The Best Sex Of My Life Was With The Worst Possible Person For Me

When I lost my virginity, I was on cloud nine. The sex was fantastic. He was a brown-haired, green-eyed hunk of a man I’d met at a dingy bar in Manhattan — I’d snuck in with a fake ID. I prided myself on hitting the sexual jackpot.

At 17, I remember wishing hard that he was “the one.” He was perfect. Even at that young age, I’d often heard great sex and a great relationship are hard to have at once; many times, one of those two things is brilliant at the expense of the other. But I had both, and I was going to do my best to hold onto it. I’d convinced myself he was the best sex I was ever going to have.

I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that it didn’t work out between us. Years passed, and I grew up a lot. To my surprise, I learned you can indeed have great sex even with someone who’s not your soulmate.

Even still, there’s a distinct difference between great sex with someone who’s good for you and great sex with someone who’s horrible for you. Sex with someone who’s wrong for you feels anything but wrong because deep down, you know it can’t last, so you savor every little moment you have with him. It feels precariously sexy.

I found myself almost becoming addicted to the thrill of this dangerous, short-lived tryst. My so-called addiction began with a guy named Colin.*

Colin and I started as a fun little thing. He was from a small town in Ireland, where his mom taught him how to raise chickens and cows and do manly things with his hands. I was a somewhat spoiled girl from the upper middle class of Long Island who didn’t know how to make a bed (don’t judge me). Despite having nothing in common besides each other, he and I had pinch-me-I’m-dreaming kind of sex.

Until I met him, I didn’t know sex could feel so good. It was so fantastic I’m still unsure whether I actually fell for him or merely landed myself in a pesky sex haze. Ugh, the sex haze. It’s so bittersweet. The man rendered me absolutely ravenous.

Of course, there was a loophole. As much as Colin loved to have sex, he loved to drink even more. There was nothing more important to him than turning up and running away: from the world, from his problems, from me. Drinking turned him into a distant, disconnected man who refused to acknowledge he had any feelings worth talking about. He was just another 20-something guy who drowned his emotions in the bottle (only he had an actual addiction).

Which is why it came to my surprise that in the bedroom, everything was different. He was different. We were connected by mind, body and soul. Our sex was slow and tender, honest and beautiful. He’d make my toes curl and my fists clench. I don’t know if he just needed a warm-up, but sex really helped him open up.

“I suppose I just hang out in the wrong company,” he said to me once after a three-hour-long bang session.

Ah, yes. These were the moments I’d been waiting for. This was the good stuff.

I turned to him and touched his face. “Tell me more.”

It’d have been a miracle to get a confession like that out of him anywhere else but my bedroom. For that reason, I grew to love our time between the sheets. The heart-to-hearts, though far-and-few-in-between, made the sex that much more special. It all felt so easy. So right. Too good to be true.

And, in fact, it was.

One day, he stopped calling me or returning my texts and calls, and I didn’t know how to handle it. At that point, my body was so comfortable with his body that I needed it back. I’d never felt such a visceral longing for anything before.

And what was I going to do with all the deep, dark things he’d confided in me? I was lost.

It took me a long time to accept his absence, but I think everything happens for a reason. I think the universe got rid of him for me because I didn’t have enough willpower or respect for myself to get rid of him on my own. The man could made me orgasm three times in a row, but he was the worst possible person for me. He was an illusion.

I’d describe my relationship with Colin the same way I’d describe my insatiable craving for coffee-flavored Haagen-Dazs ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I couldn’t have him all the time, so I wanted him all the time. And when I did have him, he tasted like sweet sin, because I knew each time there’d be consequences. I’d always come down fast and be left wanting even more.

Sometimes, I still think about him when I go on a date with someone else. I even fantasize about him when I’m exploring my body alone in my bed after a long day. He was the forbidden fruit. The guy I wanted to change, the guy I wanted to need me, the guy whose shortcomings made me feel important. I kind of wish I’d never met him so I didn’t have him as a standard to compare, uh, everyone else I meet to.

But what he had to offer me wasn’t real. None of it was.

---

* Name has been changed.

The Best Sex Of My Life Was With The Worst Possible Person For Me

Credit: Dating – Elite Daily