A friend of mine recently asked, as I was telling her how lovely a particular guy was, how I went about trying to avoid ‘catching feelings’ for the men that I spend time with. There are two answers to this question: the cunty one and the nice one. Both are true.

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Picture the scene: it’s late December in the year 1998. You’re a thirteen year old girl. You wear glasses and have extremely greasy hair, you wear your school uniform exactly as dictated by the rules, and you’re good at Maths and Science. Ergo: you fucking suck. Everyone hates you and no boy will ever snog you, no matter how much Impulse body spray you cover yourself in. Against this backdrop, you are in love with your very best friend – a boy who has the voice of a genuine angel. It’s the school Christmas Talent Show, and this boy – the one you think about to make your crotch give you those New Special Feelings – takes the stage. He stands at the microphone and clears his throat. The first few chords of a song you recognise start blaring through the assembly-hall speakers, and your soul soars in anticipation. Then he opens his perfect perfect mouth, this sexy boy, and with a breath that carries straight into the depths of your miserable, bullied soul, he sings the following words…

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I’m down at the moment, and sometimes when I’m down I like to wallow in romance. But it’s not romance like ‘we’re getting married’ or romance like ‘we’re gonna fuck’, it’s the romance that pulses through friendship – steady and unwavering and safe and comfortable – never needing to escalate because it’s already right where it should be. Come on holiday with me and my best mate.

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This gorgeous fuckbuddy blowjob story is written and read by EuphemiseThis, and it originally appeared on her website. 

Everyone needs that kind of friend. You know the one. A person who you can completely relax around, who you never need to impress or show off to, and who appreciates that humans are complex imperfect beings. Ideally, a friend who also finds you incredibly hot. This is the friend who you can watch cheesy tv shows with, share snacks and talk about bullshit, but then gleefully and hungrily jump each other’s bones. The sort of person who is enthusiastic whether the suggested activity involves takeaway, Netflix, or sex toys.

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I wrote this last week when I was excited to go to a festival, pondering whether this might be the first time I ever got laid at one. I always have this romantic fantasy of finding a festival boyfriend – someone who I can snog while the bands are on, who then disappears into the night, not seen again until (perhaps) next year. But then every time I go to a festival with the aim of getting laid, I fail. But failure here is sweet and this is why. 

He catches your eye in the beer tent, your festival boyfriend. Gives you a smile and a nod. Mouths ‘cool shirt’ and lifts his plastic pint in a casual salute. You smile back, flushing hot with nervous energy, and wonder if you should go over and say hello. But you’re struggling to catch the attention of the stoner who’s working the bar, and you’ve got to get back to your friends. Besides, by the time you turn round, full hands sticky with cider, he’s gone. Your festival boyfriend has disappeared into the crowd.

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