I'm bad at letting go. I still talk to almost every woman I've ever been in love with in some capacity. One has become one of my closest friends over the last few years. We still talk almost weekly, sometimes more, in long meandering conversations about nothing. Her current boyfriend isn't exactly enamored with the situation. Could you imagine your significant other spending two or three hours talking about nothing with an ex every week?

I met C in China when I was twenty-five. She used to shove me into bathrooms in between Peace Corps training sessions to bite my nipples. After teasing me for a few impulsive seconds, she would scamper away leaving me alone in the bathroom with my shirt pulled up to my shoulders. I fell so hard for her that I kissed her one night after she had puked from too much baijiu and beer.
We walked back to her host family's apartment across the desolate college campus where we were training, taking breaks every few moments for some dry heaving. When we got to her front door, after watching her expel everything her stomach had inside over the preceding half an hour, we wound up kissing for the first time. I was a little apprehensive about it, but I loved her and I couldn't stop myself for the sake of primness or sterile hygiene. Kissing someone who's just vomited doesn't taste bad, surprisingly. Her mouth was totally neutral and didn't have any hints of rancorous bile.
There was never any future for us beyond friendship, but it was fun to pretend for a while. It seems almost silly to look back on it now. It's absurd to think we've ever even hooked up. There isn't any sex left between us. She appears to me now in the same way that my brother looks to me. All I see is freckles, toe calluses, and words like "stinky." She regularly remarks about how revolting the idea of my sexuality is to her. "It's not that I don't love you," she says. "It's just that I find you completely disgusting."
I don't think I'm a jealous person. On the surface, I bristle with insecurities. When I hear women I'm dating talk about other men I can't help from imagining them all as swarthy olive-skinned sex machines with hairy chests and thick continental penises hanging inside their linen trousers. The cashier in the coffee shop transforms into The Scorpion King for a brief few seconds in my mind. These thoughts are usually followed up with the thought that if The Scorpion King makes her happy, then I want her to be with The Scorpion King. The last thing I want to be is a weight or an undue obligation.
I don't think the idea of a girlfriend still being close with an ex would be an issue with me. How can you excise someone you love from your life? How can you feel threatened by the idea that your partner has a past, and some of that past remains alive and cherished in the present tense?
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Sex Machine: How Soon, Sex Toy?
Date Night: Kissing in the Rain
Sex Education Machine: Abstinence, or Waiting is Easier Because...
Sex Machine: The Funny Thing About Handjobs
Love Machine: The Three-Year Itch
Sex Machine: Show Me Your Penis
Date Machine: The Gun Show or Is That All You Got?
Love Machine: Morning Breath Kisses
Date Machine: Making Your Online Dating Profile
Sex Machine: Sex with 19 Year-Olds
Love Machine: Making A Scene
Nerve Confessions: Oh Hai, You're Pregnant
Sex Machine: Don't Forget to Masturbate
Love Machine: My Mother
Love Machine: Thanks But I'll Pass, or Handling Rejection
Naked Machine: Buying New Underwear, or Sex in a Dressing Room
Date Machine: Look Ugly in a Photograph
Love Machine: On Your Own, or Moving On
Love Machine: Going to Bed Angry
Love Machine: The Hooker on the Corner
Sex Machine: Having Sex on Inauguration Night