Aug 302012
 


“So, when are we going to fuck?”

 

I’d barely said hello to him as he hugged me and whispered this into my ear. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, and I instinctively backed away from him ending the hug. Unsure of what exactly he meant by it, I glanced at his face for some kind of context, if he was drunk, serious, or joking around.

 

He seemed serious, but I still couldn’t believe he’d said it.

 

“Umm last I heard you just wanted to be friends.” I managed to retort. A look of sincere shock came over his face as he adamantly denied ever saying such a thing. Immediately after his denial of ever wanting “just friends” though, he was pulled away, seemingly willingly, to talk to some much more attractive woman.

 

I however was left alone in the wake of him, still reeling after his quite forward suggestion.

 

If I’m honest, the notion of us fucking like rabbits wasn’t anything new to mind. We’d been dancing around it for years. We’ve never gone out, or met together privately. We’ve only left a party together once, and that the first night I met him. He walked me to my car, giving me what I thought was a “just friends” speech.  This was also the only time we’d had a real one-to-one private conversation.

 

Every time since our first meeting, we merely met at public events. We’d flirt a little. It was slightly dirtier and more earnest than the flirtation I do with some of my male friends/colleagues, but I figured that was just “our style” of innocent flirting.  Our conversations would last a whole 15 minutes maybe, but we’d always find each other and greet each other with a huge smile and a happy hug. Though if I saw him around the event later it was usually chatting up some pretty woman in which he would either introduce me as a friend then ignore me to continue his conversation, or barely acknowledge my existence with a nod, or completely pretend I didn’t exist.

 

With such “evidence” under my belt, I cemented myself in “friends only” mode with him. I knew well enough from our first meeting that he was an honest and nice guy for the most part… you know as honest and nice as men get with women.

 

So when he asked a second time that evening when we’d finally “fuck”.. I really didn’t react well. I tried to hide it. I wanted to ignore him, but it felt a little bit like being stabbed.

 

I couldn’t place the feeling at the time, but thinking on it, it felt very similar to the feeling I had when my ex decided to bring up marriage by hypothetically asking me if I’d “marry him to keep him in the country” as our first ever talk about marriage. To be honest, it felt like the emotional equivalent of being slapped in the face.

 

Maybe I expect too much. Maybe?  But I don’t think so.  Just writing this post and thinking on this, has my eyes welling a little with anger, hurt, and loss of what I thought was a start of a real friendship.

 

I’ve seen him again since. He greeted me like usual with a huge hug, a little joking flirtation, as if nothing had happened. Maybe he was just drunk that night and doesn’t remember? I just know that I’ll never view him the same.

  2 Responses to “When Are We Going To F***?”

  1. He sounds like a real jerk, you should cut him off, I am a guy but I don’t see myself being so straight forward, come on, every woman and every guy deserve at least a shred of romanticism, asking you like that if you want to fuck? Damn.

    Good post though, dating is tough, I assume 🙂

  2. He sounds like a real jerk, you should cut him off, I am a guy but I don’t see myself being so straight forward, come on, every woman and every guy deserve at least a shred of romanticism, asking you like that if you want to fuck? Damn.

    Good post though, dating is tough, I assume 🙂

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