I’ve never been a fan of the “friends with benefits label” to describe two friends just casually having sex without commitment, and it’s because I don’t think such a relationship can successfully exist. You know how the story goes: boy meets girl, girl meets boy, they don’t get dinner together *~mmm, sexual euphemism~*, one or the other walks away with a broken heart, and it’s all because sex is personal and we weren’t made to just do it repetitively with the same person over and over without developing anything more than a hard-on or ever so polite lady-boner. Feelings, man, they’ll get you.
Personally, I think “friends with benefits” is a label much more suited for two people in an actual relationship, you know, the kind where boy or girl doesn’t leave the next morning and is instead asking you what you want for breakfast before heading to your parents house, or something like that. You’re lustful at the right times, loving during the others, and when it all comes down to it, you really are the best of friends. In other words, when you get to be friends with benefits, I think that’s when the real fun begins. But how do you know if you’ve gotten to that point yet? Behold:
When after sex, you not only get your snuggle on, but you high five. *That was awesome, that thing you did.* And you aren’t afraid to tell them how you like it.
You have each other’s wardrobe memorized. “Yeah, I’m wearing that one t-shirt from my third drawer. Not the first, since you said it looked tacky.” “Oh, the blue one with the weird pocket?”
You have your go-to restaurants, temporary food obsessions, and lists of the best places to order Chinese take-out.
Weird/gross habits become strangely endearing. “Can you pop this?” “You’re sick, but okay.”
You don’t have to be talking 24/7 to know you’ve got a solid foundation. In fact, you’ve at one point or another made fun of overly dependent relationships. “She called him four times between dinner and the bar asking what he was doing.” “She’s like a baby koala with attachment issues.”
Your combined dance moves are impeccable/on fleek. Okay, I just wanted to use the phrase “on fleek.” You caught me.
You geek out together, and typically with a Netflix binge of anything ranging from Game of Thrones to that weird documentary you’d be embarrassed to tell anyone else about.
You legitimately want the best for them, regardless of what that means for you.
You make lists, lots of lists, of things you want to do together. All things of course range from totally serious to utterly ridiculous. “Want to go to Boston next weekend?” “Yeah, sure. Remember how I told you that you get free Chik-fil-A if you dress up like a cow? Because, let’s do it.”
You aren’t afraid to tell them like it is. “You’re complaining about something for the sake of complaining. You’re bigger than that. Put on your big boy/girl pants and relax.”
You go to them for advice. They get you.