Lust Life: Fucking Friends

As he gazed sweetly at me over pizza at Don Giovanni’s, he said, “You’re my fucking friend!” I took it as a compliment. Since I explained the American concept of “fuck buddies” to my Italian Biscotti, he’s converted the idea to something more profound: fucking friends. What is a fucking friend? Someone with whom you have casual sex on a regular basis with no strings attached.

A fuck buddy is, well, someone with whom you have casual sex on a regular basis with no strings attached. And yet I’d much rather be a fucking friend than a fuck buddy.

The term “fuck buddy” is dated. It reminds me of elementary school, when I first learned the “buddy system”: an adult ploy for encouraging children to be responsible without the burden of total self-reliance. In turn, adults use the system in teamwork situations in which two people stick together to face the unknown. You could say sex is a form of teamwork, but the word buddy is also used as a derogatory name for someone who is disturbing the peace, usually a male. “Hey, buddy, watch what you’re doing!”

Even more disturbing is the memory of the life-size boy doll of the 1980s called “My Buddy.” When I hear the phrase “fuck buddy,” I can’t help thinking about that stupid doll. And dolls don’t do it for me.

What does it for me is feeling a connection with people I fuck. All of my so-called “F Buddies” have been companions—people with whom I shared intimacy and friendship and passion in addition to carnal pleasure.

I had a sexual relationship with a friend that went on for years. In the beginning, we dated briefly, but soon realized we were not meant to be boyfriend/girlfriend. Yet we continued to sleep together, on and off, while we both dated other people. We were friends, and although we had a romantic connection, we were not quite lovers. We didn’t see each other as frequently as lovers do; when we did see each other, there was no expectation that we would have sex.

If we had sex, it didn’t mean we were moving toward a romantic relationship. If we didn’t have sex, it wasn’t a rejection, but a pause. “Are you in the mood?” He would ask. “Not today. I’ve been seeing XYZ again, and we’ve been pretty active lately.” A month later, he’d be welcome in my bed.

For a long time, a sense of romantic possibility rippled between us. We knew that we would never move beyond sexual friendship to romantic love, and yet the possibility of that transition kept our relationship intriguing.

The hypothetical “What if?” rested in the comfort of our friendship. It seemed that it would go on forever like that, until the possibility disappeared into our separate lives. We haven’t had sex in a few years, and it doesn’t seem likely to happen again. But if it does, I don’t think either of us would regret it.

The beauty of “F Friends” is that there is no break-up. Unless you have a conflict in the friendship, the sex is not going to make or break the relationship, and if you stop having sex, you’re still friends. If you start having sex again, friends you are still. But if you fall in love and break up, you can never go back to being “just friends”—fucking or not.

F Friends can mention their lovers and even have detailed discussions about them without walking on eggshells. Another advantage is that your sexual knowledge of each other can bring valuable insight to the friendship.

If my F Friend is having a problem with another sex partner, I could say, “Well, does she use that blowjob method you like?” You can’t do that as easily with your lovers, even if you have an open relationship. Ideally, F Friends don’t get jealous. If you need a cuddle, they won’t deny you or feel weird offering affection. There’s no reason to fear that a little cuddle will lead to sex and therefore the end of your friendship: F Friends don’t operate on a system requiring that you stick together after you get sticky.

Maybe F Buddies exist to diffuse the emotional vagueness of sleeping with your friends. Referring to her as a casual buddy keeps her in her place: close to your cock, but away from your heart—at least in the comfort of your mind. Biscotti enjoys his position as my F friend, because most of the women he has been with in the past wanted too much “cheek to cheek.” Yet he acknowledges that fucking your friends doesn’t mean you’re fucking without feelings. The buddy system dictates that you never let go of each other. We give each other space. Isn’t that what friends are for?