Friends who Fuck? WTF?

I am not unintelligent, and I am emotionally savvy enough to understand the dynamics of most relationships, but the one phenomenon I don't understand (and possibly have some cathartic resolution to deal with) is that of friends who fuck. I'm not talking about the "I'm heartbroken, you're drunk, we're good friends and fell into bed together and now will feel awkward for a little bit." That I understand. I'm talking full-on, can't keep your hands off each other, looking for any excuse to be alone together, years on end, really good friends fucking.
Not to be confused with the following scenarios, which I also understand:
-Really, really good friends who really like each other but are not sexually attracted to each other.
-Being really into having sex with someone you don't really like (it's not nice, but it happens.)
-"normal" relationships in which you really like someone and really like having sex with them. They are called "Boyfriends" and "Girlfriends."
-Starting out as really good friends but, being sexually attracted to them (scenario A plus sexual tension), thus becoming "boyfriends" and "girlfriends." (scenario C)

But, here's where I get lost (and, of course, tell a story). Starting out as really good friends who really like each other, feeling mounting sexual tension build between you, giving in to it, discovering that you really like having sex with your really good friend, and then swerving off the road to become Friends who Fuck.

So, The Anti-hero and I met because he was dating my roommate. We didn't really become friends until she dumped him, but then we very quickly became very good friends. We even made up a myth about being long-lost brother and sister. We decided when both of our leases were up, we would be roommates.

Then we kissed. And decided we would never do so again.

Yeah, right.

We continued on our merry way, being really, really good friends, and looking for apartments. Another girl was going to live with us too, she turned out to be The Crazy (remember her, she'll be back).

So, after being really good friends and roommates for about 6 weeks, the tension between us was palpable. You could cut the air between us with a knife. Even The Crazy noticed. And forbade us to sleep together. Big mistake.
Here's the deal. You want Sugar Twat to do something? Tell her not to.

So we did.

And we liked it.

A lot.

Plus, because of The Crazy, it was a secret. Let's face it, secrets like that are sexy. We started doing just about anything to be alone together. I got The Crazy a job where I worked so that we would have guaranteed Sundays together until 1:00 pm. We would go to Stop and Shop together and park behind the store. Once we even went to where he worked in the middle of the night (not uncoincidentally, a furniture store. Okay, I'll admit it. That was pretty hot).
But, something wasn't right. We were really really good friends, and we really really really liked having sex with each other. But, he didn't feel "That way" about me. Honestly, which part of the equation was missing?
There was a lot of strife over this, but still the fucking.
The Crazy moved out. Wonder Muff moved in.
After about a year, he moved out. We thought that this would solve the problem.

It didn't. Now The Anti-hero was living alone. Less sneaking. He had no roommates to hide our secret from.

More tears, more declarations that we would stop.
We didn't. We couldn't. It was as if we were addicted to each other.

Wonder Muff and I moved to a different apartment. Now instead of around the corner from each other, I lived across town from The Anti-Hero. Didn't matter. He would just drive over.

I moved into my own place. Now we were both living alone. I could have him over for dinner first. More fucking, more tears.

Surprisingly, this story does have a happy ending. Finally, after four years, we realized that our sexual appetites for each other would destroy our friendship. I met a guy and moved to Boston. He met a girl and moved to New York. We remained close. We visited each other. Six years ago, when my heart was broken more terribly than ever before, he took me to the Vineyard and helped mend my heart with the innocent, platonic love we now have for each other. He has turned from being the man who breaks my heart to being the one who heals it. I now consider him one of my best friends, with no strings or disclaimers. Or sex.

But, there is still that nagging doubt in my head. Why didn't he want to be with me in a meaningful way? We had an emotional bond. Clearly we were attracted to each other. Our "non-relationship" lasted for 4 years, longer than all but one of my "real" ones. Was it just that he didn't want a commitment? God, we were young! When It started I was 20, he was 23. Or was it me? Was I not "girlfriend material?" Am I now? I do know this: I did learn that one should never settle for less than what one wants in a relationship. And that I never again allowed myself to be used, even by someone I loved.

What's the Deal with Frenemies?

Studies have shown that amongst male children, bullies attack from without the social circle; but with female children, bullying occurs amongst friends. [I'm not going to cite it. Go google it.] What are we doing to our girls to make them so competitive at such young ages?



I've only ever had one frenemy. Heather (yes, her name really was Heather!) was one of those girls who needed to be skinnier, sexier, badder and faster. And, she needed to be the center of male attention at all times. In retrospect, I think we can all agree that it was a self-esteem issue, but in high school, we used other words.



She would get jealous and vie for the attention of any male that paid attention to another girl. And, given that she was faster and badder, she usually got it. Now, to put this into the proper perspective, bear in mind that we were not casual acquaintances. There were four of us girls who were inseparable. We were "bestest friends." [that was also the first time I had 'funny' feelings about a girl (not heather), but that's another story).



I didn't really notice her, um, "problem" until I had my first real boyfriend. (this is code. It means the first guy I had sex with). Before he and I got together, she would vocally disparage him and make it incredibly clear that she found him unattractive. But, that changed after Cherry-Popper and I started going out. (I know it's not a very classy blog-name, but it's the best I can come up with, and I don't want to use his real name since he got the link to this blog via MySpace. Now you're all going to my MySpace page to figure out which of my friends he is. He knows who he is. Hi! How're you doing? I hope you don't mind the story of our adolescent lust and angst being shared on these pages! I am trying to protect your privacy!)

So, one Cherry-Popper and I were an "item," as my mother would say, she changed. She totally came on to him. Interestingly enough, he noticed this, noticed it was a pattern for her, did not pick up her bait, and talked openly with me about it. (hi! are you still reading this? You were pretty enlightened for an 18 year-old guy!)

What I didn't realize at the time was how sad this was. There was such a disconnect within her own mind between her self-worth and her own desires. She could not be interested in a man based on her own level of attraction; she could only be interested in a man based on her need to win his attention.

I can't imagine doing that to my friends, or having friends who would do that to me. Even in the past, when Wonder Muff and I have found ourselves attracted to the same guy, we dealt with it. (as in, Tom is moving to LA so we both make out with him at his going away party? Only in Northampton!) Neither of us has ever tried to "steal" a boyfriend from the other. Of course, who would want to have a boyfriend who is a possession that can be "Stolen" anyway?

You Don't Own Me!

Last night I dreamt that I got back together with my most recent ex-boyfriend (henceforth known as "The Liar") specifically so that I could break up with him again, because there was yet another reason that had not been addressed. Clearly, there are still some things that piss me off and need to be addressed.

*Disclaimer: I am switching back between second and third here. Understand, that unless you recognize yourself as "The Liar," places where I use the second aren't actually directed to you (except in this sentence), and I am just mentally telling off The Liar.

The Liar and I struggled a lot with the power dynamic in our relationship. Even worse, he did not recognize that it was a problem, even when I would point it out. In fact, he would ofttimes react angrily, kind of proving my point. Given that he was male, and older than I, we were already, in socio-political terms, poised to have an uneven balance of power in our relationship.

He was bossy and controlling. But, I am a stubborn filly who fought against that.

Point one: he tried to tell me how to dress. There are a few occasions when it is okay to offer suggestions on attire to me. For example, if you know something about the weather. i.e., it is appropriate to tell me I should bring my raincoat. Not controlling, just helpful. Another example: if you are taking me to an event that requires specialized clothing, such as a beach trip or a costume party. A third reason you might tell me what to wear is if you are bringing me to a formal event, such as a wedding. Then you can tell me "hey. it''s a formal event." [Side rant: The Liar and I had been together for 3 years when his best friend got married, and he refused to take me as his date. Of course, in retrospect, it is because his card house o'lies would have come crumbling down if he had.]

But, what he would do was insist I dress sexier, or cuter, or younger, or older, or whatever. Here's the deal. I am not a paper doll, and I am not there for you just to dress up in sexy outfits so you can look at me. There is a HUGE difference between "You look Sexy" (good) and "go put on this outfit that I think is sexy" (bad).

He tried to make me change. Now, if I want to change something about myself, and you want to be supportive of that, it's wonderful. But, do not, unsolicited, tell me what I should change about myself. Can you believe that he told me I would be a happier person if I lost weight? He paid for that, let me tell you. [abbreviated version: blah,blah, unrealistic body standards imposed by the media, blah, blah, my height and frame versus how much weight you claim I should lose, blah, blah health issues of being underweight. blah, blah fuck you.]
He also wanted me to move to an apartment he liked better, with no regards for my financial situation. He also wanted me to get rid of a bunch of my stuff in my apartment because he didn't like it. (remember that we weren't living together).

There are more examples, I am sure, but the issue was this. He claimed to be in love with me, and he claimed to like me because I was smart, strong and independent. But, at the core, he still viewed me as a sex object that he wanted to control. The more he tried to control me, the more I resisted, and then the more controlling he attempted to become. It was a vicious cycle that had no resolution. I refused to become his fantasy, and he refused to see that there was a power struggle within our relationship. It had to end.

There doesn't need to be a power dynamic in a relationship. In a healthy relationship, partners are equals, and want to be such. Save the control for games!

You can call me Bitch, OR you can have sex with me

I have a funny relationship with the word "Bitch." I call myself a bitch on a very regular basis. I find it fun when Wonder Muff calls me "Bitch." I even enjoy it when my straight male roommates call me "bitch;" this usually is presaged by my being, well, a smart-ass bitch.

However, I do not want to be called a bitch by my lover. I'm still trying to figure out why exactly that is. I think because in the cases above, there is a teasing admiration in the name-calling. But, when called such by a lover, there is a tinge of anger and disrespect. Why does there need to be anger and disrespect? And, more importantly, and I am thinking of a specific individual, why should I have to tell someone MORE THAN ONCE? Okay, so the first time he called me a bitch, he didn't know that I don't like it. So I tell him. Why should he ever do it again? Is it forgetfulness, or disrespect? And, why should I even have to explain myself? I don't need to give a reason why. I don't like it, and that should be enough.

The worst was the time in which I was called the B-word in flagrante delicato. It is possible to push a man twice your size and weight up, off and away from you in mere seconds. Suffice to say, there was no happy ending that day.