But it wasn’t you on gchat. It was Him. He’s cool and all – he’s great actually – but he’s just not you. He’s funny, but not like you’re funny. He gives good advice, but his doesn’t make me reevaluate my entire life like yours does. You’re both smart, but you’re smart in a way that blows my mind. He’s just regular smart.
I’m sure you wondering why, since he so pales in comparison to you, I even bother with him. You would ask me why I would settle for the rest when I have the best in you. But here’s the thing: he is nice to me, while you…baffle me. Confuse me. Frustrate the shit out of me. I can count on him, while pinning my hopes to you is a riskier proposition than picking the Raptors to win. He doesn’t make me work for him like you make me work for you. He makes me feel like things between us are a prize he won. And you? You make me feel like things between us are a test that I’m failing miserably.
But still he’s not you. And while most of the time I enjoy being around him, sometimes being near him just makes me miss you more. Sometimes he says something and I hear not what he said, but what you would have said in the same circumstances. And that just makes him seem wrong. Because I want you. And he’s not you.
Of course I’m sleeping with him. I’m a red-blooded woman with needs and you’re not around to fulfill them anymore. And it’s not that I don’t like it. It’s not that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s just that it’s different. Because he’s not you. And so everything about him – from what he whispers in my ear as he strokes me deeply, to the way he watches my face when I cum, to the noises he makes when I take him in my mouth – is different. It feels wrong. He’s gentle where you are rough. Vocal when you are reticent. He makes me feel treasured while you made me feel conquered.
Sometimes afterward I lie next to him, my head resting on my chest as he strokes my hair and I sigh in contentment. I think of all the times you turned away from me and fell asleep. I picture my hand tentatively reaching out to stroke your back; not knowing whether you wanted to be touched right then or if it was better to leave you alone. I think about how safe I feel and how long it’s been since I’ve felt safe and I just…miss you. Because I love the way he makes me feel but he’s just not you.
I wonder sometimes if you’ve ruined me for other men. Because I have a good one right in front of me and all I can do is compare him to you. And I wonder if there will ever come a time when you stop being the benchmark against which I measure every other man. I wonder if your fuckwittage will ever stop seeming like normal behaviour so I can just relax and enjoy the ease of an accessible man. I wonder if I’ll ever stop wanting to know what could have been between you and me and just appreciate what is with him.
He’s a good guy. A smart, sexy, funny guy who indulges me but also knows how to shut me down when I’m getting out of hand. A man that feels me and isn’t afraid to let me know it. He’s the platonic ideal of man, right here in front of me and I should be scrambling to lock him down before someone else snatches him up. He’s everything I ever wanted you to be. But he’s not you. And most of the time I just wish he was.
You guys feel me? Speak on it in the comments.