Almost immediately after my most recent big breakup, I started sleeping with a friend of mine. I don’t care that it might be a bad idea, because every rebound bingo card needs a “Greatest Hits” square, and (though I hate to rank former flames), as far as sexual connection it’s been 007 and Harold (my most recent ex), a deep chasm, and then everyone else.
007 and I met half a decade ago through a friend who’d been infatuated with him in high school. We went home together the night we met, and though it’s been years since we last kissed I always had vivid erotic flashbacks to showering together or the way he’d roll my stockings down while undressing me. It lasted only a few months (and we both got hurt in the end – it inspired the friend who introduced us to write a song!) but I’m sure everyone I’ve dated since my dalliance with 007 could tell that I was comparing them, and that they usually came up short. We stayed friends, though. He tutored me through the entry exams for my program and let me pay him for his troubles in baseball tickets and food specific to his dietary needs. He quit drinking and has been a solid dude to me for many years.
Sure, our New Years kisses would linger a little too long. And we’d *like* every vaguely scandalous social media picture. And his friends would say things like “Tinderella is no stranger to dick blindness – she dated 007, after all!” but that was our deal. We kept our hands to ourselves. I will always defend him, because I adore him.
It wasn’t what I intended to happen when he invited me to his climbing gym one Sunday afternoon shortly after I gave my ex the boot – I just let 007 teach me how to scale lumpy walls the way I let him teach me math, or how to kiss. When I’d slip off, he’d catch me, even though the mats would have broken my fall rather adequately. He stretched me out at the end and we’d blush at things that weren’t necessarily sexual (“Whoa one of your hips is way more flexible than the other, T!”) We grabbed falafel and he invited me to watch a movie.
After we watch all of Beauty Day, I say “Hey 007, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about sex.”
I sit there, blinking. I’m thinking about sex as well but I expected to have to tiptoe around it. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”
“No. I just… it’s really soon. But I want to. With you, I mean.”
I am the most awkward person alive.
We put on Adventure Time, and I snuggle closer.
“It’s been a while for me,” he confessed.
I kiss him. We are frenetic. He carries me over to the bed; I’ve forgotten how strong he is. No, I haven’t. I’ve willfully ignored how strong he is until right now. That willful ignorance was the only thing keeping me from losing my mind when I couldn’t touch him for years. I can’t get close enough. It’s exactly as good as I remember, if not better.
“I forgot how…” he starts, panting.
I cut him off with a kiss. “I didn’t.”
The next few hours are a blur. Everything we try works. We fit. We are sweaty and sticky and we’re down for whatever the other suggests.
Every subsequent sleepover date has been just as satisfying… to the point where I get aroused even seeing a new iMessage from him, because an iMessage means he’s thinking about me and wants to know what I’m up to and maybe wants to know what I’m doing later.
The few friends who know are very hesitant, and have expressed concern. I understand why. This whole post (keeping it from our friends; my need to justify it; the GUSHING! all in spite of our past) is a long series of red flags.
But for all the sexual experiences I’ve had since my breakup, ones with 007 are the only ones that don’t feel empty; where the conversation doesn’t suck and the sex is challenging and constantly changing. Other partners make me feel like we’re only together until something more appropriate comes along, but I have no expectations either way about this.
It’s what I need right now. I don’t need to be loved; I don’t need to be romanced or plied with drinks. I especially don’t need a bunch of men I don’t know sending me dick pics (so no, I will not add you on SnapChat, random Tinder bros). I need a laugh and a handful of volcanic orgasms, but maybe if it keeps going I’m also going to need a way to tell our friends without them freaking out.