i'm fucking the cuddle man for cuddles
diary entry feb. 2nd
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I couldn't understand why I was so smitten for a man that regularly annoys the shit out of me. Then I remembered the rabid, skin-peeling crashout state I was in right before we met. It was less than 2 weeks after my aunt passed. I was doing about as well as one would expect, but things got worse the more I ruminated on our last moments together. I'd lost family before but not like this. I'd never hurt this bad. I felt myself getting irritable, hyper sensitive, angry, overwhelmed. My knee-jerk reaction to yell at my family members for existing too loudly was obviously not the best outlet for my grief, so I stayed busy. I went back to a job that burnt me out after a busy summer just so I could fill up my time and never be home. Never be alone with my memories of her.
But that wasn't enough. I still had time on my hands. I needed to blow off some steam. I needed something to dig my nails into. The only ex I have in my phone has suddenly grown a ‘self-respect’ bone and stopped texting me back once he got a whiff of my usual antics, so I had to find a new guy to lead on then ignore. Obviously I went looking for randoms to have sex with on the internet, like any level-headed person would. It might be a miracle I haven’t been murdered, yet. Or maybe I’m just smarter than all the other girls. I did take a self-defense class that one time 6 years ago, so I can clearly handle anything these dudes throw at me. I peruse the apps in search of anybody whose available, horny, respectful, and has his own place. I’m not very picky, but I need to sleep over after a hookup, even if it’s just a one night stand. My desperate impulses usually lead me astray but this time they led me to my little italian (american). The cuddle man.
He’s annoying. I mean that in a nice way. He's got an awkward personality that is best described as ‘white boy that listens to Tyler the Creator religiously’. He's got this hypebeast-meets-cryptobro vibe going on that I thought died in 2016. But, alas, these are the things you witness when in the company of straight men. I can bear it, he's got a nice personality and we're pretty compatible in bed. The sex is exploratory. He talked a big game in our messages and far exceeded my expectations. He puts in the effort to satisfy me, no matter how misguided. It's not perfect, he seems insecure about not being able to make me cum and hasn’t bothered to hide it. To make up for his overall lack of confidence, he likes to soft brag about his Rolex, his Tesla, the art he’s collected, and his parent’s lake house. It doesn’t matter though, there’s something deeper I need from him.
He provides a comfortable, safe place for me to exist during those moments when I'm not sure I want to. That comfort comes in the form of small details that feel like a lot of effort, even though I know they’re not. He cleans the bathroom before I come over, apologizing for leaving the seat up even if it's not. He's embarrassed by his roommate's messy, loud nature. He’s always fresh out the shower when I come over and asks if his beard is too rough. The sheets are always fresh when I come over and he always buys me food. He even parks my car for me. He shares his weed and lets me choose what we watch on TV post-sex.
He's not my prince charming but he's considerate and smells nice. He always smells so fucking nice. That’s all I need for a grief rebound. Someone nice to fill up my time and sex so good that I’m completely distracted for at least 3 hours. He doesn't know that he's my grief rebound. That my heart is shattered and I'm close to an actual mental breakdown. He doesn't know that he's become my solace, the only thing staving off my panic attacks. I might tell him one day but it's too soon to be anything other than the cool hookup girl. I can't risk losing this thing we have going. It’s the only thing keeping me sane while I wait patiently for the hard lump in my throat to stop choking me. I can’t fucking breathe.
So I fuck him, every single time we see each other. And in return, he gives me cuddles. He even mentioned liking aftercare on his dating profile. What a dream. A man that likes to be held and intimate after sex. This is simply too good to give up. I can’t risk not getting a text back. I can’t risk not having his attention, or not allowing him to take up an insane amount of space in my brain. I need him. I need to be held, to have someone’s chest to lie my head on, and he happens to be available (from 5:30-11pm on most weekdays and the occasional Saturday).
Even when I tell myself I won’t. Even when I know that I’m faking it, to an extent. When I have to drink or smoke or both to actually be in the mood. I still fuck him. But I would like to see if he respects me enough as a person to tolerate a night of my personality without sex as a reward. That seems too risky. He might cut me off. I might have to go without the intoxication of not sleeping alone. That’s a high I’ve only recently become addicted to, and there’s no way I can quit. So I fuck him, to make sure I never lose this feeling. This feeling of serene intimacy and a pause on my loneliness.