You as sexual stimulus

You as friend. You as sexual stimulus. These things can coexist and I need not let the one impact on the other. You say you don't mind and this is a pattern repeated. How can you mind what happens secretly and in the privacy of my own loungeroom? In a past life I would meet the boy I had a crush on and it would take a moment for me to separate the sex from the real world relationship at hand. This new thing is clean that way. I sit at a table opposite and of course there is that physical association, you equals pornography equals orgasm and a quick return to a fairly heightened state of contentment. But this is nothing hidden or dark or worth beating myself up over. The image of you is a useful tool. The reality of you is an easy friendship. You smell nice and you have nice eyes and you are sharp and energetic and each time we meet you seem to look more beautiful. I lust, but it is nothing. I can hug you now without flinching. I could lie beside you without needing something from you. I have gathered you into myself and I imagine that we will sit comfortably for many years, separate stories, touching spines, but remaining within our leather bindings.

I tried the web again, hoping for a more suitable dance partner for my evening alone at home but it was all veneer. I closed my eyes on the mechanics of yet another coupling and you were there, just a ghost of you, not naked, not lustful, just you, sitting opposite across a table, and I was done.

But you don't mind and I don't mind and you are old enough to tell me if you did, and I am old enough to know what is a breach of faith. There will be other versions of yourself as sexual stimulus. I will move on to someone new and untarnished sooner or later, but for now you will do. Thank you for yet another evening's entertainment. Thank you for tolerating my imaginary romance. Thanks again for all the years of friendship we have embarked upon, because when you as sexual stimulus fades, there will always be you as friend.