Whoa, we’re throwing the L word?
Her next-door neighbor has the door open and is watching the show. I know what this looks like, and I’m pretty sure she’s thinking: The guy being thrown out of the house wearing boxer briefs with ‘I just fucked’ hair means he cheated. Not only that, she caught him.
Or, there’s a second possibility. He doesn’t want to take the next step.
Nosy neighbor nods and scrunches her nose, as she confirms her suspicions. This asshole has been stringing this poor woman along for years.
I could set things straight and put her mind at ease. There’s another side to the story. Martha and I met a few months ago at the grocery store. She was pretty and funny. We exchanged numbers, and after a few texts, we tried to give this friendship a go.
“We agreed this was just for fun,” I remind Martha.
“We had more than fun,” she claims.
For fuck’s sake, why did she believe this could be more? It is always the same. I’ve yet to find a woman who says, “I’m developing feelings for you, and I think we should stop seeing each other.” Throwing words like, “we should move in together,” in the middle of fucking is not the way to move forward.
Honestly, I just can’t seem to do things right. If I don’t tell them up front that we are only fuck buddies, I get shit when they want more. If I do, they ignore me—because they think they can be my exception.
A friend of mine says that my issue is due to the way they see me. A lonely, introverted bachelor. Women think they have just the right pussy to save me from my sad life—and change me for the better. First rule about choosing a partner, don’t expect people to change for you. You are only attracted to them and your hormones are wanting more of him—or her.
That doesn’t mean you are in love. It means you are passionate about them. You are physically attracted, but if you want the person to adapt to your needs and you won’t accept them as they are, that’s definitely not love.
Love is extremely complicated and should be handled with care. I choose not to deal with it.
Albert Einstein once said, “You can’t blame gravity for falling in love.”
I have nothing against relationships. In fact, I had a couple of those during my teens. Love is messy. Relationships are complicated. The logistics to hold onto an emotional partnership is too complex and dreary.
It requires more than dinner, sex, flowers, and chocolates. Both parties have to agree to more than just monogamy. They have to surrender to one another and walk blindly into a place where they only exist with each other. I can’t imagine the effort that is required to maintain something like that, and to what end?
Look, it’s not like I’ve been shying away from love. I tried being part of a couple. At fifteen, I dated Wendy Robins. She lived across the street from my home. She was cute. We got to second base, but her family moved when the school year was over. I never heard from her again. At sixteen it was Sandra Boyt, one of my brother’s friends. We had a good time, until I refused to go to prom, and she dumped me for some other dude—I can’t even remember his name.
At this point in my life, I’m practical. When I go out with a woman, I tell her right away, This is just sex. I’m not looking for anything permanent.
The whole concept of forever works for a lot of people—until they break up or divorce.
Forever is not for me.
It has nothing to do with some Little Prince syndrome—that’s the technical term for the condition. The Peter Pan syndrome sounds too cliché—and let’s be clear, it’s not a mental illness.
Why did I adopt this philosophy?
It’s a combination between my parents’ messy divorce, the fact that I’ve never been in love, and that once upon a time I was named the future of technology. People who I never met flocked around me. It wasn’t easy to tell apart friends from a foe. My circle of trust became microscopic.
My twin brother insists I’m like this because when we were born, I got the brains and he got the heart.
Maybe he’s right. It’s fucking unbelievable that I’ve never been in love.
Never.
Is there such a thing as falling in love and I’m immune to it? I’m living proof that it is real.
The other day, I was at the dentist’s office, and the receptionist was listening to some ‘dating expert’ on talk radio—or maybe it was her computer. It really doesn’t matter. The point is that this woman was discussing the subject of falling in love with her partner—again. I was pretty confused at first, until she explained further about a so-called love cycle.
According to this ‘authority in love,’ a couple has to keep the flame burning for each other. Tend to their relationship the same way farmers do with their lands. Each season is different. They plant, they water, they harvest, they clean, so next season, they can start all over again. When a caller asked her what falling in love meant, her answer made me laugh.
According to this ‘expert,’ falling is different from being in love, and it all starts with a feeling that makes someone want to be next to the person. Falling is embracing the out of control, overwhelming emotion that accelerates one’s heart into the speed of light. One knows that they’re in love when they make a special place in their life for that other person.
Living in love (yes, that’s how she phrased it) is different, though. It means that someone stays willingly with their significant other despite their flaws and even when they drive you crazy.
If you are in love, you want to stick around the other person, even when you don’t like them at times.
I wanted to tell her, Lady, your advice is shit. If someone doesn’t like the person they are with, they should move on.
Why would I choose to be around someone who I can’t stand when it’s clear we are not compatible?
It’s obvious that woman is from another planet or hasn’t met me. My guess is that she got some fancy degree in shit-talk that allows her to spew crap. She only knows a few people. There are billions of humans in this world, and we don’t all fall in love or even need it to live.
According to that woman—and maybe all the women I’ve been with—I’m shallow because I can’t see past appearances. It’s not about accepting flaws or loving what’s inside. This world is complicated enough to also be forced to stay around people who don’t make one’s life better.
I just do what I love the most. Sex.
Sex is the only reason why I bother finding fuck buddies. Let me tell you, I deliver a fan-fucking-tastic time. But that’s exactly where my problem begins. I was taught to be thoughtful and caring about what’s entrusted to me.
Women trust me with their bodies, and I do my best to treat them like queens. But it never fails. They always want more. It doesn’t matter that we both agreed it’d be casual. They demand more from me. Then, they urge me to reciprocate their feelings. I’m physically and emotionally incapable of following through with what they want from me.
In my opinion, love exists. It’s just not for everyone.
Most of all, it’s not for me.
Let’s be logical. Not everything in this world is for everyone. We are all different. I am the kind of guy who doesn’t fall in love. I’m not heartless. Just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have one. I’m wired differently.