It’s clear that we are a species of primordial hunter gatherers, in need of food, drink and sex. Simples. Think of a night out, when the doors open circa 3am and you stumble onto the street, what are the two things, the two desires that take control? Food and Sex. Usually, if you’ve played your cards right, you’ve pretty much sorted the latter – now for kebabylon.
But what if you’ve not sorted it? You stumble back to halls, and surprise surprise, you’ve forgotten your keys. Bang away, and 10 minutes later, Jessica, the girl who lives two doors down from you in your flat, opens the door, all bleary eyed in her short PJ’s. You both know what’s gonna happen. It’s happened before and will happen again, probably next week when she’s completely battered on Thursday night. The good old, easy agreement that sums up University life – buddies with benefits.
It’s a bit like fight club, this agreement – you can never talk about it. I’m talking to my male compadres here – have any of you actually suggested to a recent lay the words ‘friends with benefits’?! It’s a definite guarantee of being shown the door. But we all know what’s going on. It’s an easy fix – nobody wants a relationship in these early, formative years away from home. When you get it right, it’s something based on pure, carnal, physical attraction designed to satisfy, with none of the usual relationship baggage to go along with it all. It’s gotta beat a ‘DIY’ session, right?
I’ve plenty of buddies, with their own buddies. I’ve had buddies of my own, and the benefit part of this friendship usually fizzles out, and I’m lucky enough to have remained friends with a few of them. But I’ve also seen the ugly side of this blissful set up. I brought a (fairly handsome I might add) mate along to a semi kind of pub-crawl with my housemates. Everyone got on like a house on fire, and we were drinking away merrily, until one of the girls I live with (let’s call her Anne for the purposes of this story) abruptly upped and left us, without so much as a goodbye. Said friend (we’ll call him Steve) then, with a sly grin, announced his departure too. Cue us falling through the door two hours later, to find Steve coming out of the toilet in nothing on but a little pink towel.
A bit of a surprise at first, sure, but we thought they had it under control, until Anne decided to get back with her boyfriend. One night I’d told Steve to meet me at mine to start the night with a few brewskis, I was running late, so I rang him and said someone should be in, ring the bell and I’ll be as quick as poss. I didn’t realise it was just Anne and recently got back together bf in the house. Poor lad had to make conversation with them for what I’d imagine was an excruciating 20 minutes, until I came to save the day.
Want to be my sex friend?
Maybe we should talk about it then. Lay it all out on the table, just so nobody gets hurt. Enjoy your friends, enjoy their sexy benefits, but remember not to take it all too seriously. If you’re not in it for the long haul, maybe mention it early on – that way you’re both on the same page and can go on with all that no strings fun which is all what anyone’s after anyway!
By Josh Moore