It actually ended when we didn’t kiss [FM]

*Yes, my husband knows every part of this story. It’s not exactly a fairytale ending to this saga, but life is long and often strange.*

Alright. I’m going to answer the question I’ve gotten so many times. I’ve often written about this same guy who I had good sex with because our stories were vast and epic. I inevitably get asked in each post why we didn’t work out if we cared about each other so deeply and were physically compatible.

Because we were BAD for each other on every other level.

*This is a sex story, but it’s probably not the one you’re envisioning. Skip to the end if you don’t want to read a small novel.*

Please keep in mind that when you read stories about my best friend, you’re reading about the one part of our relationship that consistently worked. This is the paradox of Viola- y’all get dropped into fantastic scenes without context and taken out when I decide it’s time to end the story. I don’t have to be fair to the narrative or whole in my depiction.

*But let me try to paint a better picture…*

He never EVER got angry at me but he had anger issues. It was very rare we’d go out without him getting into some kind of physical altercation. He fucked ALL of my friends. Not some of them, but literally all of them. He cheated on every girlfriend he ever had habitually and without reservation. He also drank and did so many drugs that I had a constant pit in my stomach because I was afraid he was going to die. He had a habit of getting into trouble. On more than on occasion he called me when he was blackout drunk and I had to go find him to get him home. He passed out several times in our apartment and my saintly future husband would always get him a blanket and snack.

Sadly, I think part of him did want to get hurt. He always told me he thought his life would be short and I’m going to be honest in that I’m legitimately surprised he’s made it this far. He has SEVERE trauma and doesn’t believe in therapy.

Life with him was chaos, but also beautiful in a way I miss.

He loved me more brilliantly and intensely than any friend I ever had. He wrote me beautiful letters for years, was a talented artist who drew satirical comics I occasionally made an appearance in, and he had this heartwarming love of animals. He wouldn’t let anyone say a single bad word about me and told me all the time I was brilliant. He would introduce me like that, “This is V. She’s brilliant.”

He was beautifully unconventional and understood me in a unique way.

But it was fucking hard.

Almost all of my friends hated him. My dad hated him. My boss hated him (not the boss I fucked). My mentor hated him.

My future husband tolerated him.

He was a closed off person who could be unjustly callous and cruel. He was cynical and condescending to the point I slapped him on more than one occasion because he was being such an ass and would regularly ignore his texts for days at a time when he went too far.

If we’re going to assign him a fictional character he’d be Don Draper in that he was mostly apolitical and externally appeared to be killing it. People didn’t notice the extent of his spirals because he was terribly attractive and highly educated.

*”That’s what the money is for!” Lol, I love Madmen.*

When I started dating my husband I told him briefly about my best friend. Before my husband met him in person I was like, “Just a heads up, we used to hook up. He’s also a little strange.”

“Can you elaborate?” My future husband asked.

I did a little. I explained we had never dated but had hooked up on and off for years. We also had a slightly unconventional friendship that rubbed people the wrong way.

Their meeting went surprisingly well. They didn’t really love each other but they tolerated each other with a mutual respect. They both loved me enough to make it work and even hung out a few times on their own.

A couple of months into my courtship with my future husband, the three of us were watching a movie (this was rare- my best friend and I usually hung out alone because he hated people). My best friend looks over at me, grabs a blanket, throws it on me, and pauses the movie.

“Let me know when it’s ok to turn it back on,” he said. My husband looked between us confused so my best friend shrugged. “She’s having a panic attack. Her eye was twitching which is her only tell because she just implodes. She usually needs less stimulation until it passes. Viola, let me know if you need me to check your pulse.”

*Yeah…*

So after that my husband was like, “Viola can you TRY to explain this relationship to me? Because it seems a little deeper than a dude you casually used to hook up with.”

So I did my best. I explained we had been through a lot together. I explained our past traumas were similar and we understood each other. I explained I loved him dearly. I also explained that our sex life was not what you would call normal.

I told him about some of the things I’d let him do to me in bed. I told him about how for a while I was addicted to it and needed to be hurt to get off. I needed his permission to get off, even with myself. I expanded on what I could without it being cruel with too many details.

*It’s not that he didn’t know before but he didn’t have the full scope.*

My husband didn’t really understand it all but he wasn’t judgmental. He just nodded as I explained BDSM and how it played a big part in my life for a while.

“You think we’re insane?” I finally asked.

“It honestly sounds like a form of therapy,” he sighed.

“It kind of was. I healed a lot. I was different then and needed it more.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“No. But I do love him dearly.”

“Is he in love with you?”

“In a way but I think he loves me in his life more. We both know it wouldn’t work between us and then we’d lose each other forever.”

My husband thought about this for a while. “Ok, I think this makes as much sense to me as it’s going to. It’s a little intimidating.”

“Why?”

“Oh, apart from the fact that he’s insanely good looking? It’s hard to know you have this built in connection with someone else.”

“You think it’s unhealthy?”

“Honestly? A little. He relies on you for a lot… even when he had a girlfriend.”

“You think I should cut him off?”

My husband shook his head. “I think you’re getting something out of that relationship that’s important. You have to decide if it’s too much. Meanwhile, we’re solid. I know what we have and I trust you.”

So that was that. I continued being his friend. My husband and him remained cordial. He remained central to my life and a slightly unhealthy figure on an emotional level.

There were two occasions that my husband snapped slightly.

Once my best friend passed out on our floor and woke up to my husband making breakfast. He brought my best friend a plate who thanked him and said, “It’s really nice that you made me breakfast.”

My heard my future husband snap and say, “I didn’t make you breakfast. I made breakfast for my girlfriend and I’m trying not to be rude.”

Another time we were at a bar and my best friend was wasted and being an ass. I took my future husband’s hand and stormed off. I got a phone call a while later from our other friend explaining that my best friend had left his phone and stumbled away. I explained this to my husband who sighed and said, “Let’s go find him.” We did and it was ok, but later my future husband looked at me and said, “Sometimes this is hard, V.”

Apart from those two seemingly minor incidences, we actually reached a fair equilibrium. The more serious my future husband and I got, the easier this balance became.

One day I was hanging with my best friend and I looked over and said, “I’m fairly certain [my future husband] is going to propose.”

My best friend smiled. “No shit. Don’t fuck this one up. That dude is a saint.”

And that was that.

Three weeks before my wedding I got into a fight with my future husband and left our apartment. It was late and who do you think was my only friend to pick up his phone?

I walked in and he handed me a drink. We sat on the floor because he had no fucking furniture. We played chess. “You want to tell me about your fight?” He asked. I told him and he started laughing. “Viola you are 100% in the wrong.”

“You’re supposed to be MY friend!” I said.

“You somehow got the nicest, hottest man in the world to fall in love with you. I need this to work out so I’m not stuck with you forever.”

“You think my future husband is hot?”

“Everyone thinks your future husband is hot. I’d fuck your husband.”

“I’d watch that porn.”

“Yeah, one problem is that he’s not my biggest fan, Viola.”

“He likes you fine.”

“No, he’s just stupid in love with you so he tolerates me.”

“Is that why you haven’t RSVPd to my wedding?”

“Oh cool. Are we going to talk about this directly then? You’ve been dancing around this question for months.”

*I had. I was afraid of the answer.*

“So my best friend isn’t coming to my wedding?”

He took a very long time to answer. “Viola… I can’t go to your wedding.”

I started crying but I didn’t argue. “Ok.”

We talked for a long time and got very, very drunk. It was the only time I think I ever saw him actually open up about his feelings without reservation. He was sweet about it too. He told me he liked my husband. He told me my impending marriage actually gave him a lot of hope for his own future because he saw someone like me finally happy. We reminisced about our funny travel stories and laughed about the messes he often made by fucking all my friends.

“We were always too much alike, you know? That’s why we almost destroyed each other.” He finally slurred.

“You didn’t almost destroy me. You always make me happy.”

“I’m not an idiot. I know being friends with me isn’t easy.”

“It’s worth it.”

We lightened up a little after that. He was fucking the weirdest girl at the time who was obsessed with eating his ass. He said it was a lot of pressure to shower. We started laughing about it until I finally fell back on the floor.

He ended up beside me and when he looked over we had a moment. He put his hand to my face and I closed my eyes for a couple of seconds and breathed him in. He almost kissed me.

“I should get home,” I said as I got up.

“Sleep here. I’ll stay on the couch.”

“You’re 6’8. I’m not that cruel.”

“You can’t take the subway this late.”

“I’ll call an Uber.”

“Viola.”

“I appreciate you letting me come over.”

“Viola!”

“I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Viola! Nothing happened. It’s ok. Nothing was going to happen. We’re not like that anymore.”

“Bullshit. There’s something happening with us.”

“Chemistry! It’s… involuntary. Can you just please not leave?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid something just shifted between us.”

“Something did…”

“Damn it!” He yelled as he jumped up and ran to meet me. He picked me up and pressed me against the wall. Our faces were inches from each other.

We didn’t kiss, but we stayed like that for too long. It was intimate and passionate. A lot of memories came flooding back as I stared at him.

It hurt when I pulled away.

I ran from his house, walked outside, and threw up. I called an Uber back to my place.

I got home and ran to our bedroom. I threw on the lights and jumped into bed with my future husband. “I need you to wake up,” I said.

“Omg Viola! I’m so happy you came home. I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot.”

“Oh yeah, our fight… actually I was 100% wrong but that’s beside the point. Listen. I almost kissed my best friend.”

He stared at me like there was going to be more to the story. “Ok…”

“We almost kissed. He held me against a wall and was an inch from my face.”

My husband gave me a smile that almost looked sympathetic. “Viola did you rush home to tell me you DIDN’T kiss your best friend?”

“Yes… to tell you I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “I forgive you.”

“It’s a bigger issue…”

I explained I thought I had crossed into emotional affair territory. Our relationship was too intimate and I cared about him so deeply I didn’t know how to draw boundaries.

“Are you in love with him?” My husband asked.

*That’s when I gave the easiest answer of my life.*

“No.”

“Do you want to be with me?”

“Absolutely.”

*Maybe that one was easier.*

“Alright V. What are we going to do then? You tell me.”

“I don’t know. I worry about him without me.”

“What about you without him?”

I was taken aback. “I’d be fine. I have you.”

My husband sighed. “When [a certain tragedy happened in my life] you called him before me. Or when you have panic attacks I know you text him and he calms you down. You think I don’t notice.”

“It’s just easier with him because we’re both so fucked up that I don’t feel bad about burdening him with my shit. He burdens me with his so it’s balanced.”

“I want the burden.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t mind that he treats you like his personal therapist or that you’re his emergency contact. I just want to be the person you call when you’re upset. I want that part of you too. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be if you two stay like this.”

“Are you saying you need me to stop seeing him or you won’t want to marry me?”

He shook his head again and smiled. “Viola. I would always want to marry you. You’re my best friend. Sometimes I just wish I was yours.”

I think that was the night I became best friends with my husband.

I told him about my panic attacks and certain traumas I had been harboring. I told him things I had only told exactly one other person… He listened to me for a really long time and finally just pulled me into a hug.

I think that was the night I had the best sex of my life.

I’ve been attracted to a lot of people, but I’ve never been attracted to anyone as much as I am to him.

He pulled my hair to the side and wiped a tear from my cheek. When he kissed me I couldn’t stop. I pulled him into me and let his tongue explore my mouth.

He very gently lifted my shirt off and pulled me onto his lap. He unclasped my bra and let me push myself back and forth against him for a while as he put his hands in my hair and his forehead to mine. I rubbed harder when I felt movement in his pants and let him put a hand to my nipple and squeeze. I moaned into his mouth as he played with my breasts and rode him harder.

I fucking climaxed like that.

*Idk. I was emotional and could feel his dick twitching in his pants. Sometimes he can get me off a little too easily.*

I turned red and apologized. It sounds like a gift but I feel silly when I orgasm that easily.

He laughed at my embarrassment and flipped me on my back. He tugged my leggings down and put his head between my legs and reached under my ass to pull me toward him, playing with me like that as he kissed both my thighs. I started shaking I wanted him so badly and he smiled when he put a finger inside of me and felt I was wet.

I love the way my body responds to his fingers.

When he started licking me I played with his hair and threw my head back. He pushed my stomach down when I squirmed and made me hold still as I was building. He licked harder as he stuck two fingers inside of me and used his other hand to run up and down the side of my body.

When I climaxed again I screamed his name and started crying.

“Fuck me,” I whispered.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded and pulled off his shirt. He pulled his boxers off and pushed himself inside of me. I gasped as I adjusted to him and let him put his mouth on mine. He fucked me so slowly I got tighter with every damn thrust. My hands were shaking when I started clawing at his back but he grabbed my hands and pinned me to the mattress. I said his name and he started going harder. My head started spinning so I begged him not to stop. He pulled my hair to keep me in place and looked me in the eye.

He put a hand to my breast and squeezed. I arched my back and wrapped my legs around him. I pulled him toward me over and over and watched him start to unravel.

He touched my face as he came and smiled as he collapsed onto me.

“I love you, Viola,” he whispered.

The sun was coming up so he got up to make me breakfast.

*He still makes me breakfast most days.*

I didn’t have to tell my best friend what I needed to talk to him about. We met at a bar nearby the next day. When he sat down he studied my face for a few minutes and then gave me a very sad smile. He didn’t order a drink or stay very long at all. We didn’t even really talk.

He kissed me once on the cheek and squeezed my shoulder. He told me to call him if I ever needed him.

That was that.

We see each other from time to time. We got drinks last year after the pandemic and we occasionally text life updates. I send him a Christmas card and he sends me his publications. I hear he’s doing ok.

I cried writing this because it still hurts. Some people can be wrong for you, but that doesn’t mean they’re not meaningful or any less real. When yall sense a connection in my writing, it’s a connection to my former life, one where he fit perfectly. Sadly, that version of myself is gone and so is he.

There has never, ever been a single moment that I’ve doubted my decision. My husband is my world and my life got so much better when I met him. I knew I’d have to eventually put up walls if I was going to let someone else in fully, but that doesn’t mean moving on didn’t hurt.

As I was writing this my husband asked me why I was crying.

“I’m writing about [my best friend].”

He gave me a hug and told me he loved me.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/vhhr4m/it_actually_ended_when_we_didnt_kiss_fm