how much they care by getting shit-faced and having marathon sex. Works for me.