"Oh, well, hello there," said Ryan, opening the door to his townhouse, with a grin on his face.
I stepped across the threshold, flashed a smile, and said "Oh, hello!" I dropped my duffel bag on the floor, turned, and hugged Ryan. "It has been way too long." I stepped back and admired my friend- tousled brown hair, a worn-in band tee, and well-fitting black denim jeans. My eyes lingered briefly on his smile before I turned and dramatically fell face-down on the couch. "The drive was horrendous. I don't think that the other drivers were being pushy, because that implies that they were paying attention, and they most assuredly were not." Still face-down, I turned my head to the side. I peered through my hair at Ryan, who had taken a seat across the living room from me and was studying me carefully.
"Tough day, huh?" Ryan asked.
"Still better than flying," I said, sitting up and tidying my hair. It would be disingenuous to pretend I didn't plan my outfits carefully and want to look good on the rare occasion that I had time to spend with Ryan.
I had always held a candle for Ryan. We met in college and just stayed in each other's orbit for the decade or so since. He was always a safe person who was smart, funny, and saw me as a person. He didn't just listen to me, he really cared and asked about my life and interests. Plus, he just had the kind of irreverence that visionaries have- devoting absolute mental concentration to just those things that he cared about, whether or not they "mattered" or were "productive" in the capitalist sense. I still remember meeting him. I remember the first time we hung out. I remember the time he told our professor that he couldn't answer a question about our assigned reading because the author was a fascist unworthy of study, and I got quizzed in his place, because it was well-known that we were always in cahoots.
I thought he was so cute from the moment we met. I remember the first time we hung out- I hadn't laughed or smiled that much in a long time, and I think he had just as much fun as I did. But he had been seeing a girl for several years at that point and by the time he was single again, I was in a long-term relationship. I've always wondered whether he had an interest in me in that way, it just never really mattered one way or the other. He has such a sociable nature to him that it's just hard to tell, and I didn't want to lose him as a friend and confidant by freaking him out that I thought of him in that way, so even if both of us had been single at the same time, I can't say that I would have made a move.
"How've you been?" I asked. It wasn't just a conversational question. I worried that he slept too little, worked too hard, and wasn't eating enough fruits and vegetables. I knew that Ryan could take care of himself, but I also wanted him to be nurtured and cared for, for a change.
"Oh, you know, the city never sleeps. Or, you'd think that's the case since my clients feel empowered to call me at 1 am. Turns out, one of the partners in the business tried to take all the computers out in the middle of the night, and the other partner who was doing all the work all along saw it on the Ring camera he had set up and went to the office to throw down about it. Can you believe it? A multimillion dollar partnership. And this is how they act. So I had to go downtown in the middle of the night and chaperone everything being put back and have them shake hands on dealing with it this morning- which also meant that my work this morning was derailed." Ryan had started his own business consultancy after college, which looked a lot more like babysitting grown adults than the uninitiated might expect.
"1 am? The nerve of some people." I meant it, although I also felt impressed that his work ethic was, clearly, alive and well. I had taken the coward's path after college- going to work in a marketing role at a soulless national company, doing soulless, meaningless work, that offered a steady paycheck, benefits, and not one 1 am call in all the years I had been at this job.
This, by the way, is what had brought me to Ryan's place on this day. Although we lived two states apart, my job involved a fair bit of travel, and he was often along my way. I wouldn't miss a chance to visit (and rest).
We chatted for hours about politics, our parents, and his online dating adventures.
"She showed up to the date on a Lime scooter. I just...it was very unattractive. I will not be seeing her again," he declared, as if this was such an obvious infraction that he had no choice but to continue wandering the desert. "What about you, though?" he asked, cautiously. "Last time we talked, you mentioned that your boyfriend was upsetting you?"
"I just don't understand why he's pushing me away," I said, wincing. "I have been so clear about my needs."
"And those are?" Ryan asked, with curiosity.
"I need him to act like he wants to be together, you know? We have been together for seven years and he hasn't popped the question. I feel so stupid. He isn't working on himself and he isn't acting on the feedback I'm giving him," I said, realizing that I was talking quickly. "The bigger issue is that I don't know why he doesn't take an actual interest in turning me on and aspire to delivering a really great sex life."
"Maybe you aren't turned on because you just don't have much of an interest in sex, yourself?" Ryan asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Not to be crass, but I have a great deal of interest in sex, just not with him," I said, before blushing and dropping my eyes to study his coffee table. "I think I just resent him to such a degree for completely blowing past what I've asked of him for so long that it's hard for me to see how I get back around to enjoying...anything with him. But still, I don't want to blow my life up. We have a nice house, a dog, we are good roommates. And the longer I let this go on, the older I get, the closer I get to maybe not caring so much about the abysmal and infrequent sex? I feel like he is pretty much there already- he does a lot of things that are 'icks' for me and is a selfish lover, to boot. Then my enthusiasm is obviously going to be less, which puts a damper on the experience that he has, as a result. It's demoralizing. He keeps stringing me along that he will marry me when 'the time is right' and that there is hope for all the rest of our issues with a promise of this new medicine or this book he will read or going to counseling or whatever and none of it helps! At the end of the day, this is a set of attitudes that is hard to think that a middle aged person will change."
I know that it sounded terrible, all spilling out like this. But Ryan was one of two people on earth that I could truly be an open book around. He had been there from the beginning of this relationship and knows us both well enough to understand how difficult it would simultaneously be to stay with my boyfriend, or to leave him. And he never said "leave him." He always had kind, insightful things to say about our problems, and led with his wish that my boyfriend and I could find some sort of equilibrium that worked for us both.
"Has he opened up with you any? You said before that you hoped he would try new things?"
I laughed bitterly. "Of course not. Because my happiness and pleasure isn't his priority, his comfort zone is. And being closed off emotionally, and closed off to new things, is working just fine for him. It's an honest to goodness impasse."
This is why my friendship with Ryan was at once so comforting, so exhilarating, and so bewildering- the emotional intimacy between us was organic, sincere, offered so freely between us, and so meaningful. Ryan confided his fears, his moments of self-doubt, his most private ethical dilemmas- things with me that he didn't share with anyone else. Ryan knew all my kinks and what kind of porn I consumed. Ryan found time to chat with me in the loneliest times of my life- he picked up the phone, and I think it's because he knew I'd talk myself out of it. I never felt more seen as a person than by Ryan. And my boyfriend didn't relate to me in any of these ways, after all of these years.
I could tell that my eyes were welling with tears. I tried not to blink too hard, because then one might trickle onto my face, and then I'd be crying, and mortified. I took deep breaths as discreetly as I could.
"You know what he said to me when I told him I needed him to have sex with me more often?" I asked, sniffling quietly. "You're asking for change from me and you aren't changing anything." "And when I asked him what I needed to change, he had absolutely nothing to suggest. He just wants me to be...different?" I scrunched my face as I said it and a fat tear rolled out of each eye. "That's just...crazy to me. Why bother building a life with someone who wants to have sex if you are not a person who wants to have sex?" I sniffed more loudly this time and the tears were openly rolling down my face. "It makes me feel like I'm coercing him or asking something unfair of him, but truly, rationally, I don't think that's the case."
Ryan stood, crossed the room, picked up a box of tissues, and sat beside me, handing me one. "Hey, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. It's not a situation that's fair to you."
I sniffed and smiled. "Thank you. I agree."
We sat in silence for a few beats. Then Ryan set down the tissue box, slapped his legs, and said "well, our dinner reservation is in...forty-five minutes. I had better wrap up one thing for work and get myself ready."
I agreed, and started gathering my dinner outfit from my bag. I sidled into his bathroom and closed the door. I stripped off my t-shirt, jeans, and bra. I put on a push-up bra and admired my reflection. I don't know why I feel the need to get his attention, but it doesn't even feel like a choice- of course I want to dress in a way that I know will draw his attention.
Why, though?
I tilted my head, still looking at my breasts, more prominent and round than usual. I traced the contours with my hands, cupping them from beneath and jiggling them slightly. My tits look amazing, though. I pulled the dress over my head and smooth and teased the fabric to lay just so. It was a form fitting, long sleeved, mid length, burgundy dress with a high collar, gathered darts in a vertical line to one side of the midsection that accentuated my hourglass figure, terminating in a slit from my upper leg to the hem of the dress.
I removed the French pin from my blonde hair and it fell gently around my shoulders and down my back in a circular motion. I fluffed it out a bit with my fingers and turned to admire how pretty and shiny it looked down my back.
I stepped out of the bathroom and tried to look nonchalant as I dug in my bag for my makeup. I felt his eyes on me.
"Wow, you look great!" he said.
Honestly? I do look great, and I know I do. But it's nice for someone to say it. A compliment shouldn't be hard to come by if you aren't being taken for granted.
I could feel myself blushing. I mumbled my thanks and dipped back into the bathroom to put on makeup. Ryan materialized and watched as I applied it, making chit-chat- a little eyeshadow, a little mascara, a swipe of blush, and lipstick- Revlon Rum Raisin. It was intimate and flattering, although I struggle to articulate why.
He went to his bedroom to get dressed for dinner. I returned to the living room, sat down, and admired how my leg looked through the slit in my dress. I drummed my fingers.
Why can't I stop thinking about just, like, fucking him?
His voice drifted from his bedroom. "Last time I went to this restaurant with some of my clients, we shared around a bunch of dishes I hadn't had before. Anna just ordered for the group, it was great." Anna was his secretary-turned-junior analyst. She was fresh out of college, beautiful, and shrewd- basically made in a lab to get Ryan to cooperate with her.
He came out of his room and into the living room while he was zipping his pants, still talking. I didn't hear it. I felt my mouth fall open slightly.
