So there I was, lying in bed with Scout when I realized why, even the second night that I stayed the night, I just could not fall asleep: I’m not accustomed to being the actual boyfriend. I’m the piece on the side, the one night stand, the good time in a bar bathroom.
And now, I was the boyfriend. Weird. Like, Twilight Zone weird. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had relationships – just not the monogamous kind. Yes, I am admitting it to all: I cheat. A lot. On pretty much everyone I “commit” to. As cold as it sounds, I just never got around to finding someone I actually wanted to be faithful to.
Until now. And that, well… is weird. But I want it enough to push past that weird factor and be a real, actual, one-on-one boyfriend.
And it's tough. Not to stay faithful – I’ve found that rather easy. Of course, it helps that Scout makes me deliriously happy. That’s not an exaggeration. I smile waking up to text messages. Uh oh, I’ve turned into one of those people: half a couple. Not a bad thing though. I find I’m liking it. A lot. What are we doing? Where are we going? Look at me, I’m now a we! If only there wasn’t that damn, nagging downside…
Sleeping. That’s the hardest part.
I tried, for hours and hours and hours, to fall asleep. I did, a few times, for maybe half an hour each time. And each time, I woke up too wired to close my eyes again. I would climb out of bed, search for my clothes and realize, incorrectly of course, that I had to leave. I’d wander outside, have another smoke, then shuffle back to bed, strip down and try again.
Fail. Fail. Fail.
Finally, at five thirty-two in the morning, with Scout still sound asleep, I locked myself in the bathroom and pulled out my iTouch and started writing. As I stared at the screen, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me, I began to understand why my brain refused to shut up long enough for me to sleep.
The whore doesn’t spend the night, and I’m not use to being anything but. I’m kind of like Samantha Jones with a dick (I’m sure you’ve figured that out already). Not that I’ll fuck anything with a pulse, but I don’t feel that love and sex need to coexist for two or more people to have a good time. Sex, for a while (and at times) has also been a way for me to connect with someone(s) without really connecting (I’ll fuck you but don’t bother asking my name). Especially after a (former) best friend decided to shove a knife in my back, but that’s another column.
Then there is my history of being cheated on, the one cheated and the one being cheated on with. Been there, done that one and that one and that one…
So there is me, in a nutshell: A cheating whore. Typically, something I’m proud of (I know, I’m a terrible role model) and quite happy with all the anonymous sex a guy could want; it did me just fine. Ask me about it and I’ll tell you every dirty, naughty, skanky detail.
Just don’t ask my number; I stopped counting once I hit the point where water boils (Fahrenheit).
And then I met Scout. And suddenly, I was interested in sex with only one person. What the fuck happened, right? Turns out, I was hooked. Happily hooked. I won’t say I’m in love – I know better – but there are definite feelings at work. And to my utter shock and amazement, I’m not just there to get some and get gone. I don’t want to leave once the naked sweatiness is over. I don’t want to share or be shared. I want to wake up seeing only Scout’s face.
So why do I feel like I should leave immediately following orgasm? Why can’t I just enjoy the fact that sleeping next to me is someone who wants me to be there after the sun rises?
Oh, that’s right. The whore and all…
So after finding two hours spread across the entire night to drift in and out of consciousness, I finally make it to seven o’clock. Exhausted, I shower and dress and contemplate how long I should wait before I hit the road and head home. And remember, I don’t have to. And more importantly, I don’t want to.
I think about the time before the time of no sleep, when Scout and I were cuddled together on the couch, watching TV and just enjoying each other’s company. And I realized that even when we didn’t have sex, I was still happy… I still wanted to be near Scout.
A connection without sex. I had almost forgotten it was possible. Or desirable.
I looked away. Cause, oh shit, I think I just caught monogamy. It actually took me nine tries to spell that word close enough to correct before the spell-check would fix it; that’s how averse I used to be to the lifestyle. And now I’m living it. And that scares me, more than a little.
Then I look back at Scout and smiled again and wonder if this could actually work out. Not, can I-be-happy work out. I already know the answer to that. I wondered whether I could be good for Scout: honest and loyal and being the boyfriend Scout deserves. I haven’t cheated yet and I don’t plan on it – in fact, no one else has been able to grab my attention. Hooked, remember? But knowing that, I still wonder…
Can I not fuck this all up?And that’s really where all this comes from: I don’t want to hurt Scout. And I’m afraid I will. I’m afraid i’ll do something so incredibly fucked up that I’ll ruin my baby. I’ve done that to more than one person. And I don't want to do that now. So again I’ll ask…
Can I not fuck this all up?