The Unexpected Way Breakup Sex Helped Me Move On
Last week we were having hot car sex, the windows steaming up and the night feeling like it could last forever. This week it’s over and I feel like I just crashed said car into a tree.
If you read my boat party story, this is the guy. The first time we went out for drinks with his friends we started a game that would continue every date thereafter. At around 2 am some of his friends decided to move the party from the bar to a club that didn’t particularly excite me. He was unsure about joining them, jokingly mentioning his susceptibility to peer pressure. I assured him that if it was peer pressure he was looking for, I had plenty to hand out. I got up, left for to the bathroom to take my panties off and discreetly handed them to him underneath the table.
In a split second, he leapt to his feet, boisterously announcing to everyone that “we’re going to have wild sex.” I couldn’t help but dissolve into embarrassed laughter. But the others seemed to find his proclamation rather amusing. On our way out, I asked why he would tell this to all his friends. He responded that no one would convince us to stay if they knew what we were up to. Solid theory.
On every date thereafter, I would leave the panty behind that I had come in.
Obviously, I never planned on falling for him, and yet seeing his mischievous smile made me giggle. He is carefree, has this deep sense of purpose, is self-secure and living his best life. It was contagious and I noticed that I loved being part of his life. But worst of all was the feeling I got when we cuddled after sex. He’d smell amazing, slightly sweaty, and collapse on top of me. I simply couldn’t get enough. He would pull me in so tight it felt like the world could collapse around us and we’d still be fine. We’d lie there for hours.
He knew I’m non-monogamous and yet, at some point he dropped the news that he had deleted his dating apps. Something I hadn’t seen coming, and as a result developed guilt over, as I knew I couldn’t give him a full-on relationship. And I was worried he would feel like I was leading him on.
Two weeks later he messaged me saying that he had met someone. Go figure. He felt that they had reached a point where it was no longer cool to sleep with other people.
As I read his words, my chest imploded. An emotional hurricane made its way from my heart to my stomach. The intensity of rejection and loss hit me harder than I would have liked to admit. This was supposed to be casual after all..
I didn’t really know what to do with myself so I texted the girl from the boat party. She took me to a secluded beach that night and within the confines of an old lifeguard tower, we discussed boys, heartbreak, and life.
Opening up felt cathartic. And yet, I was too self-conscious to admit to her that I kept asking myself if I could’ve changed the outcome.
“What-ifs” were plaguing me.
What if I hadn’t cancelled that one night?
What if I hadn’t kept my distance and instead texted more?
What if I hadn’t told him about me seeing other people? (Then I would just be an a**hole.. but it did cross my mind dishonorably so.)
I mean, how on earth could he have found someone else, when we shared an attraction this strong? It just didn’t sink in. My friend said all the right things (heck, she said everything I would have told a friend in my situation), but none of it resonated. I either chose to ignore it or didn’t want it to be true.
There was also another side to this: being with him brought excitement into my life. And the more exciting things got with him, the less I had to confront other realities in my life. (Like the fact that I don’t actually like my job.) I had used him as an escape to dealing with uncomfortable truths.
But I did admit to her that I still needed to pick up all the panties I’d left at his place. She advised me against sleeping with him again. I agreed.
The next day, I went to his flat. What started as an honest chat, ended up with cuddling on the sofa. Seemed, like I wasn’t the only one saying goodbye after all. Then it happened — the silly clichéd moment. Neither of us initiated a kiss, our lips hovering just millimetres apart. If I were a better person, I would have walked away then. Instead, I left it up to him to judge whether he was crossing a line or not. After what felt like an eternity, he kissed me and whispered the words “breakup sex”, half asking, half suggesting.
Wisdom told me not to engage. Impulse ultimately won. I wanted to feel him one last time. The longing that had been in the room the whole time unfolded into the most needy and intoxicating sex I’ve ever had. It felt like there was nothing that could satisfy the thirst. We went for two rounds straight, just to let it all out. Every now and again my mind would wander to this one thought: why is this ending again??
Yet, when I wanted to pull him in for our usual cuddle, I noticed the change in him. Yes, the heat was still there. But his heart wasn’t in it anymore. His desire for emotional closeness was nowhere to be seen. That sense of safety and security I once felt had vanished. All of a sudden I felt unwelcome in his apartment. In his bedroom. His life.
After a quick shower, I returned to the bedroom to pick up my panties. Even though I had seen the change in him, I was still processing what it all meant. A fleeting last kiss turned him on enough, for him to pull me in for one last round. Just once more.
I’ve never had breakup sex before. Now, I finally understand why everyone says it’s the hottest thing they’ve ever done. None of our sex before was this intense. And yet, it killed all the doubts I had held before. All the what-ifs dissolved into thin air. All of a sudden it felt like I was a side piece. After the third time, it was clear to me that I didn’t want this anymore. Not like this.
Removing sex from the equation, I felt like I was no longer deserving of care or emotional connection. What made it so good before, was that I felt at home in his arms. But that feeling wasn’t on the table anymore, so then what’s the point of keeping it going?
And this is the part where it finally sank in. She was the one he wanted. I was just there and happened to still turn him on.
Sometimes, the only way to truly believe reality is to witness it with our own eyes. If I had never seen him again after receiving his text, I would have spent a long time pondering. I would have dissected every moment, desperately hoping for alternative outcomes while disregarding the obvious truth. I couldn’t offer him a committed relationship, and he was ready to move to the next level.
Reflecting now, I realize how egocentric it was to believe I held the power to change his mind. Of course, I don’t. But I could kid myself enough to believe I might.
So when I left his apartment, I was grateful for having that certainty. Everything fell into place, there was nothing I could’ve done that would’ve changed a thing. (Though I did delete my dating apps on the way home. ‘Bout time I focus on myself.)
Would I have found that certainty without the breakup sex? I highly doubt it. The signs would’ve been just subtle enough for me to ignore and instead keep on betraying my reality thinking I could’ve changed the outcome only if..
And that kind of ending takes a lot longer to get over than the one I got.
