Monday, August 19, 2013

The Brief Wondrous Life of My FWB


Our view from the water


Before George, before my Boy Toy, there was Fuddy.


To be really honest, our hookup was more for him than for me. I'd already vowed I was done providing the warm, healing embrace of my vagina to men who were going through shit, had issues, not up to par etc. Once you state something, it is so. I was also off the heels of the man I said I'd never do and had no intention on settling for sex of a lesser quality.


It turns out with Fuddy, once was enough. We can look back on it as the way we commemorated his 3-year anniversary of coming to NY and we have a hysterical memory to boot.


We started our first date in Midtown East at his "Cheers". A carafe and wine and great conversation. After I responded to his "so, tell me about yourself" directive he said, "You know what that says to me? You live. You live life. I like that." The body language changed, the conversations grew personal. He painted a vivid portrait of his hometown in Greece. By the time he was finished I felt like I was best friends with his mother.


We hopped in a cab to a quiet corner of the Meatpacking District for more wine, a shared octopus appetizer and chocolate dessert. On the ride there, he answered a text on his phone from his best friend, Niko*. It was the scheduled check-in/bail-out text. Fuddy told me about the terrible dates he'd had up to that point. I was pleased to hear I was making the grade and Niko's services wouldn't be needed that evening.


Our next cab ride took us to Boerum Hill. Did we drink more wine? Don't ask questions you already know the answer to. We made two stops in the neighborhood. We spent the most time at Bar Tabac. We shared merguez, prosciutto, saucisson and sopresetta. Other patrons began trickling out as we neared the 2 AM hour. We watched another one of the July thunderstorms quiet the street from under the awning.


In the rain, under an umbrella on a quiet tree lined street in Brooklyn we had our first kiss. So very Hollywood. We got to third base in the back seat of the cab on the way to my house. I was quickly learning to appreciate the value of wearing a skirt on date night.


That was his way of walking me home. I went upstairs, he walked to the train station. We were in touch every day until the next time we saw one another. That Sunday evening, he was exhausted and a little down. He was battling homesickness and hopelessness. "I feel sorry for you," Fuddy said.


"You feel sorry for me?"


"Yeah, I mean, meeting me like this. It's not fair to you. Usually I'm the life of the party, everyone wants to be around me..."


"Oh, well, we all go through our moments. It'll get better. You're actually working, making moves to change things so..."


He lit a cigarette. He shook his head. Things weren't getting better fast enough for him. But as we drank more summer shandy, his mood brightened ever so slightly. "Let's go sit by the water," I suggested. He loves to sit by the water. It reminds him of home, he centers himself when he's by the water, it makes him feel alive. So I thought it'd be a good idea.


"Yeah? It's about a 15 minute walk from here," he said.


I shrugged it off. "I'm a walker, it's not a big deal."


To the water we went.


The perfect weather on that summer night brought out a lot couples and families. I didn't care but he was bothered that there were so many other people out. I hung my feet over the railing, snapped photos on my phone (see above), did my usual people watching. At this point, I couldn't be responsible for his comfort.


He wanted to explore more of the park. My inner Dora was game. He bought ice cream from Mr. Softee before we took off on our expedition. We spoke sporadically while we walked. He led me farther and farther away from the crowds and the lights.


"I'm not looking for a relationship," he said while we sat on a bench. The statement came out of left field and it was one he'd stated before we met for our first date. He'd told me he was just up for meeting new people, dating, but not a relationship. I got it.


"OK."


He wanted to make sure he wasn't leading me on, and didn't want to give me a reason to be angry at him or sad or hurt because of him. The recent breakup of his engagement must've played a role in how he was feeling. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about the sexts he'd sent and the grand plans he made to invite me over to his new apartment, once he found one.


The fact that he brought it up again made me wonder out loud if I was sending the wrong signals. He assured me I wasn't; he wasn't getting the "she wants to be my girlfriend" vibe from me. I ate the rest of my ice cream cone. Yet he repeated it again... maybe he thought he was speaking Greek to me.


"I'm not looking for a relationship," I said, "I have guy friends. I meet men. I date. I have sex with some of them. I'm good."


He didn't respond and looked off into the distance. After a few moments he said, "I told Niko about you."


Having no clue what to make of that comment, I said nothing.


One minute we were lying in the grass stargazing (I was pointing out constellations), talking about life, being still (I explained and demonstrated meditation and savasana) and the next his mouth was on my nipple. I let it be. It felt good.


I feel as though I watched more than I participated in what happened that night. When I was stroking him he asked me if I wanted to taste him. When I did, he told me not to do it so good. When he entered me he asked why I was fighting him and when was the last time I had sex. I was amazed at how his accent totally disappeared.


The whole thing didn't last more than 10 minutes, if that much. It was the first time either of us had sex outdoors in a park in NY. I watched him come down off his high, naked from the knees up. His jeans were bunched up around his lower legs. He lay there, eyes closed, finally in his own savasana -- dick flopped to the side, tip of the condom full. I loved the masculinity in his face as he lit his post-coital cigarette.


Take away the sex and there's still that "something" to being in that wide open field with Fuddy that night that I loved. Half-naked, the breeze against our skin, the stillness. It was freeing. Both of us avoiding our tomorrows sharing that moment with only one other person. That I will cherish.


We've seen each other since our outdoor sexcapade. Exchanged pleasantries, let each other know the progress we've made in life. He's met a couple of my friends, I've since met the infamous "Niko". Our brief relating was full of synchronicities and coincidences that left us dumbfounded. It just wasn't gonna work with us, not even on a FWB basis. Especially not with the emotional space he was in. I respect him for being upfront about it. Maybe he felt his friendship would be a burden. I was ending my pattern of engaging wounded men.


I'd like to think he appreciates the fact that I wasn't a woman who was going to stick around and throw pussy at him in an attempt to change his mind. He wasn't on the market for a relationship and he didn't seem to be ready for anything sexual either. I, on the other hand, was. For me, sex worth having was long overdue.


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