He hung all of the shelves in my apartment, cooked me chicken and dumplings from scratch, and, real talk, was some of the best sex I’ve ever had. One day, Will told me that he’d met someone he was interested in pursuing seriously, but that he’d end things with her if I wanted to take our relationship to the next level.
It was my first experience with casual sex like that — and I was surprised by how into it I was.The passion that made our sex so good also meant we bickered regularly.We got on each other’s nerves a lot; he drank all of my expensive scotch, and I hated the fact that he was a smoker. We had one more night together and then we parted ways.My date turned out to be a total dud, but writer guy and I kept making eyes.After just one drink, I told the dude I was with that I had to go, put him in a cab, and then sent off a text to my second date, faking a headache.He knew casual sex was all that I could give at the moment, and when he started wanting something more, he walked away.Being on that side of the situation made me realise the tragic mistake I’d been making with men when I was younger.“I’m just looking for something casual.”I know I’m saying I just want to hook up at the moment, but if you stick around long enough, I’ll realise that you’re perfect for me — and we’ll live happily ever after, just like in all those romantic comedies your mother loves. I’d repeat the same pattern, hear some form of the same line, over and over again. They, too, had been dealing with paramours on the prowl for no-strings sex. But, ever the optimist, I continued to date, wary of guys who would tell me they just wanted casual sex right off the bat.And yet I’d still willingly fall into flings with these guys. One Friday night, I’d double-booked myself on two dates.We continued to see one another, but we were explicit about keeping things casual.After trying our hand at a “real” date, Will and I realised our sizzle was at its highest within the four walls of my apartment.