Chapter Ten – The Exception To The Rule

by Christine Wild

It was one of those groggy mornings. My head was pounding. I was extremely thirsty. I could not for the life of me remember how the hell I got home. Then I felt something, someone move next to me. Oh right. The pool. I remember making out topless in the pool. There were people around. It was one of those nights at the pub when half of the staff was out drinking. I finished my shift early and joined them. We never paid for a single drink there. It was the most cost-effective, ridiculously messy way to spend our evenings. That particular night there was a few new people. Andrew* had come out with our friend Elaine*. They both worked at my pub. I was really close with her; him I had only shared a couple of shifts with. They were out with some of their friends, all headed to some guy’s house after the pub. His parents’ house was only down the road. They were gone on holiday and so he was throwing a pool party.

Andrew convinced him that I was a respectable human being and that I should also be invited. So we all went. The respectable part of me had unfortunately decided to go on sabbatical that evening. Amongst the many embarrassing things I did that night, I introduced myself to Karen* about twelve times. She was one of their friends that would much later in time become my favorite dance-partner-in-crime. Luckily for me she had a sense of humor. I started introducing myself at the pub, but kept forgetting. A flashback came to me many days later; I was pretty much naked in the pool: “Hi, I’m Christine!” “Yes, I know.” She does not tire of reminding me how wasted I was that night, and how little substance was left of my inebriated brain. Anyhow, I remember never having seen Andrew in such a light. He was always so awkward and nerdy. He was very tall, and uncharacteristically good-looking. There was something about his silent confidence. He was blond and lanky, with cryptic tattoos and interests as far removed from mine as can be. I just never thought we could ever have anything in common.

I recognized him right away, even though he was back to me. I was completely naked and so was he. I ransacked my brain for information. I could not remember anything else from the night. I got one flashback, on a street corner not too far from mine, him kissing me, mostly trying to hold me up straight. I had no idea what had happened next. This was the first time I had woken up next to someone, having absolutely no idea what I had done. Or what had been done to me. He felt me awake and turned around. He smiled and said, “Well good morning you!” I returned this greeting with a grunt only extremely hung-over people are able to produce. I was hurting. His grin teased me.

–       So you drank a lot last night…

–       Yeah… I’m not feeling too great right now.

–       Haha, I’d imagine you aren’t. (long pause.)

–       So… did we?

–       Oh yeah, we did. And then you passed out. Also, you snored.

–       Noooooooo…

I was dying of humiliation. He kept smiling. He kissed me. He had the most mischievous grin.

I do not like mornings in general. To top it, I get horribly hungover after nights like those. Fetal position all day. On days like those, sex is the only thing that can convince me to wake up, or make mornings somewhat acceptable. I could see he could easily be convinced. I thought to myself, it’s already been done: you might as well remember it this time. So I turned to face him and started what I was expecting to be a nice, comfortable session of lazy morning sex. What happened next was the beginning of the most memorable fuck-buddy relationship I ever had the luck to participate in. We saw each other sporadically for the next six months. Only late at night, with as little talk as possible. We never shared coffee or chatted about anything that was not sex-related.

*My house, 20 mins?*

That was the extent of our communication, shining on the screen of his phone. My girlfriends were split in their opinions of this pseudo-relationship. Aren’t you going to get attached? How can you have sex with someone who doesn’t interest you in the least? You hit the jackpot; I want that. These were the three main reactions to my evolving “hook up” relationship. I do not think I thought about it too much. The sex was mind-blowing.

His penis was absolute perfection. I could stare at it for hours. It was the epitome of erections. Large, straight, thick and glorious. It filled me to my extremes. He was confident, adventurous and took initiative in the bedroom. He did yoga, which allowed for some innovation. He was strong, sensual and so passionate. Not the inflammable kind of passion though. It was passion for the job well done, passion for the body and the experience. It was like scientific passion, if you will. He said it was new to him my being tall. We both experienced new ways of bending and being one. We explored our sexualities together.

We had sex quite regularly for those six months. I fell in love with his penis. It was love at first sight. Well, actually I do not remember its first sight, so not technically. It eventually ended because Andrew was convinced that I had fallen in love with him. I definitely had not. Yet I understand how difficult it can be to believe that from his perspective. We are taught that feelings and sex, if the relationship is ongoing, are inextricably linked. I believe they generally are. I also believe in exceptions. This was mine. I do not know whether I would be capable of a relationship like that again, or whether it was merely a question of extremely precise timing and physical compatibility. Him and I have practically nothing else in common. That helped. In any case, we had a couple of repeats over the years and they are always phenomenal. No questions are asked. When I get the opportunity, I escape my messed-up love life with him. I think he might be doing just the same. It is merely physical and that is great sometimes. Simple and great. There is no debasement, no objectification, and no disappointment. I never think about it, except as a fond memory. I never long for him, maybe just when I have had the misfortune of encountering someone really bad at sex. Or when I have been sexually unhappy for a while. There was never any ambiguity in that relationship and that is the key for me. I never wanted more from it than what it was, and there is something quite powerful about that.