My F*ck Buddy

A-Sexy: F is for Fuck Buddy Part 2

I hated him and yet I spent a lot of time thinking about ways to make him do things that would make me cum. It’s one of those ones where he was a perfect FB. He wasn’t ambitious, he thought education was a waste of time (be still my African heart) he spent a lot of time explaining to me about the man and the system and how he defied this by always being late. Huh? Yes I was confused too. He thought it was embarrassing that I didn’t cook 3 hour meals every day for myself and that I thought Will Young was cute (the homophobic commentary isn’t worth repeating my precious)  and yet despite that and the silver tooth (I think it used to be gold but he was no youngster, bless) we were attracted to each other. He liked curvy women and I liked men that looked like they could lift me and not slip a disc. We were a physical match but nothing else. It also helped that we lived really close to each other.  The same post code.

FB would come and pick me up when I worked nights and take me back to one of our places and we would have sex. We attempted to date but conversation wasn’t something we could do without wanting to kill each other. He spat out the word feminist at me more than once like he was accusing me of being a murderer. Apparently feminism was evil. I couldn’t understand how it was that every time I saw him he had a different car until I learned that it was some dodgy hiring scheme he and his friends were involved in. I told him to shush and let’s go get a pizza. It was best he not tell me anything that I could crack under interrogation and reveal. For once he agreed and ignored the fact that it was takeaway once again.

The sex was amazing. He pushed my sexual  boundaries and I was stretched, literally. I tried things I normally wouldn’t bother to suggest with a boyfriend as you don’t want to look like the freakier one if you’re a woman. You have to passively suggest things in a way that he thinks it was his idea. Bless their innocent socks.

Then he went on holiday for a month. I suffered withdrawals for about 2 weeks but quickly I realised that these were just physical. He was an awful texter, we rarely chatted on the phone and his lateness wasn’t something that I missed. Waiting for up to 2 hours for someone to pop by is not a good look.

And so I moved on and found someone else to play with. FB came home from the Caribbean with gifts and declared that he had missed me more than he thought and we should date. HUH? Please universe no. This was going to be awkward. I suggested that we be friends but both of us knew that wasn’t going to happen. And so I did what any woman with a heart would do…have sex with him one last (well it was 3) time and give him the closure that he needed.

What can I say, just because he was an FB didn’t mean he didn’t have a heart…or an ego. And thus I learned that the art of ending it is a skill.

Happy sexing!

© Chelsea Black


  1. Pizza….it was in my late-40’s that I found that, in the opportunity cost sense, eating had got ahead of sex. I’m glad you ain’t got there yet 🙂

  2. I’m probably more than 50% wrong. But hey, its celibration w/end! Me-thinks I now know why your radio has died. Its cos you are like, 2 paradigms ahead of almost all others.

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