What do you call that?
Okay, I get that there are some people who just don’t enjoy cuddling, but not cuddling because you think it’ll mean you’re getting attached? Actually kind of a giant dick move. Guys who spend the entire time trying to keep you at arm’s length and protesting “BUT I’M NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND” make terrible fuckbuddies. If you don’t have the maturity to trust that your “this is just sex, kay?” negotiations were real and that women aren’t all secretly trying to entrap men in their relationship-tentacles, you don’t have the maturity to be a fuckbuddy.
Friends with benefits are supposed to be “friends with benefits,” not “strangers with body parts.”
- Cliff Pervocracy
So I got to thinking about this in the context of Captain Complicated, my on-again-off-again lover of many years. Everyone who knows us understands how appropriate this nickname is. A few months ago, we talked about it after a night of drinking and debauchery, and agreed that it's never going to be not-complicated between us. Sharing that acknowledgement was a big step toward making our somewhat unorthodox relationship healthier, I think, coming a couple of months after I finally sat him down and made it entirely explicit that a) I'm not likely to stop being in love with him any time soon, and b) that doesn't mean I have any intention of pushing him into anything that looks like a relationship. To the best of my knowledge, that remains one of his boundaries, and I wouldn't violate it for anything without the most explicit permission.
It's a funny balancing act, really. We each have our damage, but we've been so close for so many years that we've gotten pretty good at not poking where it hurts. I don't think I've told him this, but he's been a big part of my healing from old damage; I hope I've helped him the same way. Above all, we're very deeply committed friends, dedicated in that way the best kind of friends are to each other's well-being. During our last break from the benefits part of our relationship (a whole year and a half -- not our longest break, but definitely our second-longest), I came to refer to Captain Complicated as my Platonic Life Partner, which I've defined as "it's not a romantic relationship, but you can't tell from the outside". Someone recently joked that I'm functionally his daughter's stepmother, and while that's a little hyperbolic, it's not without a kernel of truth: we do spend quite a bit of time and energy on her, together, and I'm the one who gets calls from her school if he's unreachable. I've come to love that kid fiercely, and I'll never hesitate to ensure her needs are met. I've been known to (again, jokingly) claim her as "my" teenager. In every way that matters, they're my family.
They were away this weekend, so while I was dropping in to feed the cat, I got a little domestic. OK, more than a little. I washed almost every dish in the house, power-cleaned his room, did some sweeping, did a bunch of his laundry, took out a bunch of garbage and recycling, that sort of thing. I think I made a crack on Facebook about being way into girlfriend mode, but promising not to make a habit of it. On one level, it was a very pragmatic use of my time: he's hosting my upcoming birthday party, and contributing to the cleaning was sort of the least I could do. On another, I have to confess that one of the ways I wear my heart on my sleeve is by doing nice things to make the people I love happy. In that way, it was a gift.
One of the things about maintaining this balance is that it keeps me perpetually aware of where I'm sitting, not only in terms of how much affection I can demonstrate on the outside, but how my feelings shift on the inside. And I can't deny that the recent rekindling of the physical part of our relationship is having an effect. I'd very deliberately shut off my awareness of him as a body, which helped to maintain distance; this weekend, when I curled up on his bed to snuggle the cat, the sheets smelled like him and I craved his presence and caught myself daydreaming about recent nights together, and how completely amazing he makes me feel in a way that reaches through the physical and into something much less tangible. Letting myself go there used to wreck me, but over a great span of time, I've learned to enjoy it, to roll around in it for a while like a kitty in a patch of catnip, then to put it away again. I don't agonize like I used to. I have nothing left to hide, no unrevealed vulnerabilities like I had when I was trying not to show him how deep it went, so I can do that. I don't have to worry about it leaking out, because if it does, I know he understands.
I do worry sometimes that he'll panic again -- that it'll get too intense for him and he'll have a freakout and it'll hurt again, hurt like so few things ever have -- but at the same time, I know I have to trust him to tell me if he's getting close to the edge. And I do trust him, more than anyone except Kyle, into whose hands I would entrust my entire life. We both have our damage. To maintain this thing we enjoy together, we have to be gentle and understanding with each other's broken parts -- it's not hard, because fundamentally, we're two very close friends who love each other as close friends should. It's not too great a price to practice such care, but I still worry sometimes.
Friends with benefits are supposed to be “friends with benefits,” not “strangers with body parts.”
- Cliff Pervocracy
So I got to thinking about this in the context of Captain Complicated, my on-again-off-again lover of many years. Everyone who knows us understands how appropriate this nickname is. A few months ago, we talked about it after a night of drinking and debauchery, and agreed that it's never going to be not-complicated between us. Sharing that acknowledgement was a big step toward making our somewhat unorthodox relationship healthier, I think, coming a couple of months after I finally sat him down and made it entirely explicit that a) I'm not likely to stop being in love with him any time soon, and b) that doesn't mean I have any intention of pushing him into anything that looks like a relationship. To the best of my knowledge, that remains one of his boundaries, and I wouldn't violate it for anything without the most explicit permission.
It's a funny balancing act, really. We each have our damage, but we've been so close for so many years that we've gotten pretty good at not poking where it hurts. I don't think I've told him this, but he's been a big part of my healing from old damage; I hope I've helped him the same way. Above all, we're very deeply committed friends, dedicated in that way the best kind of friends are to each other's well-being. During our last break from the benefits part of our relationship (a whole year and a half -- not our longest break, but definitely our second-longest), I came to refer to Captain Complicated as my Platonic Life Partner, which I've defined as "it's not a romantic relationship, but you can't tell from the outside". Someone recently joked that I'm functionally his daughter's stepmother, and while that's a little hyperbolic, it's not without a kernel of truth: we do spend quite a bit of time and energy on her, together, and I'm the one who gets calls from her school if he's unreachable. I've come to love that kid fiercely, and I'll never hesitate to ensure her needs are met. I've been known to (again, jokingly) claim her as "my" teenager. In every way that matters, they're my family.
They were away this weekend, so while I was dropping in to feed the cat, I got a little domestic. OK, more than a little. I washed almost every dish in the house, power-cleaned his room, did some sweeping, did a bunch of his laundry, took out a bunch of garbage and recycling, that sort of thing. I think I made a crack on Facebook about being way into girlfriend mode, but promising not to make a habit of it. On one level, it was a very pragmatic use of my time: he's hosting my upcoming birthday party, and contributing to the cleaning was sort of the least I could do. On another, I have to confess that one of the ways I wear my heart on my sleeve is by doing nice things to make the people I love happy. In that way, it was a gift.
One of the things about maintaining this balance is that it keeps me perpetually aware of where I'm sitting, not only in terms of how much affection I can demonstrate on the outside, but how my feelings shift on the inside. And I can't deny that the recent rekindling of the physical part of our relationship is having an effect. I'd very deliberately shut off my awareness of him as a body, which helped to maintain distance; this weekend, when I curled up on his bed to snuggle the cat, the sheets smelled like him and I craved his presence and caught myself daydreaming about recent nights together, and how completely amazing he makes me feel in a way that reaches through the physical and into something much less tangible. Letting myself go there used to wreck me, but over a great span of time, I've learned to enjoy it, to roll around in it for a while like a kitty in a patch of catnip, then to put it away again. I don't agonize like I used to. I have nothing left to hide, no unrevealed vulnerabilities like I had when I was trying not to show him how deep it went, so I can do that. I don't have to worry about it leaking out, because if it does, I know he understands.
I do worry sometimes that he'll panic again -- that it'll get too intense for him and he'll have a freakout and it'll hurt again, hurt like so few things ever have -- but at the same time, I know I have to trust him to tell me if he's getting close to the edge. And I do trust him, more than anyone except Kyle, into whose hands I would entrust my entire life. We both have our damage. To maintain this thing we enjoy together, we have to be gentle and understanding with each other's broken parts -- it's not hard, because fundamentally, we're two very close friends who love each other as close friends should. It's not too great a price to practice such care, but I still worry sometimes.