Page 87 of S is for SEX

FUCK BUDDY

CHAPTER THREE

LIV

After being friends for two-and-a-half decades and never once discussing it, I found it hard to believe we had reached a point where not only were we talking about sex, but seriously considering becoming sexually active with each other. It was now two weeks after my suggestion of becoming fuck buddies, and we sat in the living room discussing it at length. It was the third time we talked about it, but this time seemed to be more serious. After discussions of sexually transmitted diseases and me reminding him I was on birth control, the conversation migrated to the sex act itself. Luke claimed to be some kind of sexual deviant, but as far as I was concerned, his personal diagnosis of what he perceived as a fault was just one more reason for us to be fucking each other.

“Sex is sex. I mean, really. Nothing against you, but I don’t see how it’s going to be much different,” I said.

He gazed down at the floor for a moment and appeared to be in deep thought. I mentally stood firm in my opinion that his warnings of my inability to accept his sexual offerings were unwarranted.

“So, I guess surfing is surfing.” He turned to face me. “You’ve seen me surf, right?”

“Uhh. Yeah.”

To see Luke surf was much different than watching anyone else attempt to do so. Typically, rows upon rows of surfers would wait for the waves, paddling to catch each and every one. Most failed completely at catching anything. Luke, on the other hand, waited for the perfect wave, and appeared to always catch it right before it broke, riding it in a manner that made it seem like he was personally taming it from a thirty-foot tall treacherous beast to the flattened white foam that softly washed to the shore.

He cocked one eyebrow. “Can you compare my surfing to all surfing?”

I shook my head. “No. Not at all.”

“Remember when we were in high school, and you came to see me compete for my black belt?”

“Sure.”

“How many matches did you watch before it was my turn?”

I shrugged and tried to remember the competition. “I don’t know, like, maybe, eight or ten.”

“Did any of them seem as talented as me?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t say I agreed with his theory that I would recede into a ball of emotion and sit in the corner babbling, but he was making some very valid points regarding the difference in his abilities as they compared to everyone else’s.

“You made your point. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to be an emotional wreck over this. You said you weren’t abusive, and that you weren’t into that sado-whatever-shit, so I think I’m good to go,” I said.

He brushed his hair from his face and laughed. “Good to go, huh?”

“Yep.”

His eyes fell to my waist and slowly rose the length of my torso, stopping as they met mine. “And, to clarify, I said I wasn’t into violence and that I didn’t have sadistic tendencies. But, our opinions of what’s sadistic may differ. I’ve taken a long look at myself, and I’m a sadist, by definition. I obtain satisfaction from not only being in charge, but from watching my partner suffer. Mentally suffer.”

I chuckled.

He stared at me without an ounce of emotion.

“Listen. I’m sure some women let guys fuck them because they feel obligated. I’ve told you before. But just in case you forgot. I like dick.” I assured him.

His expression didn’t change.

“Actually,” I said with a smile. “I love it.”

His mouth twisted into smirk and he shook his head in apparent disbelief.

“So, what are we down to? Mental sexual suffering? Yeah, I think I’ll be fine,” I said, hoping to convince him I was no newcomer to being mind-fucked by men.

“That simple, huh?” He chuckled.

It didn’t sound so bad at first, but I was beginning to wonder. “Well, what are you talking about? Mental suffering? From sex?”

---