I was in college at the time. I'd had boyfriends and a couple affairs with married men by the time I met the guy who was to be my first fuck buddy. His name was Ben.
I met Ben at a party. It started like it always did, with some guy swaggering up to me and asking if he could get me a drink. This one was cute, though. And he was a baseball player, there on a baseball scholarship, no less, and you know how I feel about baseball. We talked. We drank. We kissed. We drank some more. Then we went back to his place and fucked for several hours. He had a very nice body - not a Pablo Sandoval body, but more of an Aubrey Huff body. Lean, muscular.
Anyway, after coming and fucking a few times, I got up started getting my clothes. He asked me where I was going and I told him I was heading back to my room. I thanked him politely for a nice time, etc., and then he asked me to stay the night. I was horrified. Stay the night? Nooooooooo. I explained that I never stay the night. That sort of intimacy was reserved for someone I really cared about or loved. The look he gave me as I was leaving was the first sign I had that I was different than "normal women." It was about the sex for me, not the cuddling or the pillow talk.
Before I go on, I need to tell you that the sex was good, very good. No, it was great! The stamina of a 19 year old is hard to beat. And he responded to direction well...and learned quickly.
He called the next week and asked me out. When he showed up at my dorm to pick me up, he suggested dinner, a movie, and then maybe some fun like we had the previous week. Sounded good to me. That was to be our first, and last, date.
The next week, he called and invited me over for the fun part. Great. We were fuck buddies for two years. I had a couple of different boyfriends in that time, and he had more than a few girlfriends, but through them all, we still connected once or twice a week for "fun." We had very little contact in-between play sessions (except for long talks about baseball after games when I'd tell him things I noticed about his play or that of his teammates), but our "arrangement" was common knowledge among both of our sets of friends. Friends of mine would run up to me every now then, very concerned about me as they told me they had seen him flirting with some other gal, and they seemed very confused when I wasn't bothered by it at all. His friends would report to him when they'd see me kissing some other guy at a party. He wasn't surprised or annoyed by that information, either. I considered it to be the perfect fuck buddy arrangement.
Then things started to change. All of a sudden, he asked me if I could keep my flirting more private so his friends wouldn't see. Then he told me he didn't care if I fucked other guys, but he asked if I could please do it in secret because his friends were giving him a bad time about it. WTF?! I didn't agree to that. He got mad. It looked like our arrangement was going to end. But it didn't.
What happened several months later, though, ended it for good. Sort of.
His best friend was visiting from another state and he brought him over to my room to meet me. I have a feeling that his friend wanted to know if I really existed. Ben was already pretty drunk when they arrived. We hung out for a while drinking and ......well.......using some other chemicals that were popular in the early-80's. Within 30 minutes, Ben passed out on my bed. His friend and I kept talking, and drinking, and you know what happened. One thing led to another and the next thing I know, we were both naked on my roommate's bed and I was riding him like I hadn't had sex for a l-o-n-g time - with arousal that was enhanced, I'm sure, by that popular early-80's substance.
It was fantastic sex. It was amazing sex. It was noisy sex.
Ben never stirred.
We got dressed and curled up on my roommates bed and fell asleep.
We woke up the next morning and they left. Everything was fine.
Three days later, Ben came bursting into my room, deliriously angry.
"Did you really fuck my best friend when I was asleep in the bed right next to you?!"
I knew it wasn't time to lie or to make light of things, even though I really wanted to say, "Yeah, and I also gave him head and tongue-fucked his ass, too." But I was scared. I had never seen him like that before.
"Yes," I said quietly.
He sat down right next to me and continued, "And then you slept with him....all night?" That's when I saw the tears in his eyes.
Oh my god.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't realize....I thought you wouldn't care."
He stood up, and threw the chair he was sitting in across the room. The he yelled, "You are so stupid!"
And he left.
I was stunned. We had been fuck buddies for about two years. The arrangement had never changed from what it was at the beginning - at least not from my perspective. Sure, I thought his recent request that I not be seen with other guys in public was a bit strange, but he said that was all about his friends giving him grief. I was confused. I tried to talk it over with my current boyfriend, and let's just say that didn't go over very well at all.
I didn't hear from Ben at all for a couple of weeks, and I didn't see him around school, either. I was sad. I missed him, but I wasn't broken up about it.
Then he called and asked if I could come over. I got to his place and we sat down to talk. He apologized for his violent outburst in my room. He acknowledged that he should have told me that his friend was off limits. He asked if we could forget that any of it happened and just go back to the way things were. I was all for it.
We started fooling around, though, and it was clear that something was different. He was gentler, the sex was much less raw. It felt like making love rather than fucking and then, in the middle of the act, he said it.
"I love you, Kat."
I didn't answer, but we kept fooling around for a long time. After, I started to get up, but he grabbed my arm and asked me to stay.
I stayed. As I drifted off to sleep, I knew that we were done.
After that school year, I got married and changed schools. I came back to see some friends and later that night as I was about to leave, I saw him. He stopped the car and called me over. We sat in his car talking for a couple of hours. He asked if we could fool around one more time, "for old times' sake," but I was newly married and not interested in having sex with anyone without Hubby's consent.
I got out of the car and watched him drive away. I was sad, but I glad that we'd had the chance to talk. This felt like closure - finally.
Looking back, I realize how naive I was to believe that a sexual relationship as intense as that one could go on for two years without one of us developing an emotional attachment. I used to think that something was wrong with him. Weren't guys supposed to be the ones who had sex without caring? But after a few years of therapy, I learned that I was the one who was broken, not him. There was a reason why sex and love were (and are) completely separate for me, and it's not a good thing. It's not a normal thing. If I hadn't been so fucked up, Ben and I would have ended up as boyfriend-girlfriend. We had so much in common. We got along great. Maybe he and I would have married. Who knows?
I have wanted to apologize to Ben for years now. I wouldn't be apologizing for the sex because that was fantastic, but for the way I handled it when he started developing feelings for me. I want to apologize for making him feel like he had done something wrong, like there was something wrong with him, when in reality it was me. He knew something was wrong with my reaction, but he couldn't name it. It was just his intuitive sense of knowing that I was not responding like a normal person should. And I had no clue about how badly I was broken.
Now, decades later, I still miss him.