I spent three years imagining different scenarios where I would punch him in the face, but one Sunday night I found myself on my way to his house. Although I should have been focused on all the horrible things he said and did years ago, I couldn’t help but reminisce with him about the fun times.. AKA sex. What is it about sex with someone you truly hate that is so great? That night I got my answer – the sex was about ME. Unlike guys I’ve liked or tried to impress, the only person I cared about pleasing was myself. Peace out shame and insecurities.. anything I wanted I did. The position I wanted, the speed I wanted. I even left before he came… revenge motherfucker.
For us bickering was foreplay. Was it our sarcastic nature, desire to disagree, or did we actually just hate each-other? Regardless, we certainly liked having sex. If you over heard or read our conversations you would think we were both conceited assholes. I never called him “Babe” just “Idiot” or “Jerk.” No conversation ever started with “Hey,” they started with ” F U,” or “Shut up.” Instead of simply saying what he wanted he argued that I wanted it more, even when he started the conversation.. I guess he must of had the ability to read my mind. I can’t explain why but I liked being told what I wanted…. strictly in the bedroom that is. Although we constantly insulted and made fun of each-other… the sex was certainly no joke.
The antagonizing even continued the second it was over. He would always ask me how it was and regardless of how good it was I would respond “eh mediocre.”