Sex Column: Somewhere in the middle

I’m writing this from an airplane, on my way to a cross-country booty call. Well, not exactly, but it sounds better than saying, “I’m going home to visit my best friend who’s not just a friend but not my boyfriend and we’ll probably end up sleeping together.”

I’m not really sure how we define our relationship, but I sure don’t get texts from anyone else saying, “Come over, I’m laying in bed naked waiting for you.” We’ll call him “007” because he has the uncanny ability of getting girls (me) to fall into bed with him, even if they know they shouldn’t.

For the past two years, every time we are both home and single, 007 and I end up hooking up. And yet, even as we are curled up in bed together, neither of us ever broaches the subject of turning it into something more. It’s definitely not out of convenience, or because I’m looking for something bigger or better. Unlike guys I’ve slept with in the past, 007 is more than enough man for me. Let’s just say that making trips home is immensely satisfying.

I’ll admit, our relationship as best friends is a little unorthodox. I dated one of my best friends last semester and our friendship sank fast. But 007 and I seem to just take it in stride, usually while in bed. Any potential awkwardness seems to fade away with the feeling of 007’s hands on my skin, pulling me in for a mind-blowing, we-are-so-not-just-friends hello.

Yes, it sometimes gets weird when he reminds me that he knows where every birthmark on my body is (I have a few interestingly placed ones). Or when his housemates know me as his “friend,” but can more than guess that we aren’t just watching movies in his bedroom. “Watching” Superbad doesn’t normally mean getting my head smacked into the closet door because 007 picked me up, swung me around and got a little too excited in the process.

In fact, our relationship seems to have improved as it’s gotten more physical. Who else am I going to call when deciding which pair of fuck-me underwear to wear on a date? Bright yellow thong versus pink and black lacey panties is an important decision, and 007 is the only person who has seen and taken both pairs off who I can still consult about such matters. Granted, it leads to some interesting texts during said dates like, “So about that underwear… can I take it off for you instead?” But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make the next time we see each other that much more interesting.

This definitely isn’t a typical friends-with-benefits situation. I will be the first to say that I don’t believe in friends with benefits – either you’re friends, you’re fucking, or you’re dating. My relationship with 007 falls somewhere in the middle, which breaks all of my rules, but there is definitely an emotional connection between us as well. The reason I think friends with benefits never works is because someone always inevitably gets attached, and confessing those emotions ruins friendships. We’re both attached, we both know it, and yet we both pretend there’s nothing wrong with being best friends by day, lovers by night, and being happy for the other when one of us is seeing someone.

One day, this is probably going to end in heartbreak. Or as my little sister likes to say, “I just know you two are going to get married.” That’d be fine with me, because I know we wouldn’t have a sexless marriage. As 007 says, “I’m going to keep having sex until my penis falls off.”

For now, I’m just enjoying the ride.

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