RAZOR, October, 2004

By Anna David

Every few years, the term for sleeping with someone you’re not dating seems to change. About a decade ago, these hook-ups were simply referred to as “booty calls.” For a blessedly brief period over the past year or so, the phrase “fuck buddy” was tossed around, a déclassé term for an already far-too-déclassé adventure/temptation. I’m happy to report that “friends with benefits” seems to be the current term du jour, which is surely a sign that horny commitment-phobes are getting cleverer, if not more mature.

Whatever you call it, certain facts remain consistent. First and foremost, this activity leaves no room for prudes, which means that ladies who tend to summarize encounters with phrases like “We just kissed,” “We did everything but,” or after-the-fact Clintonian declarations like “it wasn’t sex” should probably forgo these adventures for Saturday Night Live. But this is a minor issue. The most significant aspect of all – the one rarely, if ever, discussed – is the reason these encounters are what they are. The truth is, one or both of you have decided ahead of time that the other isn’t dating material. Either somebody’s already got somebody – a fact that seems to, disturbingly, bring out the heathen in most – or somebody doesn’t think somebody else is up to par.

My friend Paul, a randy Brit who considers the girls he hooks up with to be “somewhere between girlfriends and hookers,” admits that the women in this category are either not attractive or “not presentable in some other way” – which could be a decidedly unsexy thought in the midst of what should be a blissful romp.

The problem is, no matter how little you may want to introduce your bed buddy to your inner circle, the sheer giving and taking of body fluids can eradicate all that your head is telling you. In other words, it’s scientifically proven that having sex releases oxytocin, a bonding hormone that tends to throw the whole “friends with benefits” equation completely out of whack. (Take note: studying up on oxytocin can provide you with a great many relevant facts that can be used to convince a puritanical friend to enjoy certain benefits – notably that babies who aren’t touched don’t release oxytocin and therefore don’t develop normally.)

Long before my brief foray into this chemically charged territory, I had imagined sex-only connections to be the ideal answer. Since I’ve never been particularly skilled at navigating real relationships, I’d envisioned that these affairs would contain all the pleasure and none of the petty jealousies, insecurities and fickleness that actual relationships always brought out. Then I met Greg.

Greg was not what any girl might call a sex god. Decidedly overweight, conversationally crass and brazen to the extreme, he ambled up to me at a party one night with more nerve and confidence than I thought a guy like him should have. I’m not sure how much time passed between my wondering who the hell he thought he was to making out with him in the bathroom but suffice it to say that his powers of persuasion would put most politicians, not to mention hypnotists, to shame. The fact is, we women tend to be suckers for cockiness in men, no matter if it’s alcohol-induced, phony, obnoxious, or all three.