Obviously, you’ve entertained the idea before. Once? Twice. Only twice.
But you would always laugh it off, brush it aside.
You have, at times, stolen glances. How his body rises and fall. When he walks half naked around the room, you’ve wondered what his skin feels like, would it be porcelain smooth or sandpaper rough?
You have looked at your own body, grabbing excess this or scrutinising an imperfection there. You’ve compared yourself to his ex-girlfriends and wonder if ever in this lifetime he’d find you desirable.
You’d drink too much, lean in too close, whisper bold words fueled by liquid courage. And when he reciprocates, you would feel powerful knowing that somehow you can illicit such want.
You will justify to yourself that this wouldn’t affect your friendship; that two mature, sensible adults can have coitus and not slap a label on it.
That there are no benefits, no repercussions, no feelings. Just an act – an empty hollow act that begins, ends. Period.
You will tell yourself that this isn’t your way of filling up the gap that your ex had left behind in a flurry of angry words and accusations. That you’re not trying to ease that emptiness and physical pain with something, anyone, anything.
So when he peels away your clothes and reveals the most secret parts of you, you will feel as if everything is oddly familiar. That for some reason, after hours of conversation in the drama of each other’s past relationships, somehow he’s learnt about you.
And he would know where to go, what to do. And the whole time, in this mix of pleasure and strangeness, you wouldn’t stop him. You would justify that this makes sense. That you’re not cheap, that this – whatever this is – is right.
When he pins you down, hip bone against hip bone, you will tell yourself that he isn’t using you. That you are, instead, using him. When he is so close that you share the same breath, when he calls out your name, you will tell yourself that this could be love.
But when he never calls after a week and simply chalks this up to a moment of intoxication and misjudgement, you’d ask yourself why this hurts so much more than your last breakup.