Being in a relationship when you’re not in a relationship

October 26, 2014 § 10 Comments

Labels. God I love them. If I had a penny for every time someone had asked me, “so exactly what are you and Frank?” I’d have several whole British pounds (which as an impoverished student I necessitate with all my heart).

I always tell them, as honestly as possible. We’re close, we have sex, we enjoy spending time together, but we’re not exclusive and there’s no pressure to see each other regularly. To me, this is absolute perfection, but it confuses people because he’s not quite my “boyfriend” and he’s not quite my “fuck buddy”. It seems if there’s not a society-accepted coined term for it then it doesn’t exist. My flatmates seem to have listed ours under the “open relationship” category, which is fine by me, call it what you will.

For a time it confused me too. If I can’t explain it to people, maybe I need to re-evaluate what we are? But it works. This is the key thing that everyone seems to forget. If we’re happy – and god I am – then why does it matter whether we’re “friends with benefits” or whatever other expression you might like to apply.

However, as with all relationships, be they common forms or not, there exist issues; ups and downs. Right now he’s jetting off to Australia for 2 months. We assumed before coming back to England that our locations would keep us apart at least a little (it’s probably a 2/3 hour journey between us), but he’s come to see me 5 times in 4 weeks. It’s been fantastic, I am one satisfied lady – a quandary I pondered before I came: Who will satisfy me like Frank could? Other than Frenchy from Freshers week, I’ve had a pretty chaste first month as a newby (though I’m still topping the ‘tart chart’ of our flat). He’s truly kept me content in that department.

It’s also been great to have that familiar face on a regular basis. I adore my flatmates and the people here, but being new anywhere is hard sometimes, and it’s been incredible emotional support. I’m so grateful to him, even if it is just my sweet, sweet body he’s after.

The point was supposed to be no pressure, and that’s still true. But the regularity of his visits has made him a wonderfully orgasmic staple in my university life, one that’s about to be whisked away until Christmas. There’s no doubt we’ll see each other again in December, but that’s a long time to be lacking his considerable length in my University halls. I’ll have to seek out some other means of gratifying my needs…

Want more disgustingly honest renditions of the mess that I call my lovelife? Come join me on Facebook and Twitter.


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