We engage in a what amounts to a sex-only agreement.
Sexless in The City
Dan Moore

Friends Don’t Fuck: If You Do, You’re Lovers, Not Friends

One guy suggested Friends-With-Benefits to me.

Let’s call him Kieran.

I met him at the same teashop that I met all the other guys.

He hugged me when we met, right away.

He was nice-looking, fabulous body. He was sexy and charming.

I kept in touch with him, we messaged from time to time but didn’t meet again for a while, mainly because he kept inviting me over to his house to watch a movie. I said no, not because I wouldn’t have liked to, but because it would have sent the wrong signal.

I liked him very much because he was straightforward about what he wanted.

When I said that I only begin a physical relationship with a man when I am convinced that he values me for the amazing woman that I am, he said:

“I value you.”

We cycled home, he lived nearby. He got off his bike to kiss me goodnight, tenderly.

I met him again just before the New Year. I made the mistake of kissing him after dark while sitting in the window of a coffee shop in my own neighbourhood in full view of passers-by… one of whom could have been one of my own sons or their classmates.

K said that I would get no food at his place, only tea. He seemed unintelligent and my interest began to wane. Why should I accept being friends-with-benefits with a guy in his fifties when I am getting offers of that sort of thing from thirty-something guys… and more recently, twenty-something.

I met him in the park one winter’s day when I was out walking with a girlfriend and he was with his daughter.

Again, he hugged me warmly and introduced me politely.

That was the last time I saw him.