Today we're going to talk about Break-Up Sex.
Until I met Blaker, back in 2001, I had never heard of Break-Up Sex. You know, the kind where you and your partner decide that your relationship isn't working, somebody decides to end said non-working relationship, then as a parting farewell, you decide to celebrate with coitus.
Yes. Break-Up Sex. Sounds pretty fucked up to me (no pun intended).
Now, maybe I just stayed in all of my relationships too long. I mean, by the time each one ended, I didn't want to breathe the same air as the other person, much less have to see him naked AGAIN and pretend I wasn't way the hell over it. Even the times that I have been on the receiving end of the break-up, rather than the all-powerful break-upper, I was smart enough to realize that hooking up with somebody who had just broken my heart was a bad damn idea. How sado-masochistic does one have to be to not realize that?
Blaker apparently has had break-up sex with pretty much every girl he's ever dated. Thinking he must be some freaky sex oddity, I polled a few friends. They, too, had imbibed in break-up sex. Which means I am the oddity (imagine that). Break-Up Sex is occurring left and right, all around us, hidden and unseen (which is actually really comparable to alien abductions, now that I read that description I just wrote). Dude. I can't believe I never even knew.
It seems that we have yet another thing to add to my list of THINGS I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND. And if Blaker ever decides to trade me in for a younger, faster wife, there will be no carnal good-byes on this end. Not a chance.