Fucking With Friends: Fiction

Maybe I really am a bad person. As he stands there and tells me this week’s sob story. All though it’s not a sob story, I’m just in a bad mood as I stand there and look anywhere but in his eyes and shift my weight from left to right.

“Oh, are you okay?” I ask, the words clattering out of my mouth like the tinny vowels of a canned response.

He answers, and I find his answer to be overly verbose. I’m not sure why this week I can’t be bothered to give a fuck about him, when last week I was fawning over him with the nurturing love of a childless mother. Oh – wait. Actually, I know what it is. I fucked him. That’s it. I fucked him on Friday and after how many months of friendship I can feel the glazed look in my eye, burying me deep behind layers of not giving a fuck and trying to temper it slightly with, “Yeah, but, I’m not that shallow. I – well, that friendship wasn’t based solely on me wanting to smash, and now that I had a taste I’m over it.” 

Good God. Today is one of those days when I thank the Lord, Jesus Christ, for making me a woman and not a man because heaven knows that if I had a dick I’d automatically qualify for the ‘misogynist’ label that gets thrown around so liberally these days. Nope, instead I’m a woman, and I guess that I get filed under the ‘emotionally broken’ label because as any affection for this dude completely wanes under the pale moon light – ugh. I think I’m doing this wrong because aren’t you supposed to feel more connected to your friends after you fuck them?

And I’d hate to think that our entire friendship was built on the fact that I was mostly curious about his dick, and once that curiosity was satisfied the whole guise of “I care about you as a friend” vanished in an instant. Note to self: don’t treat people like they’re disposable, this has blown up in your face in the past! But I guess some habits are hard to break, and long conning a one night stand was actually just as vacuous and unpassionate as short con one night stand, so at least now I know not to do that one again.

Or maybe this will pass, and this is just the cranky post-coital complainy me who is looking for the next fix of getting high on the romantic manipulation of an unsuspecting man, and I’m just disappointed that last weekend’s attempt at ‘maybe this guy is my true love’ (which quickly devolved into, ‘meh, no, but I can fuck him at least) didn’t pan out quite as expected. Which is why I’m stuck here listening to him talk about his problems while I don’t give a fuck in as loud a way as possible, and I’m truly disappointed that the urge to make out with him isn’t the first thing on my mind right now, but, rather, “Gosh, Pilar, why did you do that?” Silly me.