I have always been a very sexual being, but it wasn’t until my 20’s that I really accepted that I was in control of my body and what I did with it. I could decide who I wanted to fuck, how and when. I’ll admit, sometimes I would delude myself into thinking there was a possibility that something more could happen. That this guy might just be “the one”. On one level I knew it was just another sexual experience, but there was sometimes an emotional fantasy as well.
#26 was different. There was no way in hell I would ever want him as a boyfriend. He was my anti-boyfriend. While he was well read and smart, he was also a drug addict, fat, badly dyed hair and really quiet. Not a good match for a boisterous crazy person like myself. And yet, I was drawn to him.
The sex was amazing and I wanted him because of it. I fucked him whenever I could, which for a while there, was often. But I knew that it was just sex and that’s all it would ever be. That no matter how many times we did it, it was nothing more than a physical experience. And in a way, that made it really emotional.
Knowing that I was fucking #26 purely because I wanted to, and only because I was sexually attracted to him, was a little unnerving. I felt powerless to our attraction, which was exciting. It’s no wonder that we eased ourselves into some S&M action. Being out of control was an incredible turn on. And knowing that he felt the same way was even better.
I think it was a good thing that we only went out for a few months. I was jealous when he got a girlfriend, but also relieved. The sex was getting more and more intense and who knows where it would have ended up. At this point in my life, I would have liked to find out. Now, if I could only remember his last name…
Moral of the story, sometimes in sex, as in life, we don’t’ get what we want, but we always get what we need.