Going down my list of men who I’ve dated or slept with, I’ve found one who has never hurt me or given me false hope. He sticks around for those late night texts and occasional early mornings. What is our secret?

We never break the rules of casual sex.

The last time I saw him – almost a year after meeting him – it was a stormy night. The thunder shook the windows of his bedroom and I questioned whether I should be there. His hair had gotten longer, about ear length, dark, and easy to grab. It was in contrast to the short bad-boy-haircut he had a year ago, which I was still able to run my fingers through. He still had the Mediterranean tan skin and slight Greek accent.

It started how they all start. My heartbeat knocking on my rib cage from the nerves of a first date, feeling suffocated with excitement, and that unique tingling feeling between my legs. It sounds like a medical condition but it’s just love or in this case not love, but passion.

The passion you feel when you meet someone new and he or she is all about trying to win you over. You enjoy every second because you know he or she will soon lose interest. And the passion will cool off faster than hot cocoa on a cold night.

The first time we went out, he picked me up Sunday morning for brunch. We had agreed on drinks, and instead of waiting until the evening, he texted early on a Sunday. He picked me up in a black Mercedes Benz. He wore skull rings, destroyed jeans, and a black leather jacket. It was an arousing bad-boy fantasy come true.

After brunch on the drive home, he pulled me into a bold kiss, and he proceeded to do so every red light and chance he got. We kept our plan to go have drinks that evening.

At one point in the night, he whispered, “I bet you’re trouble,” in the sexiest voice to make your panties drop to the floor.

“I am,” I whispered back, and I realized I now had to live up to this expectation. He was sexy, bold, tan and I knew I could never tame him, and just like that, I took myself out of the race.

I didn’t create a love story in my head or dreamed I’d be the one to change him. I didn’t dream of him and me as a couple, or thought about the slight possibility of him meeting my family.

Before the date was over, I playfully suggested we went back to his apartment to check out the rooftop. The roof had an unobstructed view of the Chicago skyline on a summer night, which is as impressive as it gets. And after a heavy make out session he showed me the view from his bedroom window.

He drove me back home in the middle of the night. He lit a cigarette and chanted to rap with the windows down, being a total playboy and totally sexy. His good night kiss tasted like sex, peppermint, and cigarettes. I said goodbye to him knowing I would probably never see him again.

Two days later, I said, fuck it and sent him a message. I sent a simple “hey” and I was surprised when I got a response. He asked how I was doing, and I told him it was a busy day, too busy to even have lunch. His reply, “I got something to feed you,” set the mood for what was to come. Not being one to shy away from a steamy text conversation, I followed along.

The next time I saw him it was more to the point, I wasn’t picked up in his Mercedes, he only texted me his address.

He hadn’t been like other ones who pay really close attention and pretend to care about my interests. He doesn’t know much about me and he probably doesn’t care to know because that’s terrible foreplay.  Our hellos take place in the middle of undressing and farewells while getting dressed. And I don’t have to ask about his life or pretend to like his friends. I don’t have to remember things he told me on our first date. It’s quite refreshing.

As someone who gets a fair number of compliments, I’ve sometimes wondered why he never compliments me. He has never called me beautiful or held my hand. I prefer it that way since I am one to read too much into compliments and fall for those who give them generously.

I like that he is very careful with his use of words. In a way, many men aren’t because the devil is in the details. It’s easy to fall for someone who unconsciously or consciously romances you, but in the end, they want nothing to do with you. And it’s just almost impossible to fall for a fuck buddy you see every few months, who has you out the door soon after he gives you an orgasm.

He’s crass and a total bad boy, but I must mention he’s polite. If I send a text with any sort of non-sexual question he always replies. He’s anything a girl could expect from a civilized fuck buddy relationship.

And while I always say the last time was going to be the last time, at least I know I have some sort of safety net friend. We both understand we want nothing from each other, besides a steamy night, so we are not planning on breaking the rules.


Mayra is a freelance writer based in Chicago. She has an appetite for adventure, travel and live music. She hopes to always be a hopeless romantic.


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