I was once intercoursing a man for two months who texted me every single day and spent multiple nights a week in my boudoir. This individual was not interested in venturing into relationship territory with any girl. He was already married to the loves of his life: weed, pizza, and weed on pizza. Fortunately, I didn’t want a relationship either. I was already married to the loves of my life: alcohol, cake, and alcohol in cake. We were a perfect match.
However, as sentient creatures do, I developed a fondness for this breathing body who spooned me on the regular. When I informed him that I was growing attached to his warm butt being in close proximity to my warm butt, he suggested that we cease and desist all warm butt stuff. I reminded him that I was married to alcohol in cake, did not want a BF and was happy to continue on casually. In fact, I preferred it. I was not asking for commitment. But, alas, he was no longer comfortable. I had expressed emotion and he preferred to pretend that emotions were a fairy tale invented by Pixar to sell popcorn butter.
Our affair continued on sporadically for a bit and eventually came to an end. Months later when we had both moved on to other warm butts, we found ourselves in a conversation about our past sexual exploits. I asked him if he truly hadn’t felt Pixar feels towards me, particularly the feel of I like you. I was confident that he had and although I was no longer interested in hearing about marijuana pepperoni while he was inside me I wanted validation.
I have done the casual coitus thing for a while with a variety of folks and I know the difference between a dude who cares about me, a dude who couldn’t care less about me and a dude who won’t even follow me back on Instagram. And I swear that this dude cared. He texted me every day simply to ask how I was doing. He often came over and slept in my bed sans sex. We ate soup together when we were sick and chatted at length about said eating of soup.
These were not traits of an emotionless genital union. But he would not divulge his previous level of affections towards me. The words I like you did not exist in his vocabulary. The most he could give me was I enjoyed being comfortable around you. Oh, how that statement burned. It burned like the fire of a thousand boys who were taught that emotion is for PUSSSSSIESS. I wanted him to admit more. I wanted him to admit that he felt SOMETHING and that I wasn’t imagining it. I was beginning to feel crazy and delusional and melodramatic and I didn’t like it. I had opened myself up and I wanted him to do the same.
Now, there is a chance that this person genuinely did not like me. I have accepted that possibility and come to terms with it. But I still want to believe deep down inside that there was more than comfortable enjoyment. I want to believe that humans can express themselves and reveal the inner workings of their brains and have their actions mirror their emotions. Maybe that does make me delusional or unrealistic or healthy? I don’t know which one applies, but I do know that I’ll never be able to avoid my Pixar feels. I can’t not be honest and in my opinion that is one of my strengths and a blessing more than a curse. So, I will keep saying I like you to dudes that I care about in hopes that my Instagram follow is returned.
