Forget “make-up” sex, “break-up” sex is the best kind of sex by far – the best I’ve ever had anyway.
I don’t think I ever had break-up sex with my first boyfriend, but I’ve had it with my second and third now, and it’s really, just… the kind you remember… the kind that leaves you weak in the knees and legs and… everywhere.
I remember the two episodes of post-break-up lovemaking with with my second boyfriend more clearly than any other time we had sex in our year-long relationship. One occasion was in an apartment pool a couple months after we’d split. Another was nearly a year later, after we’d moved all over the country and found ourselves in the same city (Sacramento) for a few days.
I’d asked him to stay the night – against my roommates’ advice – with the understanding we would NOT be getting back together. Just one more fling, for old time’s sake. It was a tough decision, because my friends and culture told me I’d be giving him the wrong impression – that he could have sex without “commitment” (aka being handcuffed to me) – and reopening an old wound for “nothing.”
It was very confusing because it was one of the best days I ever had with him – the best conversations and the best sex hands down – but I had this simultaneous sadness – even guilt – about the whole thing, like it was all for nothing because he wouldn’t be there the next day. Like that moment we shared meant nothing if I couldn’t make it last “forever.”
This time, with my third boyfriend, Brad, it wasn’t anything like that. There was no sense I was doing anything wrong – or cheating myself, as my old friends would say. There was no thinking I would “give him the wrong impression” or concern that sex meant we were “getting back together” or falling into the same old traps.
In fact, this time, having sex with my “ex” represented exactly the opposite – a celebration of our autonomy and freedom.
A couple of days ago, I was at my sister’s house in Nashville scrambling to find a new place to live before I came back home to Asheville. I was afraid if I didn’t have a room to rent lined up somewhere else, I’d just end up in the same rut with Brad.
When I got home yesterday, Brad and I looked at the finances to see how we could split things up, and determine how soon I could move out. We decided it would be financially impossible for at least another month or so, as we share a vehicle, and that it would be best to move into separate bedrooms in the meantime. So we split up our bed (which was two twin Tempur-Pedic mattresses squished together) and all our belongings, and created our own man and woman caves. This morning we split up our bank accounts and decided how we would split up housework and childcare from now on.
By this afternoon, Brad told me that even if we did end up living in separate places, he’d always think of me as family, and told me I really had been his best friend for the last six years. After not having touched each other in nearly a week, I asked if I could just have a hug… which, of course, turned into the best and most passionate sex of my entire life.
It doesn’t mean we’re “boyfriend and girlfriend” or “life partners” again. It means we’re best-friends-with-occassional-but-not-obligatory-or-expected-amazing-benefits 🙂 And sex is always better when neither person feels entitled to or pressured into it.
As for what’s going on between Ben and I… I have no idea. We pretty much don’t have sex anymore and have turned into what resembles a bickering old married couple. I’ll have to save that story for another day, but in short domesticity and romance do NOT mix! Maybe Ben and I will have to “break-up” too 😉