Page 57 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

I went feral at the sight, making my thighs spread like peanut butter, inviting him in.

The shift in his expression told me everything was about to change.

“I’m not done with you,” he murmured.

And when he pushed inside me again, a low sound escaped him—almost a growl, like he went feral as much as I did.

“Holy shi—” I cut myself off, biting down on my fist as the sensation hit all at once—sharp, overwhelming, yet perfect.

The ecstasy of being bear-handled by this guy sent me to heaven.

Later, when everything slowed down—when the heat settled into post-nut clarity—I lay there beside him, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what I was feeling.

Because annoyingly, Andi was right. Not in a life-changing, ‘I’m healed’ kind of way she would dramatically claim over brunch—but still, right.

Victor was still inside. Of course he was. Somewhere in the back of my mind and heart, lingering like a melody I couldn’t fully forget.

But the difference was, he wasn’t loud anymore.

Or at least, he wasn’t the only thing I could feel.

I turned my head slightly, glancing at Lorenzo, who was still catching his breath beside me, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’d just run a marathon instead of rearranged my gut.

We had been talking on Instagram for, what—a week?

Late-night conversations. Flirty messages. The occasional “when are we finally seeing each other?” that felt like a promise more than a question.

And then we did. And it was good.

God, it was good!

A week later, Lorenzo and I weren’t talking anymore.

Not in a dramatic, ‘we need to end this’ kind of way—it just stopped.

It started with the replies that got shorter. Delayed. Then nonexistent.

Because in gay dating, there’s this unspoken timeline everyone follows, whether they admit it or not.

You start with conversation. You learn each other’s humor, typing patters, the way they flirt when they’re bored versus when they actually mean it. You build this tiny, digital version of intimacy that feels real enough to believe in.

Then comes the planning. The ‘when are we finally seeing each other?’

Then the meeting.

And once that question gets answered, so does everything else.

Because after the sex, one of two things happens: either it turns into something more, or it quietly becomes nothing at all.

And in gay dating, the latter usually wins.

No fight.

No closure.

No real ending.

Just absence, dressed up as mutual understanding.