Fucking friends and Fighting flab.

There are friends and there are Friends. The latter being a small select group of friends you fuck with. And when I say fuck, I mean literally fuck, not 'friends' who engage in mind games and delight in fucking with your mind. Such 'friends' are better termed as Fuck Off Friends as in the who-needs-enemies-when-you-have-friends-like-these kind of 'friends'. Mind games and guilt trips are simply not my cup of tea.

Friends that you (or I rather) fuck with are the kind that you can have known for a long time, keep in contact with occasionally and meet up as and when either party likes, the need arises or feels the need to scratch the proverbial itch. The itch usually more akin to that primal desire for sex, a raging hardon and an orgasmic climatic release, not necessarily in that order.

Some say friends should simply remain friends, no sex on the side, no chance of misunderstandings (unless both parties happen to fall in love), plain, vanilla. Such people are either lying or genuinely don't know what they're missing. Either way, it sucks though the liars are better off in that they get off screwing some friends but get to claim the purported moral high ground by professing not to do so.

Naturally, I'm not saying or advocating that one should go around screwing all your friends or at least friends of the sex that you're attracted to (assuming you're not bi). What I am saying is that if neither of you are attached, know what you're getting yourself into - especially the no strings attached part and have chemistry (in bed at least), there is no reason why 2 consenting adults with a common understanding (no strings attached) and a common need (sex) should not fuck simply because they happen to be friends and not relatively faceless strangers.

J. is a Friend, a friend I fuck with, I'd first met him around 2003 during one of the cool off periods with the Ex. Fun and affable, we hit it off to a good start but rapidly discovered that we were totally incompatible, relationship-wise that is. For one he liked to share his love and his idea of a relationship was an open one, like your average buffet with the option for more. Which for the You-better-not-roam-when you're-attached-to-me-or-I'll-castrate-you me was anathema.

Our chemistry in bed though was another story. Like the generous lover that he was, sex with J was always wild like a roller coaster ride of sensations that left both of us spent but gratified. Which was why we reached that all important mutual understanding that we could be friends who fuck: no strings attached and not when I was attached. As a rule, I usually abstained when he was in one of his 'open' relationships too.

If you're thinking we fuck like bunnies every week, you're wrong. There was a period of time we didn't even fuck for 2 whole years. Which in the world of raging testosterone and horny homos is an eternity. We'd keep in touch occasionally, meet up on the odd occasion (without sex) and fuck once in a while (blue moon). But when we fuck we really fuck.

So it was that I met up with J over the weekend and we fucked. Though it'd been almost 3 years since our last fucking session, things barely changed, the sex was just as adventurous and wild, an exhausting workout that was gratifying as it was tiring. As a Versatile Top, which in gay lingo means the guy who likes to stuff it in or be stuffed but usually prefers to stuff it in, J was always more adventurous and ahem ... acrobatic in bed. Which suited yours truly, a Versatile Bottom, perfectly since I hate vanilla and appreciate partners who think sex constitutes of more than a quick blowjob, a few tired shakes, a few frenzied thrusts and they hit the jackpot. Sex with J. is always a refreshing, take-it-as-it-comes-along affair, moving as the situation calls for, unfettered by expectations or inhibitions.

After an intense, acrobatic session that reminded me of his impressive repertoire of moves before ending in the usual orgasmic climatic release, we collapsed on the bed, spent and sweaty. 'That was good' I gasped. 'As always' came the tired reply. Then with my back facing him, J put his arm around me and drew me close. And patted my tummy. "Mmm, you've certainly grown fatter here." And he pat the offending part again.

Which was absolutely mortifying. And hardly conducive to the post-coital bliss. Pulling his hand away, I said brusquely, "Yes yes I'm fat now, with a solid 'pec' replacing the army era six pecs. Happy?" All the while mentally screaming, 'Fat fat fat! Fuck that's the third person to say I'm fat/put on weight!!! Argggh!' (The other two being my affable seccie and an equally affable colleague). " Nah, it's fine, I like it." J mumbled. And gave that offending one pec another pat.

Then he was sound asleep, his breathing and the hum of the air conditioner the only sounds in the room. I lay awake, spent but still unable to sleep. Gripped by that endless thought of 'Fuck I'm Fat' and the growing and unshakable determination to reclaim the promised land of the long lost six pec abs. So I decided, Monday (ie today), I'm signing up for Fitness First, since it's the closest to the office. And with that I fell fast asleep.

Yesterday's utter defeat at the hands of the Sister after a bout of wii boxing despite my frenzied boxing and almost suffering cardiac arrest, only serves to confirm that a gym membership (and active use thereof) is necessary. Is this the start of a new gym freak aelgtoer? Only time will tell but it's time to reclaim the elusive holy grail of the six pec abs and a leaner meaner body.