
No, not the guy on the side of my actual relationship — I don’t have a real boyfriend either. I had boy reserved for cold New York nights when I felt particularly needy for human affection. Hey, no one is immune and dating is difficult. Any single girl in the city who refuses to date “just anyone” for the sake of having a boyfriend will say the same. Which is why I have a backup boyfriend, someone who can play the role when you need a night of pretending. I’ll call him Smith.
Smith is a few years older than me, incredibly intelligent, beautiful and in a band. You’re thinking, “Why the hell isn’t he your actual boyfriend?” Well, I have a long (and rather entertaining) history of dealing with men like Smith. They weren’t all assholes. Just most of them. Smith isn’t an asshole, though. He’s incredibly affectionate, mature and most importantly honest. And the sex? He’s a passionate (albeit slightly melodramatic) artist, so it was theatrical, violent and absolutely mind blowing. His flaw? Smith is first and foremost in love with himself.
He once asked me, “What if we tried this? Tried actually trusting each other. It could be great.” To which I responded, “Unfortunately, Smith, you will never make me feel like I’m the only girl in the room. And I don’t think you have the capacity to love anyone as much as you love yourself.” “Well, should I love you more?” You get the idea. He’s the perfect Mr. Right Now. Or he was. Until he dumped me.

























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