We started out as fuck buddies, I guess.
Or old friends. Or old exes. There are a lot of things you could have called us. And if my best friend Sarah hadn't craved an ice cream sundae at 12:30am one night I probably never would have seen him again. The only place open was the local diner, which is where I ran into him for the first time in 8 years.
Good Lord had he changed. Puberty did wonders on him; the boy I knew was gone, replaced by a man with a very impressive jaw line and light facial hair. We had dated in ninth grade for a couple of months (which felt like longer at the time). That was 8 years ago, and I hadn't really seen him at all until he walked up to Sarah and my booth, beer in hand, excited as hell to see me. We both said "let's grab a drink sometime" and, amazingly, we actually did.
We slept together on the first "date." (I say "date" in quotes because he hadn't been aware that it was a date until I drunkenly initiated a kiss in the car after we had each drank a bottle of wine.) It was amazing and we slept together again in the morning. I left, wondering if it was a one-time lay or a potential future booty call. We had gotten along so well that I was even thinking I'd be okay with friendship alone. But we kept seeing each other and kept sleeping together, each time better than the last. I gotta tell you, I was so fucking attracted to him. Like, uncontrollably attracted. I don't remember being with anyone else that I was more physically attracted to than I was to him. It was electric.
It was also somewhat clunky. He was several inches taller than me with much more body hair, which I wasn't used to after dating a girl my size for three years. Sometimes we both seemed to be confused as to what to do with our bodies outside of sexual things. How closely should we cuddle? How often should we kiss? Where is the line between fuck buddy and a little-something-more buddy? Because I'm pretty sure we crossed that line in the first week, but it's hard to tell how far we got.
He made me care about soccer. He made me jealous at the mention of a girl's name. He made me want to speak Portuguese and be wooed and all that stereotypical crap that I never thought would happen to me (especially with a guy). I liked the smell of him. I liked kissing him. I loved fucking him. I finally understood why people in films and books have affairs--because sometimes you're so uncontrollably attracted to someone that rationality goes out the window. I guess that's the place I was in.
But it was brief. Or, I think it will be anyway. It hasn't even been a whole three weeks since our first "date." But I know it will not last. He is moving to New York in September, is allergic to dogs, and has a history of lying to women. Regardless, I will ride this emotional roller coaster into the ground. Because that's what happens when you give me a glimmer of hope and the promise of real emotion--I will wait for the top to stop spinning before I knock it down.
Or old friends. Or old exes. There are a lot of things you could have called us. And if my best friend Sarah hadn't craved an ice cream sundae at 12:30am one night I probably never would have seen him again. The only place open was the local diner, which is where I ran into him for the first time in 8 years.
Good Lord had he changed. Puberty did wonders on him; the boy I knew was gone, replaced by a man with a very impressive jaw line and light facial hair. We had dated in ninth grade for a couple of months (which felt like longer at the time). That was 8 years ago, and I hadn't really seen him at all until he walked up to Sarah and my booth, beer in hand, excited as hell to see me. We both said "let's grab a drink sometime" and, amazingly, we actually did.
We slept together on the first "date." (I say "date" in quotes because he hadn't been aware that it was a date until I drunkenly initiated a kiss in the car after we had each drank a bottle of wine.) It was amazing and we slept together again in the morning. I left, wondering if it was a one-time lay or a potential future booty call. We had gotten along so well that I was even thinking I'd be okay with friendship alone. But we kept seeing each other and kept sleeping together, each time better than the last. I gotta tell you, I was so fucking attracted to him. Like, uncontrollably attracted. I don't remember being with anyone else that I was more physically attracted to than I was to him. It was electric.
It was also somewhat clunky. He was several inches taller than me with much more body hair, which I wasn't used to after dating a girl my size for three years. Sometimes we both seemed to be confused as to what to do with our bodies outside of sexual things. How closely should we cuddle? How often should we kiss? Where is the line between fuck buddy and a little-something-more buddy? Because I'm pretty sure we crossed that line in the first week, but it's hard to tell how far we got.
He made me care about soccer. He made me jealous at the mention of a girl's name. He made me want to speak Portuguese and be wooed and all that stereotypical crap that I never thought would happen to me (especially with a guy). I liked the smell of him. I liked kissing him. I loved fucking him. I finally understood why people in films and books have affairs--because sometimes you're so uncontrollably attracted to someone that rationality goes out the window. I guess that's the place I was in.
But it was brief. Or, I think it will be anyway. It hasn't even been a whole three weeks since our first "date." But I know it will not last. He is moving to New York in September, is allergic to dogs, and has a history of lying to women. Regardless, I will ride this emotional roller coaster into the ground. Because that's what happens when you give me a glimmer of hope and the promise of real emotion--I will wait for the top to stop spinning before I knock it down.
