~ Thu Dec 30th ~
I don’t want to fuck my best friend.
We have been friends for literally half of our lives. We have each gone through a lot of shit, both together and separately. I value having him in my life.
We have this loose maybe promise that if neither of us is married at 45 that we maybe might get married.
But I do not, DO NOT, want to fuck my best friend.
We used to fuck a lot. About a decade ago, there was one year where we fucked on almost every holiday. It started with Thanksgiving. Then Christmas. Then New Year’s. Valentine’s Day. I think we even snuck in Arbor Day. But we missed Fourth of July and that stopped the streak.
When he got sick, something just switched in my brain, and I’ve never been able to see him the same way since. The vulnerability, the idea of losing him. I don’t know. Protective brain overrides horny brain and here we are.
I often remind myself when he is around to not fuck him. The last few times we did fuck, later it didn’t sit right in my head. It is totally possible to utterly love someone and simultaneously never want to be with them in that way.
So I was more than pleasantly surprised when I brought him to happy hour and some of my other friends were feeling him. There was good conversations and fun flirting and I thought, “This. This is what I want for him. Yes, other hot people being into him. Yes, my friends becoming friends. God, I hope they fuck.”
Compersion is indeed real.
Happy Hour this Thursday was more fun than usual. I was on my winter vacation, so had all the time in the world. For the first time in years, I closed the bar with best friend in tow. He makes friends wherever he goes.
In looking for him, I made my way to the bar and then found myself flirting with the extremely hot bartender. I forgot how much fun it is to flirt with bartenders. I sat next to a pretty woman who turned out also worked there as a waitress. It was late, so her shift was up, but she hung around just to chill. While enjoying their companying, I learned my New Year’s plans went up in smoke. The pretty waitress encouraged me to buy a ticket to the bar’s party for the next night. I figured, fuck it. What do I have to lose?
I drank some more. Had good conversation. Really enjoyed myself.
Yeah, Thursday was a good night.
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