Friends with “benefits”.

A friend of mine talked about this not long ago. Her point of view was strangely similar to mine. So allow me to share my humble opinion.

(guys, get ready to laugh, for the truth is funny as shit)

Friends with “benefits”. We’re buddies, we value each other’s friendship, we talk about anything and we even shop together. He looks for belts or watches or whatever the crap they like to go shopping for. I look for shoes, panties, jewels and whatever the hell I feel like buying anyway. He’s able to tell me that a particular shoe doesn’t fit the shape of my leg or that dark purple lace would go better with my eyes. I can tell him that a round belt-buckle doesn’t go well with his jeans or that he should choose hair mousse instead of hair gel. I know his deepest fears. He knows how to cook my favorite food. We’ve read the same books and we’ve talked about them over and over again. We watch our favorite movies together and sometimes we compromise – I watch one of his gooey bloody icky chainsaw massacre horror films and he rewards me with ice cream OR he watches one of my favorite mushy kushy cutie sugary pink romantic comedy and I reward him with a king size cheeseburger.

And we have sex.

Great sex.

All the possible positions.

No shame. Nothing awkward. He comes by, we do stuff. We get it on. He gets it out. I get off. And then we watch a movie. And five minutes later we’re sound asleep.

The next day, we’re having coffee, laughing and talking.

So friends with benefits, to ME, anyway, means not actually pronouncing the words “relationship”, “girlfriend” or “boyfriend” when you introduce him/her to your mother. Or your other friends.

Keeping a friendship with sex and NO feelings is impossible. One of the two may be blind enough to actually believe that there’s nothing more going on. But the other one is already questioning his or her ability to keep cool.

There will be jealousy involved. If you think your “friend” is sincerely curious about the guy you banged at last Friday’s office party, you are living on the wrong planet. Come back down here and hear his inner self punch the walls until his knuckles bleed, as you tell him about that guy who shoved you into the pantry.

If you think your “friend” is happy to meet your new girlfriend, oh boy… you don’t know ANYTHING about women. Seriously.

People, wake up. Please!

Friends with benefits. Friendship itself is a very important relationship. It’s built on reciprocity, knowledge, patience, kindness, generosity, fun and common activities. A good relationship is actually sex added to friendship. Calling it “friends with benefits” is merely masking your own fear of admitting certain feelings (yours or your friend’s).

And let me walk you through certain aspects which you might find horribly true.

If the sex isn’t intense, beautiful, amazing, wow… it is NOT a benefit.

Friends with benefits are most likely to:

A. Finally admit that it’s a fake concept. They learn to embrace the truth and live with it, happily ever whatever.

B. Ruin the friendship when one of the two decides to confess those real feelings, thus scaring the other away (that’s usually the man)

C. Continue to lie to themselves with this nice neutral term until reality kicks in and then they go to point A.

D. Remain friends once one of the two finds someone else to start a “relationship” with. From this point on the “friendship” kind of loses its glow. It’s time you admit it.

I don’t see any other possibilities.

I’m sorry, but I think that “friends with benefits” is the absolute crap. It’s our way of saying “Yes, we’re together, we’ve got noble feelings growing inside for each other, but we will never admit that because we’re afraid of the word RELATIONSHIP, so we’ll just play it cool and use this term instead, so we can still fuck around and not feel guilty about it”.

A feminist would say that it’s the MAN who invented “friends with benefits”. I can’t disagree nor confirm, but I can give the guy a couple of thumbs-up. Nice job, dude. Bet you work in the marketing department.

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So I got to “thinking”.

 

And I figured something out.

It doesn’t really matter what happens around me, I’ll always be alone. It’ll always be me plus one, in a best case scenario.

It’s my head that I put on a pillow at night. It’s my stomach that I feed twice a day. Sometimes three times, if there’s an appetite. It’s my hair that I comb every morning and it’s my eye lashes that I cover with mascara before I walk out into the sunshine. It’s my body that I dress up with Sisley shirts and jeans and it’s my skin that I treat with soft body lotions and baby oil. It’s my spirit that I feed with coffee at nine a.m. and it’s my soul that I feed with deep love songs and wild guitar riffs. It’s my mind that I feed with books and movies and it’s my essence that I let out through my paintings and my written words.

There’s not enough ink in this world to describe every single sensation that travels through my veins at light speed with every breath that I take.

There’s no image beautiful enough to describe the things that go on in my head when I imagine love or a brand new adventure on my itinerary through life.

I know for sure that I am alone and that I will always be this way. I don’t trust the “soul mate” theory, it seems sketchy and I don’t think that nature and society can ever come up with such a creature, just for me. I’d have to be ridiculously selfish to raise such pretentions. There isn’t a person out there who can love as much as I can, who can relish in all the things that make me happy – not that there are that many, but the intensity is just beyond any decent description. There’s nobody out there who will think of surprising me with one single red rose, just because it’s Wednesday. Nobody will think of leaving me a note on my pillow in the morning, telling me that breakfast is ready and asking me about how many sugar cubes I want with my coffee. Nobody will take pictures of me while I watch my favorite movie or while I’m lying in my bed, headphones in my ears, listening to one of those songs that make my blood pump so fast that I need a moment to catch my breath. Nobody will think of asking me about how I imagine the perfect day for me. Nobody will ever take me for exactly who I am. Nobody will.

That doesn’t mean that I’ll be miserable. Oh no, not at all. But I’ll never be complete. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps I’ve still got a lot of things to learn and to do before I can redesign my search criteria for that so-called soul mate. But I’ll always be free. I’ll never be tied down to anything. I’m not built this way. I can’t wear a leash, I can’t pledge my life to someone else.

I change my mind so often. I go in opposite directions. I take each day in completely different ways. Things are not black and white for me, they’re not even in shades of grey. They’re colors, billions of colors. And if I try hard enough, I can be any of them. I can be pink today, yellow tomorrow and a very wild green on Sunday. Then Monday I’ll go as blue as the sky in a quiet morning of June. I’ll be beige on Christmas Eve and I’ll be golden and bright when I’ll shake his hand and say “Nice to meet you!”.

You know, we’re all the same, come to think of it. We’re all colors, we’re just not all ready to accept it. Not all of us take the time to check if we’re orange or blue today. I’ve had too much time on my hands, I’ll admit.

So as I got to thinking, I’ve come up with something.

I’ll continue to spread my wings and fly to wherever the wind sends me. I’ll touch him and I’ll relish in that one minute that I get to look at him freely, without being looked at. I’ll hide in my corner and write about my colors, about how I want my life to be. And when I’ll come out, I’ll face everything with my signature smile and I’ll go to bed remembering only the colors.

Soon enough I’ll have my own color code for every emotion that decides to bloom inside of me. I’ll let the colors ooze out of me and I hope to infect as many as possible with my million-color-rainbow. I want it all, good and bad. I want the smiles and I want the tears. I want the moon and the stars. I want the flames and the cold running water. I want the frowns and the bad attitudes. I want the chills and the laziness of a Saturday morning in bed.

I’ll take it all. I’ll live it all. And when I’ll paint my canvas, I’ll choose only my favorite shades. For what I will leave behind will be the most beautiful painting of them all – my puny yet extraordinary life.

Lift your head up and start living your dream. We don’t get second chances and time is certainly not going to wait for us until we make up our minds. Grab her hand and tell her you want her. Pull him by the sleeve and ask him out for a  cup of coffee. Take that step and dare to do something that your mind considers scandalous. If you fail, you will at least have to satisfaction of having tried.

But if you win, your victory will be most beautiful color on your life’s canvas.

I know it sounds artsy and romantic and motivational, but it’s only ONE way of looking at things. You can choose the path that most choose, and settle for white, black and maybe some grays. Or you can dare a little bit more and add some color into your life.

It’s your choice, as it is mine.

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