The Case for Continous Sexual Tension
I know what you're thinking*: you read the title of this article and you are all, what the hell, this is the literal opposite of the (most excellent and informative) post I just read re how to get it in with our long pined for besties, what is even going on over here.
*I don't but that's never stopped anyone from saying it before
Well sometimes what is going on is it can be an effortful fucking drag to successfully carry off a FWB sitchy-itchy, and you say to yourself HOLY SHIT, that doesn't seem worth it. Or sometimes you look around behold your target bone buddy up to his balls in a field of red flags, and you say to yourself HOLY SHIT, that doesn't seem like a good idea.
So you hitch up your big girl britches and decide to keep them the fuck on.
But then where does this leave you? Muttering curses under your breath while shaking your sexually frustrated fist vaguely in the direction of the Almighty, in your best grown-and-sexy version of old-man-screams-at-cloud?
Mais non, ma cherie.
All of us forget this from time to time because, real talk, it's easy to focus in on the actual sexing. But actually sexing is not always better. Not when it would blow up your life, for example. Not when the level of engineering required for one evening of bliss makes you want to nap just thinking about it. Not lots of times.
Lets do examples!
Say, for example, you are new to your city, so you join an adult sports league, in order to meet friends and spice up your life with athletic shenanigans. Say that on your team there is a tall drink of water who shares your demented sense of humor, and whose dimples you want to curl up inside of every time a smile slides across his sexy face.
Game ON, you would perhaps be inclined to yell, delighted at the applicability of this particular pun. Too bad he and his wife also joined the team to spice up their life with friends and athletic shenanigans.
Game OVER perhaps you would yell at this point. Except his wife would never appear, additional spicing apparently useless, and they would divorce before the season is over.
Thus would commence a series of false starts wherein you will never quite be able to get it together, but over the course of which you will cultivate a deeply intense flirtation.
At first, you will be inclined to allow a respectful period to elapse, and just as you are ready to deploy our patented version of hay boy hay, you will find he has coupled up with another lady on your team, mere moments before you were ready to pounce.
Then those two will break up, just before this Foreign Service Eggplant is posted to another country. And when he comes back to town for training, as he will once every year or so, he will always reach out to you (and two other ex-teammate besties) for drinks.
When he looks at you across the table, inviting you to visit him in country and pouring the entire wattage of that smile into your cup, you will greedily drink it down. Eventually he will ask, and you will admit, you kinda just started seeing a dude (but you will not include how you haven't explicitly talked exclusivity) and as you note the flicker of disappointment flash across that oft desired face, you will wonder if it's worth it to try to sneak him in under the wire.
As you tally up your pros and cons, you luxuriate in this sexy half space that sizzles between you the two of you every time you almost, but do not quite connect. And you will remember he lives 12 time zones away, and the sex would probably be incredible, but could possibly be bad, whereas you already know that, this sexy frission is super fucking fun, and consistently available at least once every year or so. And you will decide that keeping the electric mystery charged in this relationship easily outweighs the effort and measured awkwardness that would be involved in luring him to bed.
So you will walk away alone, buzzing smugly with your decision to protect your delicious sexual tension; a repeated invitation to fly halfway around the world to him waiting in your inbox, and already looking forward to the drinks you'll get next time he's in town.
Or sometimes you discover an adorable young thing who is, if not quite incredibly sexy, at least incredibly cute. But you know you really shouldn't tap that because he was probably just learning to spell when you were graduating high school. You will, however, let him chase after you like a Track Star Eggplant, because it is just so fun to bask in the glow of his ardent affection.
Then after a while, one day, he will say something so thick with flirty suggestiveness you could chew it, and will arch his eyebrow in just, the most sexy way, and you'll say to yourself, oh, what the hell. So you will lean over and breathily whisper in his ear that he should take you home, and obviously he will. You will feel pleased about this the entire Lyft ride home, cheesing like a moron and making out back like rude teenagers, right up until you discover
But of course, there IS no going back. Your sexual sexing was not so great, and now your sexual tension is ruined too: you won't be able to enjoy the flirting in the same way any more, because now you have proof he can't put it down the way you'd always imagined he would. Oh, how you will long for the days when with a single smirk launched from across a crowded room would induce a rush of endorphins all down your body. When the sparks peeling off your spirited conversations would pelt into innocent bystanders, causing friends and strangers to implore you to "get a room and get it over with already". If only you had ignored them!
And then sometimes you will come across an inappropriate partner for you, who is either too young, or too old, or too much your coworker or maybe you already fucked his best friend, or maybe he is just too....not into peaches. I could go on. But, summary: this partner is wrong for you.
But that doesn't mean you can't still enjoy the flirting with her unavailable ass.
Look, the inner lives of other people will always be somewhat opaque and essentially unknowable to us, no matter how close we get and no matter how well we think we know each other. So why not allow yourself the luxury of inventing a mental landscape for the object of your affection in which you are cast as a glittering, exotic creature, object of their constant and nearly crippling desire. A Peach/Eggplant who, you will tell your friends over cocktails, you KNOW would ravish the fuck out of you if you ever allowed them the opportunity to slide into dem jeans.
Why risk rupturing the fragile fantasy you have of yourself in the mind of your inappropriate and/or unattainable partner by actually attempting to bone them? Simply delight in your imagined reality, without battering yourself against the real reality that they are gay/married/so wildly inappropriate for you that it would literally explode your life if anyone ever found out you hit that. (and someone will always find out you hit that).