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.