Fuckin With Fuck Boys Part II

He told me he didn’t want me to use him for sex, and I told him I was sorry that I used him for sex. Maybe that was my mistake; instead of saying sorry, I should have asked, “What else do you bring to the table?” Because the answer to that would have been nothing, but sometimes the answer was cocaine. Which is how I wound up being used for sex by him, and sometimes he gave me cocaine. It’s not that I expected anything else from him, because sometimes sex is all you can get from certain people, but maybe I should have seen him for the wolf in sheep’s clothing with no condom on that he has been all along. And then I have to wonder: who was he lying to more, me or him? Did he really believe that this was ever going to be more than sex? Or did making me think that serve him in some way that I still don’t even know about. The best answer I can hope for is that he lied to my face, because there’s something unsettlingly sad about a man who wants to be more than just something that I use for sex but isn’t capable of being anything more to me than a Monday night 4 am cunnilingus festival. I’d like to think that he’s capable of loving people. It’s easier to think that I’m not the one than to know that he tried his hardest to be anything other than a piece of ass, but he failed.