Maybe I’m such a hopeless romantic that the idea of having random sexual encounters with my female friends just doesn’t appeal to me; maybe I shouldn’t depend on ideas such as ‘love’ and ‘intimacy’ and maybe college is just a several-year-long social abyss that we’ll only regret once the rest of our lives prove to be an uninteresting series of steps toward the grave, or maybe I’m just jaded.
I had to find out just like everybody else how complicated and exhausting friends-with-benefits relationships can be, and make no mistake; my intention in writing this article isn’t to brand it as some kind of moral depravity or to judge those who have partaken in it, or continue to partake in it. What follows is merely my own perspective.
It was my sophomore year at the University, and I had just ended the first real relationship I had. A few nights after it happened, I was still going through the circumstances of the breakup in my mind, trying [and failing] to come to grips with what had caused things to unfold as they had. All at once it came crashing down on me.
I realized that I was sad and ashamed, but I wasn’t yet ready to understand why. It was more than a simple game of “he said this and she said that,” but in that moment, the only thing I really wanted was companionship. It was a sad, desperate point in my life, but one that most of us can relate to. I reached into my pocket and started texting a friend of mine.
I knew her for about a year and we had hung out once or twice as friends. I texted her and told her what had happened, and she seemed to genuinely feel sorry for me. I went over to her house and we sat and drank some wine and talked about it. I started feeling a lot better, and I went home glad to be able to count her among my friends. As the year went on, we started hanging out more and more. Then one night we became closer friends than I had ever expected.
The following morning, I felt loved. I felt an energy returning to me that hadn’t been there since the breakup. She wished me good luck and kissed me as I left that morning.
I sat down to take my exam and I never felt more ready. As the weeks went on, a sinking feeling came over me. I thought that I was ashamed because I had never done something like that on a whim; that it went against the religion I followed at the time, but it was more complicated than that. I had always told myself that I wasn’t “that kind of guy,” but what I came to realize was, “that kind of guy” or “that kind of girl” are just pointless, asinine labels.
The real reason I felt ashamed was because I thought I was above feeling attached or confused, but I had been wrong as countless others have been wrong, and it was my pride that had been offended, not my morals. I had to come to terms with the fact that when I looked into her eyes, I couldn’t say with any certainty what I felt, or if I felt anything at all. This was hard because I’ve always felt that was the gateway to the soul; that by looking deeply into someone’s eyes, one can see a pure expression of what someone else is as a person.
What I learned is that you don’t need religious convictions, nor do you need to lose a friend, nor do you need to suffer social ramifications to see why it simply isn’t worth it, but the great irony is that the only way you can appreciate the truth of this kind of realization is in retrospect. So from one wandering soul to many others: be honest with yourselves about what you seek.
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