The one with the narcoleptic fuck buddy
Content warning: this story features a feminist rant. I’m sorry, but it needs to be said. I will make it worth your while, I promise! So before you click away, let me start by telling you the story of the Narcoleptic Fuck Buddy.
The Narcoleptic Fuck Buddy (NFB) and I met one evening through a friend of a friend. While I was on another date. It’s ok, I didn’t run off with NFB mid-date. Alas, the date and I were not meant to be and so I hung around to have another drink, listen to the music, and chat with some randoms. NFB had been introduced to me upon his arrival. Now noticing I was alone, he made eyes at me from across the bar, raising his eyebrows and lifting his glass of whiskey at me in salute. I raise my eyebrows in return; that is to say, we communicated our interest of each other using the universally understood language that is bar speak.
NFB is an odd yet strangely appealing guy. He’s got longish mousy brown hair that looks like it could do with a good cut and wash. His eyes appear unfocused, constantly darting around. He’s perpetually got a cigarette and a drink in hand. You could easily write him off as a bit of a druggo, without any evidence of this being the actual case.
But NFB surprised me. And I’m glad he did. He’s informed on a range of topics (politics, feminism, music, alcohol) and has considered opinions that he likes to engage you with. He’s a passionate guy and that’s pretty appealing (cf: previous posts). And he loves having a laugh. You should know by now my mantra: GENUINE AND AUTHENTIC GUYS NEED ONLY APPLY.
So we chatted, we flirted, we pilfered drinks (I cannot disclose anything more about this for fear of incriminating myself further and being banned from my bar, which would be devo). It was a fun and spontaneous interaction, and had me laughing.
I can hear the vicarious celebrations. Finally! She did it! She met a cool guy and they get along! Woot woot! She gonna get some tonight, yo! We kissed at the bar and he suggested I come home with him. Naturally, my answer was yes. Because I had met THE ONE!
That is to say, the one I deemed suitable as a potential fuck buddy. Because, let’s be honest for a moment here: I’m enjoying the single life. I don’t want to be committed to another guy so soon after the last. But I do enjoy companionship and a girl’s got needs. What I’m looking for is a hybrid of a relationship and a fling. Friends with benefits. Put succinctly, a fuck buddy.
I’ve had many people (guys mainly) tell me that as a woman, this is a very easy thing to attain. WHO WOULDN’T WANT TO BANG YOU, LOVE? But my fellow sisters understand that this is not the case. There is a slight hiccup in this sexual revolution of ours: guys still believe that men fuck, while women make love. Essentially what happens is this:
Girl meets guy.
Guy and girl decide to deploy ‘eggplant’. Much fun had.
Girl suggests they do it again sometime.
Guy goes radio silent.
Girl again suggests hang outs.
Guy moves interstate in extreme form of avoidance.
It’s really quite frustrating being treated all the time like you want to lock it down. I’m going to use some big, emotional words here: it’s dismissive, invalidating, and makes me feel misunderstood (and thus angry). Because it doesn’t seem to matter how many times you clearly communicate to a guy what you want or don’t want, it seems guys have a tendency toward disbelief. Perhaps an innate and primal defence mechanism, evolved over hundreds of years to protect men from the frivolities of women’s feelings. More bloody likely, protect them from their OWN feelings. These guys are extremely avoidant and say things like, “I don’t want to lead you on, because, nice guy.” But what they are really doing is patronising me. Because I can handle my own feelings dude, probably better than you can run your life. So when you say you are trying to protect my feelings, that’s a lie. What you’re actually saying is, “you’re a powerful woman and I’m scared shitless so I’m going to go hide in the toilet and please don’t impregnate me.”
But here’s the thing: I FUCKING DON’T WANT MARRIAGE OR KIDS, GUYS! SETTLE YOUR TESTICLES ALREADY!
It’s a real shame you guys-deemed-worthy-of-being-fuck-buddies, because we could have some fun if you weren’t a freaking girly man (I do not condone the use of female terms to convey weakness; however, I am partial to this phrase, because, Darius Horsham).
So guys, please stop interpreting my capacity to communicate effectively my needs to you or my natural tendency towards affection as being signs I’m on pinterest making a photo board of our wedding and future lives together. That’s just me. Rightly or wrongly, I’m just that person, transparent and warm across all my environments, with all people I like, irrespective of whether I have a sexual interest in you or not. I’m sorry, but you’re just not that special. Yep. True story.
Friends, don’t feel too sad yet. The Narcoleptic Fuck Buddy is called a fuck buddy for a reason. To date, he has had the maturity to handle this powerful bae. But I bet you’re wondering where the narcolepsy fits in. So onwards with the story.
NFB and I end up back at his place. He tells me to make myself comfortable and then opens up a bottle of red for us to partake in. SWOON! Such class! I like. I like a lot! We begin to make out, then we make love.
PSYCH! We FUCK. Bahahaha.
It’s all a bunch of fun and afterwards he tells me to stay the night. We chat, we cuddle, we fall asleep. As is the way of the sexes, he falls asleep immediately while it takes me some time to.
I’m finally asleep, probably dreaming about white dresses and Hawaiian beach weddings, when I am startled awake. Narcoleptic Fuck Buddy has skipped the formalities and gone straight into making out with me, groping me, and he’s ready for action. It takes me about a minute to figure out where the fuck I am and what’s happening before I do realise and then think, what the heck. I return his kisses, the heat is rising….
And then just as quickly as it started, he kind of flops on to the bed and immediately starts snoring. I think initially he’s just showing he’s exhausted. But no. He’s fast asleep. I lie back down confused and engage in some deep breathing to manage the racing heart (because, fight-or-flight still kicking on after that gentle wake up).
This startle-for-sex happens once again during the night, and like the first time, he falls asleep within three minutes. Yeah. Um. I don’t know what this is. But I’m freaking tired by this point and haven’t got much to show for it. I’m pissed off (not really; I tease). But seriously, I really dislike being woken up prematurely from my sleep at the best of times. He’s lucky I didn’t go ape shit on him (you know I could).
The next morning he gently wakes me up and we kiss good morning. We again make love (oops, my bad, I mean, fuck) and afterwards as I’m getting dressed to go to work, I ask what the fuck he was all about during the night, startling me awake.
HE HAS NO FREAKING IDEA WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT. He’s incredulous. He thinks I’m making it up. I insist it’s the truth (I was, after all, very close to punching the guy for waking me from my beauty sleep). He thinks if it is true it’s likely due to the alcohol. Except, we’ve slept together a few times now… and it has happened irrespective of alcohol consumption.
But dear friends, you know how hard it is to find a good fuck buddy. I’ve just told you. I cannot look a gift horse in the mouth. So Narcoleptic Fuck Buddy, you’re here to stay. Forever. Because, I love you. I want to marry you and have your babies. Don’t ever leave me. I’ll find you. I promise. I will.
Until next time…
Peace and love, RS
