Another little installment of my singledom that I never shared, gentle readers. This happened a while ago, but like so many flasks it got lost in the maelstrom that is my dispersed life. Luckily, unlike those flasks, I remembered (found) it. The short version: I once had a fuckbuddy in Gainesville, who was, despite his claim to the contrary, a really nice guy. Now for the longer version:

After my last breakup, I was looking for any kind of comfort that would make me feel a little less like… a pile of shit covered in puke. I’m talking thick, chunky vomit running alllll down my poo-y body. I wanted someone that would happily, or at least dutifully, ignore my repulsive state. As it so happened, Blake obliged. It started the night after my birthday celebration. I sat at my cheers bar, drunk as a skunk, ranting cryptically in a barely controlled, choked voice. Blake, a casual buddy of mine, listened without much input as we sipped on our drinks. Eventually, my pain melted into a burn for some pleasure, and he took me back to his place. The minute he closed the door, he pulled me towards him and kissed me. An orgasm and several ’50’s couch burns later, he lay on top of me catching his breath…. and I, in true form, started crying. I couldn’t help it. I felt so depressed, rejected, unloved. I apologized through my blubbering tears, exclaiming that it wasn’t him, that I was just fucked up. He shushed me and just… held me. He said that he was sorry for what I was going through, and said he had no problem being what I needed him to be. I thanked him, composed myself, and got dressed. He hugged me one last time, and I left.

A couple weeks later I was back, at dinner downtown with some girlfriends. And. I. was. FURIOUS. I had allowed my ex to utilize his last avenue of contact with me, email. As I should have known, our communique quickly devolved into a vicious fight, and I was two seconds from walking down to his work and punching him in the face, and then, when he inevitably restrained me, spitting on him (I knew how much he hated actions like that; he considered it the utmost in disrespect). It took an attentive server bringing me drink after drink, all my girls and my bestie on speaker phone to calm me down. As my rage dissipated that familiar burn took its place, and I texted Blake. In his prompt and honest reply he said that he was a bit busy at the moment, but would let me know in about an hour… and exactly 45 minutes later, he invited me over. I was pleasantly shocked, Gainesville guys were never this upfront or reliable.

Once again, post-coitus with a post-coitus smoke in hand, we chatted. I don’t recall the exact conversation or how it led to this, but Blake must have suspected that I would grow attached, and he quickly countered with a blunt, “Listen, I’m not kind.” I looked at him for a moment, blinked, and chuckled. I said, “Listen, I don’t want anything serious from you. Here’s my proposal: anytime I’m in town, can I text you to ‘hang out’? If you’re free, great. If not, that’s cool.” He returned my stare, blinked, and said, “Oh! Oh ok, yeah. That works.”

Flash forward: We’ve had this arrangement for about a month. The routine remains pretty much the same: I text him, we meet up. We talk, we have sex, we talk some more, sometimes we have sex again. I’m thankful for what he gives me. Uncomplicated sex, and conversation that bordered on therapeutic. No really, that’s the best way I could describe it. I can’t even remember all the things we talked about, he just had this ability to ease my pain, like a masseuse on my heart. It wasn’t romantic at all… I guess I would say it felt like one soul helping another, nurturing it’s broken wing until it could fly again…. so, despite his best efforts, Blake was kind. He is kind. I finally called him on it when he told me this story:

“So I was headed up to Mi Apa for some food, when this middle-aged woman ran up to me. Her car wouldn’t start and she desperately needed a jump. I normally keep jumper cables in my trunk, so I went to look, but they weren’t there. So I turned to her and said, ‘Listen, I’m gonna run home and grab them. If you get a jump in the mean time don’t worry about waiting for me, I have to come back here anyway.’ Well, I ran over to Wal-Mart because it was closer than my house and bought two sets of cables. I came back, jumped her car and gave her a set. She tried to give me money but I wouldn’t take it. I mean, ya know, it’s good karma. Feels good to help people out.”

I laughed out loud and said, “Oh, but you’re not kind?” He laughed too and tried to backpeddle, but it was too late. I already knew the truth.


Our arrangement has since dissipated. I don’t come into town as much, plus it began to feel a little forced, on both sides. My last trip home though, I sat with my girls outside my favorite bar as per usual, when I noticed someone was staring at me from inside. As I walked towards the window I said aloud, “who the fuck is tha- OHMIGOD it’s Blake!” I ran inside immediately and bear-hugged the shit out of him. I harbor nothing but good feelings for that kid. He was a wonderful friend to me.

I don’t consider myself a religious person. I don’t believe in a God, per se, but I do believe in energy. I thank my lucky stars, my energy headquarters, whatever, that Blake was there for me when I needed him. Despite his attempts at an apathetic facade, he is a kind soul, and I wish nothing but happiness for him. Funnily enough, he did ask that I return the favor one day. My response? Abso-fuckin-lutely. It feels good to help people out. 🙂



Current Jam: “The Hard Way” Mary Chapin Carpenter

…Some will call on destiny, but I just call on faith
That the world won’t stop and actions speak louder
Listen to your heart, to what your heart might say
Everything you got, you got the hard way

Caught up in our little lives, there’s not a lot left over
I see what’s missin’ in your eyes, you’re searchin’ for that field of clover

So show a little inspiration, show a little spark
Show the world a little light when you show it your heart
We’ve got two lives, one we’re given and the other one we make
And the world won’t stop, and actions speak louder
Listen to your heart, and your heart might say

Everything we got, we got the hard way

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