My boyfriend and I have broken up. We broke my bed before we broke up. So now every time I sleep on it, and turn on my side in a particular direction, I get this vocal reminder of how well he used to rock my world. If I could change my bed I would, but I worry that then I would miss him and I wouldn’t even have this little reminder of the good times.
He and I started as buddies. Somehow the fucking led to talking and then the talking led to feeling and the feeling led to falling and then we were a couple, fantasizing about forever. We had problems, real ones, not least of them being that because we were such good friends before we became fuck buddies we knew entirely too much about each other’s pasts relationships and love lives. He knew all about the only guy I had fucked before him, the one who I was certain would be the father of my children. He had all the details about the blowjobs I would give while my ex and I were driving on the highway, the time we got caught fucking in the parking lot of a police station. He knew all about the fucking we did on my period when I was hornier than hell and wanted it so badly I couldn’t think and the way my ex would tease me and tease me and tease me and then suddenly grab the string hanging between my legs, pull the tampon out and replace it with his dick in one fell swoop, and I would come from the sudden sensation of emptiness and fullness at the same time. He knew all about my secondary school boyfriend who had the most beautiful penis in the entire world and whom I always regret that I never got to fuck.
I knew all about the neverending blowjob he had gotten on a fourteen-hour bus ride from his buxom girlfriend, the time he fucked her on all fours in an uncompleted building in Accra, that one time when she had been sick but had still wanted to sleep with him before she went to the hospital and how when he slid inside her, because she was running a fever her temperature had been so high that her pussy had been like a sauna. It had been the weirdest sensation but sexy as hell and he had come in two minutes. I even knew details about his random short-lived dalliances; like this girl who trembled uncontrollably every time he was inside her. We nicknamed her Tremblina. The first time we fucked we even referenced Tremblina; I hadn’t told him I was a trembler too sometimes and he teased me about it.
We were best friends first and I never thought we would fuck or end up in love so I never stopped him from telling me this stuff. But once we were together we both couldn’t forget how much we knew.
I wish I could say how much we knew is why we broke up but that wouldn’t be entirely accurate. I can’t really say why we broke up. We just started fighting a lot for no reason and then walking on eggshells around each other for reasons we wouldn’t articulate. And then before we knew it we were arguing and saying we were tired of doing it and hurting each other in ways we can probably never mend. I want him back in my bed so badly but if there is anything I know about fucking when you have broken up it is this: It is never equitable. One person is always trying to fuck the other person out of their system so they can move on. Another person is always trying to fuck their way back into the other person’s mind and heart so the sex can glue them back together. The messed-up thing is that I’m not even really sure which of the two I would be. While we were doing it I would just be overwhelmed by the sensation of being in it, be taken with the thought of breaking more planks in the frame of my bed, be mesmerized by the reality of inhaling him and sucking him into my pussy and biting the curve of his shoulder when I come. After he left, the bed would just be even more broken and our problems would be even more unsolvable. Chale.
Adventurers, have any of you ever hooked up with an ex shortly after breaking up when the feelings were still fresh? How was it? Were you the one fucking your way in or the one fucking your way out?