We Can Be Cut Friends, You & I...

I had to check myself this morning and realize that sex with Eric is just sex.

Lisa fucked my head up one night when she called him my “boo”. 

Fuck friends.  Bust it baby, but never my boo. 

Then she asked me do I see him being more than just a friend.

I can barely classify him as a friend.  Dude is more of a stimulator.  He serves a limited purpose in my life, and to play it safe I want to keep it as such.

But being an emotional female who thrives for companionship (and a husband) I recalled my young thoughts of grandeur. 

I was reminded of the old Eric.  The Eric I fell for in undergrad.  The dude who took me to the lake and held me in his arms while we watched the downtown pollution conceal the stars.

The same dude who waited until the day of to ask me if I’d be his Valentine.  Had the nerve to show up at my house unannounced bearing my favorite arrangement (sunflowers) ready to whisk me away for to dinner. 

Little did he know I had moved on and left the city to enjoy dinner with another man.  A man who was able to handle his emotions and admit that friendship was not enough.

So I had to snap out of nostalgia land and focus on the now.  Focus on the current Eric who is just fucking me.  Our time spent involves no walks around the lake, no trips to his mother’s house, no cooked meals, no flowers, just good ole sex.

There exists a horrible potential to care.  To want more, but settle for less.  But this time I know I can handle it.  I expect nothing more than his dick to be inside my vagina, his head buried in my pussy, his lips engaged with mine.  My legs are open; shit, they are spread from each corner of the bed, but this time my eyes too are open to the fact that this ain’t no love thang, we just kickin’ it.