The Zipless Fuck

Meaningless sex at 14,000 feet can mend a broken heart

I arrived at the airport feeling like a beast. And not in a good way. Sweat covered my face, my neck, and my crotch. The humidity was off the charts today in Auckland, and it felt stifling. But that was nothing of how I felt inside — heartbroken, betrayed, ghosted. Every dream shattered and the future an empty hell.

I had ventured to New Zealand for a little getaway with my boyfriend, Marco, the Enigma.

Was he still married?

This wasn’t entirely clear, and he often dodged the question.

What did he do for work? Also very vague. He worked for a bank. But in some sort of counseling capacity where he didn’t need to demonstrate that his customers use one of the bank’s products. It sounded odd for a bank.

Family life? He had two children from two different mothers and shared custody with both. Complicated. I hadn’t met the kids, or the mothers, or his friends for that matter. But it had only been two months.

What had happened in two months was a lot of sex, lovemaking and fucking. A lot of me devouring his cock, and of him with his face between my legs. And then lots of talking. We had a lot in common. The same values, the same sense of humor. We liked the same films, hated the…