When I was 11, I broke up with a girl over the phone.
At 23, a girl is breaking up with me while we fuck.
Emotions always get the best of me when it comes to sex. Tonight, my emotions don’t help me stay hard. It started out great. One final time before she moves across country. We aren’t meant to be. I get it, so does she. So does my body.
23 falls within the range of blameless decision-making.
We broke up weeks ago but tonight is her last night in town. She’s supposed to be at dinner with friends now. She pushed it back to stay with me. Falling into the same old routine confuses feelings at the end but it doesn’t change a thing. Months later we’ll talk off-and-on for three weeks when we’re both lost. It doesn’t last. We know that going into it. There’s an odd peace that comes with speaking for the first time since she left. We go our separate ways for good soon after.
Tonight, my instincts reflect the swings in emotion. I tell myself it’s a normal reaction given the circumstances.
The thought that she has to hang around until I can keep it hard long enough to finish lingers on the forefront of my mind. My body’s approach to the situation is overly pragmatic. But, we decide the sexual encounter has lasted long enough. We ought to spend the last few moments we have in a state other than that of feigning lust after one another for a final time.
I stand on the porch and watch her walk away. She drives off and I never see her in person again.
Months later, I tell the next girl I sleep with that I’m falling in love with her the first time we have sex. There’s no problem staying hard.
Love, I decide, is my Viagra.