Fuck Buddies

Just like that, they were fuck buddies.

It started off, as so many of these kinds of things did, with too much beer and too little forethought.

Double dates that ended in the same apartment.

Then, in the same room.

Then the same bed.

The women were interchangeable, fleeting, inconsequential. At some point, it was easier to simply leave them out of the equation—not to mention the bed—altogether.

Just like that, they were fuck buddies.

It wasn’t like they planned it or anything, and hell if he could remember now who suggested it first, or if they even talked about it at all. Yeah, not a whole lot of thinking going on—at least, not with the big head.

But hey, they were okay. Just getting hip with the sexual revolution, man. If it feels good, do it.

Long live the revolution.

Yeah, everything was cool. Except, he was pretty sure fuck buddies mostly just fucked. Oh, maybe they might grab a beer and pizza beforehand—you know, if they were hungry. Maybe they might sometimes watch the late news together, to catch the sports scores and the game highlights. But anything other than that? No way. This was all about the horizontal mambo. Get it up, get it hard, get it off; wham, bam, thank you, uh, pal. That was it.

He was pretty sure that a fuck buddy wouldn’t spend a bunch of time just… well, just making you feel good. Like kissing. No point in really kissing—the sweet kind, long and lazy, with a little tongue to make things interesting but not too much, only enough to get the engine warmed up nicely.

There’d be no point in a helluva whole lot of touchy-feely stuff either: no need for his skillful, gentle hands to stroke and linger, to map out your skin in painstaking detail, carefully cataloging all the intricacies of the terrain for an extended assault. No need for him to tease and tantalize over and over, everywhere, endlessly, until there was nothing of you but the pleasure-pain and all you could do was beg for release, for the pain to end, and for the pleasure to go on forever.

No, no point at all.

And Starsky was damned sure a fuck buddy wouldn’t say, “I love you” as he fell asleep in your arms.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Hutch.”