Three

In forty-five minutes, the boy and I will have been sleeping together, on and off, for three years.

Fuck, where does the time go?

You’re not supposed to get sentimental about your friend with benefits. They’re the person you fuck when there’s not a better option (that is: a proper relationship). They’re just sex. A stop gap. An itch that needs scratching. A means to an end.

He’s so much more than that to me.

I think he thinks, sometimes, that I don’t like him very much. I wish that was true. Life would be so much easier if he was just someone to fuck: someone whose bed I rolled out of and didn’t think about until I rolled back into it. It would be easier if he didn’t push me, didn’t challenge me, didn’t force me to confront my demons. It would be easier if the sex had been best at the very start, if I wasn’t still learning about what I want in the bedroom. If the thought of losing what we had left me indifferent.

Tonight I went on a date with someone. Someone nice, who I’d happily see again. The type of person who, probably, represents my best shot at happiness. Of course, it probably won’t work out, but if it, or anything else, does, then I think I wouldn’t be what I am right now if it wasn’t for him.

I’ve never bought into what you’re supposed to do. If I want to be sentimental, then fuck it, I’ll be sentimental. The past three years have taught me so much, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful.

Thank you x

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4 thoughts on “Three

  1. Exactly right. The way I put it about (not a sentence to pause at that point) myself, is that I’m a slut, but not fickle. Sex and friendship is one of the best and most important bonds there is.
    Hope your other dating thing goes well, but that takes nothing away from your excellent friend.

  2. I’ll take your three years and raise you… Eighteen. Where does the time go indeed? Not a stop-gap any more, not for a long time. More real than the ‘real’ relationship I used to think I was looking for. And life on my terms.

  3. I’ll take your three years and raise you… eighteen. Where indeed does the time go? It took a while, but I eventually acknowledged my stop-gap is more real than the ‘real’ relationship I thought I was looking for.

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