Intimate Illusions

Jul 25, 2013 by

          Let’s talk fuck buddies. I’ve had one before, who was about as exciting as vanilla. In fact, to this day, he is referred to as Vanilla, the nickname my friends christened him. I was dead bored every time that I saw him, but he was hot and uninteresting, so he served his purpose well: feeling-free hookups. To be honest, we only had sex once (it was terrible and I told him so, oblivious to proper fuck buddy etiquette), so I’m not sure if he counts as a fuck buddy in generic terms. However, for lack of a better way to describe our acquaintanceship, that’s what I’m calling him. The point is that we met up for physical purposes only.

          It was five years ago. I wanted a relationship (not with him!), but wasn’t comfortable saying it. I settled for what I – and anyone with a cooch – could get: hot make out sessions. (I’m smirking to myself at the innocence. As sexually driven as I sometimes am, I don’t let guys win me over easily. Putting it all out there, the only reason Vanilla eventually got to fuck me is because I wanted my virginity gone before I entered my twenties. Of my options, he’s the guy I knew I would be least likely to develop feelings for afterward. Due to the conversational comas I experienced while listening to him ramble, it was a certainty that my chances of becoming attached to him were in the extreme negatives. The actual result was even better than expected: he became repulsive to me, making the loss of my virginity an emotionless success.) I refused to let guys who interested me know that I wanted anything more than what they wanted. That would be desperate and destructive to me pride. Ironically, it was exactly that which translated into the loss of dignity I had been avoiding.

          Now five years the wiser, I am open about wanting a relationship and I am actively looking for one. I’ve made it clear that I am not interested in having any friends with benefits. In spite of my defined goal, I spent much of last week considering the idea of fucking a guy that I shouldn’t. By Sunday, I had repeatedly gone back and forth in my head between whether or not such stupidity qualified as happiness-experiment-approved. On one hand, I wanted it. On the other, I want a relationship more. I feel as though empty sex and finding a boyfriend are mutually exclusive. However, since this guy in particular is far from boyfriend potential, it’s arguable that having sex with him has no impact on my relationship status. Nonetheless, it would change my perception of myself. It would make me feel like I’m not girlfriend material. I think girls can have meaningless sex and still be relationship potential, but I know that I would personally feel like I dipped below my standards.

          Detrimentally, I would be settling, just like I did all of those summers ago. I read something a few months back that discussed the effects of current actions on long term goals. Specifically, it encouraged people to ask themselves whether or not something that they want to say to someone now is in line with their vision of where they want to be with that person in the future. For example, a girl texting a guy a stupid line now is probably not aligned with her eventual goal of dating him. The advice to think of my interactions with people in terms of short and long term goals has been a helpful decision-making tool. I thought about the reasons that I wanted to contact this guy: I was bored, I was frustrated, and I was craving the facade of affection and closeness that I knew he could deliver. Satisfying all of those motives would have provided only short term gratification, which would dissipate once intensified loneliness set in. No future relationship would come or not come as a result of it. It was simply that I would be lowering myself from my expectations. I would be pretending to be content with illusive emotion. I would be settling for attention.

          My final stance on the debate came down to my competitiveness. He would win. He would be victorious in his conquest, and I would lose my self-respect. He would be completely satisfied, and I would be left unfulfilled. He would have everything that he’s begged me for, and I would emerge from his backseat just as alone as I was getting in. I know my resolution: fuck-only arrangements will remain firmly in my past.

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