What Exactly is the Definition of "Fuck Buddy"?

Couple of things...first of all, thank goodness for a new year, right? The gloom of the holidays is safely behind me and the stagnant online dating pool is beginning to gurgle a bit, with a fresh stream of new men...and action. Additionally, you might be astonished to discover that I have had a whopping, four dates with one single man, and no slip-ups in between. And, shockingly - I am not overwhelmingly compelled to slither away from him, yet. I did almost veer off on a wayward path for a split second with one ridiculously young and horny local guy, but I caught myself just in the nick of time, after he blew his cover by essentially admitting that all he was after was a random hook-up, nifty. Ok, so don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm falling for Four Date Steven, (a.k.a. Mr. Cynical) or anything ridiculous like that, I am mostly convinced that we have a limited shelf life...for several reasons...Mr. Cynical has me somewhat perplexed, for I am all at once, attracted to and repelled by him. On the one hand he is a bit staid which could prove to be the perfect foil for my capricious nature. But more than that, I find him almost too brooding and contemplative, I predict that either my exaggerated energy level will drive him to distraction or his overabundance of calm and control will suck the very life out of me. The general consensus among my friends who have met him is that he is definitely NOT my type, and I'm afraid that I have to completely agree. But on a strictly superficial level, his face is growing on me and I'm beginning to appreciate his trim athletic body more than I did in the beginning, lord knows, a lean, strong body is a real commodity considering the ages of the men I should be dating. And fuck if he is not just about the best lay, EVER, despite the fact that he is not particularly well-endowed, and that he has issues with retaining rigidity (he blames it on too much beer and the damned condoms) These two sexual negatives would normally make me do an immediate about-face, but the mere fact that he can get me so aroused and ultimately over the orgasmic top, says a ton about his mad skills in the sack - smallish, flaccid wiener and all. He has this way of talking - not dirty exactly - but naughty to me during sex, fabricating scenarios during the act, which combined with his capable hands, sends my body into an otherworldly orbit. He's a very giving lover, most times I feel like it's all about ME. And I rapaciously lap up his largesse. Another bonus is that he doesn't seem to mind making the trek from the big city out here to my humble house in the country, it's nice not being the one doing all the driving. It's better to stay at my house anyway, I think even he would agree. For one thing, I don't particularly dig his apartment, but he also has roommates and stuff. The one time that I was there, he kept shushing me when we woke in the morning, so I wouldn't disturb them, which was particularly irritating since I wasn't even being all that noisy. I'm still not entirely sure about his personality, though. He really likes to debate - mostly philosophical stuff and since I literally know nothing about philosophy, I can only base my opinions and input on my gut reaction to whichever theory he brings up at the time, and not at all from any sort of formal knowledge of the matter at hand. I like thought-provoking discussions, they can be intriguing and act as a window to the soul of the other participant, the only trouble with engaging in such discussions with Mr. Cynical, is that he is fundamentally inflexible, he is convinced that his opinion is creed and seems hellbent on converting me to his way of thinking. This can be moderately infuriating and exasperating, at times, and he appears egocentric almost to a fault. Anyway, so the other night we watched the movie "Life is Beautiful", and there are all these references to Schopenhauer and his philosophy on will and willing things to happen and Mr. Cynical couldn't wait to get to a bookstore to delve deeper into the theories of Schopenhauer, which we did. And as could have been expected, he without delay, proceeded to indoctrinate me on his revelations. I guess the devil's advocate in me simply could not go down without at least a teensy, little fight and I am proud to say that I successfully eschewed being hypnotized by his rhetoric. It was pretty entertaining (for me, at least) all in all. We came home, had some seriously great sex, minus the beer, plus the condom but still only equalling a semi-hard cock - and fell asleep in the middle of the day, for a couple of decadent hours.

Mr. Cynical left shortly after we woke and that night I was alone, left to my online galavanting devices. Oh, real quick, I should tell you that at some point after one of our lovemaking sessions, Mr. Cynical mentioned to me that he was afraid that I was going to "fall for him". (What? Come again?) I didn't bother to quantify this statement with a response, I just let him blab on and on about what a bastard he is and so on and so forth...But you should also know, that since we have been seeing each other, I have never once, not ever - contacted him first and I am absolutely fine with lapses in our communication. (Who's falling for whom here, buddy...) In fact, there have been times when I have begged my trusty ole Mac to please produce a suitable replacement for Mr. Cynical, my discomfort with his bombastic, self-righteous nature driving me to continue searching for someone just a touch more on the light and playful side. Anyway, so that eerily quiet night by myself, in front of my trusty ole Mac, the very night after watching the main character in "Life is Beautiful" will various things to happen during his life on the screen, I decided to attempt to manipulate my own situation when the target of an ongoing, unrequited crush of mine, viewed my profile. I was initially drawn to this gentleman, when I happened upon his profile on which he displayed a photo of himself quite obviously out in the bush somewhere, crouching down next to a real, and yes...live - cheetah. That part was undeniably cool, of course, but even better was the way his Levi's fit his trim legs and stuff. He appeared inquisitive and confident and casual, all of which I definitely dug. I call him Cheetah, when I'm talking about him to my friends, so Cheetah it is. Cheetah has historically maintained a safe distance from me, but not avoided me completely - his technique is gooood. He strings me along just enough so that I don't get totally discouraged. And this particular empty night, after weeks of uncomfortable silence following my "Merry Christmas!" e-mail to him, Cheetah f i n a l l y looked at my profile again. "Ohhhh! What do I do? Do I write to him immediately so that he knows that I know that he looked? No, that will make me look overly eager and possibly desperate...I need to stay calm and just sit tight, yeah, that's right"

The first time I ever e-mailed him was to inquire as to why he had removed his cheetah picture? (How the heck was I supposed to foster my growing crush on him without an image on which to fixate?) He did respond but was almost brusque when he quipped that he was having some issues with a teenage daughter and that he simply did not have time on top of family issues, at the moment, to deal with the constant deluge of mostly unwanted e-mails. I wished him luck with everything and committed to being scarce for a bit, so as not to annoy him further. So this night, alone in my studio, I stared at the only picture I had to work with - the default image - a plain, grey silhouette, (bleh) beside his profile name and repeated, "Talk to me Cheetah, just send me a note. Say something, please write me a message..." that type of thing, over and over again, never breaking my stare. And then the strangest thing happened! I nearly pooped my pants when for the first time ever, Cheetah IM'd me! "Oh my god! Now what? Holy crap, SHIT!" I spastically got my faculties about me and typed a short response to his "Hey". We chatted for awhile and I didn't fully believe him when he said that he had to go because someone had just stopped by, but it was ok...I was just so happy to have talked to him at all. And the whole thing of me feeling like I had willed him to contact me was somewhat baffling and queer, but I liked believing that I had made it happen.

Naturally, I have bounced my dilemma with Mr. Cynical off of Frances who insists that I don't need to understand why I keep getting together with him, when I question whether or not I even like him. She says I just need to enjoy it for what it is, which in her opinion is a textbook example of having found myself a "fuck buddy". This is something I have sworn for eternity, is completely out of my capacity. I have always maintained that I could not have continued sexual relations with someone with whom I felt I could not fall in love. For the moment though, I am fairly content to be eating those words...