There’s this guy I’m going to see on Saturday, with whom I am definitely not going to have sex. I imagine from the way I’ve phrased that sentence, and anything you might already know about me, that you can surmise this is a man with whom I would very much like to have sex. But I am not going to have sex with him. No matter how good he smells. No matter how deeply I yearn for his perfect, perfect dick. I am definitely not going to have sex with him, and that’s final.
I am going to go for a drink with him, and absolutely want to have sex, for sure. Stare into his eyes across a table and grin like my face is about to split open. I will relish the sight of his hands and the sound of his voice and the playful, cheery mannerisms which pepper his conversation. But I am not going to have sex with him, nuh-uh.
There might be a moment, when I’m passing him a drink, where our hands brush against each other and the fire that crackles between them feels like it’s petrol-injected direct to my heart, of course. That roar will probably resonate in a part of my cunt that hasn’t thrummed with this specific need for many years but still…
I will not shag this man.
I won’t. I’ve told one of my friends about it, for safety. Asked him explicitly to hold me back. Warn me off.
Won’t somebody… please… stop me???
And my friend is all understanding and kindness and ‘you really shouldn’t, for these reasons that I know you would want me to remind you about.’ He lists the reasons, and they’re good ones. They open the floodgates in a part of my brain that stored past trauma, bursting to pour forth. Reason upon reason why it would be a terrible, awful, appallingly shit idea to allow myself to have sex with this astonishing man.
He continues, my friend: ‘But I am not going to judge you if you do.’ Which is nice. He’s kind like that. Non-judgmental. My mate is extremely understanding, the bastard. Clearly what he SHOULD be doing in this moment, out of CARE for ME, his FRIEND, is turning up at my house with a boatload of sleeping pills and keeping me unconscious until the risk of shagging this cuntdrench man has passed.
He does not do that. Instead my friend listens as I thank him for his support and advice, then explain that this particular man knows how to fuck me better than any other person on this planet knows how to fuck me. Wax lyrical about how I have yearned for so many of the things we used to do together, things that no other man could do in the same way that he did.
We used to breathe weed smoke into each other’s mouths – remember that? I’ve tried it with a couple of other boys since, and one of them did a passable job, but neither felt quite right: with this guy it is perfect synergy.
Lips touching just enough to make a seal but not so much that either of us feels pressure. It’s soft. It’s open. It’s each of us knowing instinctively when to breathe in… and then out… and then in again. The pair of us matching breaths and moving like we’re matching heartbeats too – no communication except for the slight shift in the atoms of our skin as our mouths form a perfect airlock. We breathe in… and then out… and then in again. Until we are no longer sure whether we’re high off the weed or the lack of oxygen but we don’t give a single fuck whether it’s either or both. And at just that moment, which we both realise in the same hanging dot of a moment in time… one of us starts to break away, so the other does too. Together, in sync, we exhale into the night.
Ah man. I know I am definitely not going to have sex with this guy, but I don’t half want to.
Instead I’m just going to look forward to drinks and enjoy seeing his face and line up all the news I want to catch him up on. The questions I want to ask about his life and his joys and his dreams and all that’s happened since the last time we said goodbye. I’m not going to fuck him, but I’m going to enjoy squirming with an abject, unrequited need that I definitely will not seek to sate.
You know what I mean?
My friend is supportive. Asks me when I’m going.
“Saturday,” I tell him. “That’s the day we’re definitely not going to have sex.”
Saturday.
That’s the day I won’t perch teasingly just on the tip of his aching prick, before murmuring into his ear ‘I have thought about this sooooo much’ as I slide right on down. The day I won’t pull up my jeans to show him my latest tattoo, then peel them off completely to reveal my first: the one I got not long after the last time we saw each other naked.
Saturday. That’s when we definitely won’t have sex.
Except… just as I manage to semi-convince myself, I get another text from my friend. His girlfriend has one question, he tells me. Just to check in properly on the status of my intentions. To make sure I’m definitely not going to have sex with this man, she asks the following:
“Are you planning on shaving your legs?”
6 Comments
I absolutely loved hearing this one on Patreon and it reads just as well as it sounds…
…and I also really want to know where this is going!
There’s a massive delay on blog posts at the moment so if it was gonna go in that direction… it’s already been there. I do sometimes kind of enjoy the weird feeling of publishing posts written weeks/months ago and teasing you all about the next instalment. I’m mean like that ;-)
You appear to be the very definition of zen, chill, steadfast resolution in your decision not to fuck him 🤨 Well done! Very mindful, very mature!
For balance, he may not want to fuck you of course (but probably does obvs obvs obvs).
I love that squirmy feeling of someone you fancy reciprocating and the awkwardness of your own horniness being out of control. It’s not something I experience too much, which I want to change this year. That’s a different conversation though.
Watch you don’t cut yourself shaving 😶
“he may not want to fuck you of course” Oh of COURSE. Important to note. Also (I hope this is clear to anyone who’s a regular reader) I have his permission to write about him. I’ll add that he has heard this exact story and agreed it was fucking hilarious – he was also very impressed by the girlfriend’s insight =)
I burst out laughing at “Are you planning on shaving your legs”. Girlie gets it in a way the friend didn’t.
Yeah, she’s an absolute sniper I was so impressed.