All that nonsense with the Karaoke King happened during the sexy time blackout with Summer Boy. Despite the blackout, communication remained high – emails, texts and even a phone call towards the end of my lake house vacation.
Communication was actually one of the reasons I liked Summer Boy so much. Even from the beginning there had been lots of pillow talk mixed into the sexy time. We covered all the bases – work, family, social life – and I had kind of gotten used to talking to him on a regular basis.
The longer our scene went on, though, the more I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. I definitely liked the chatting, and I’m pretty sure without it I wouldn’t have been as into him in general. I was worried he just needed a friend, though, that he just needed to talk to someone, not that he wanted to talk to me, specifically. And even if it was me that he wanted to talk to, I wasn’t sure the content of our chatting fell within the bounds of our loosely defined relationship.
Offloading about your crazy work day, fine. Discussing your latest running split times, completely appropriate. But breaking down the last few times you’ve eaten meat (a burger the night the Hawks won the cup and once or twice where he had a slice of pizza with some meat on it) even though you had decided to give it up and how you were waiting to give up sweets because you were a sucker for cake and your niece’s birthday was coming up? That’s not sexy or interesting.
If I was going to have to keep up with all the going ons of his friends (and also their names) shouldn’t I get something in return? Like dinner? I certainly wasn’t getting extra sexy time for all that listening.
Ah, there it is. That nagging feeling that my carefree, no strings attached summer fun scene was creeping into the realm of relationship land. That’s not what I had signed up for! Maybe once our schedules aligned better we could lay off the chatting and get refocused. I certainly hope so, I don’t think I’m ready to start reading Summer Boy’s food journal.