Pizza and Sex: A Chronology
Sonya Stinson
The first time my name rolled off his tongue, I was tongue-tied. It was embarrassing because I was at work, and he was there to learn. I knew that getting to know Clay would burn like grease popping out of a pan, so I didn’t bother at first. I was too shy to approach him, anyway. We didn’t say much to one another in the beginning, or for almost all of our professional relationship. Afterward, though. Well, that’s what led to pizza and sex.
Clay had a way with words, and I loved his massive vocabulary, and I loved the way he spoke and wrote. But I didn’t love him. He used to write me little ditties and say the sweetest things after we fucked. Sometimes, it was almost more than a fuck. We never made love though. He wasn’t into that, but he loved to make me feel good. And he was good at what he did. I always say that he taught me everything: how to love again, how to drive a man wild with my mouth, and that it was okay to have sex with a man who would never make you his girlfriend.
When I first saw Clay, I blushed because he was so beautiful. His dusty red-blonde hair and gorgeous ginger-beard made me want to spend all of our nights together. But I didn’t love him. Of course, he knew I existed but not in the way that I knew him. He was the hardest person to read, but I could still see through him sometimes. He liked to share surface level things: I have a sister, a niece and nephew, and my parents are divorced. You know, the stuff that doesn’t matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t like to talk about the real things that caused him pain.
I am not one for surface level conversations. They serve no purpose for me in the realm of making friends. I could tell that he wanted a piece of me but that he’d been hurt before and was still using his heartache as a crutch. Crutch or not, he asked if we could go eat pizza.
The first time we ate pizza together was nine months after we met, and it would take another 13 or so months before we would have sex for the first time. It wasn’t that I was playing hard to get, I just didn’t know if I could separate feelings and sex when it came to Clay. Back to the pizza. On our first fake pizza date, he got chicken on his pizza. I thought that only weirdos got chicken on their pizza. I mean, pizza is supposed to be this greasy, unhealthy food, and people are trying to eat it with chicken breast. Breast meat, for crying out loud. I thought, this must be a California thing. I got a slice of the pepperoni and sausage. We enjoyed slices of pizza as big as our heads, while he attempted to do surface level things. I order chicken on my pizza sometimes, now. But I didn’t love him.
After the first date, Clay got weird. He talked to me as if we were trying to be in love. “Listen, I don’t really want to date anyone right now,” he said.
“Okay, well I don’t want to eat any more pizza with you,” I replied.
I’m paraphrasing on this next part. He basically says, I don’t want to date, but I would like to fuck you. Well, now I’m irritated because I just lost a pizza buddy, and he goes and says some bullshit like that.
Clay irked me. He was big into texting. All the time, he was fucking texting me, especially when he knew he had gotten on my nerves. I told you before, he had a way with words. Plus, I am a really forgiving person who can’t hold a grudge. I could never stay mad at him for very long. The longest I ever went without communicating with Clay was when he got a girlfriend. Yes, I know. He said he wasn’t into dating. When boys say that, they usually mean that they’re not into dating you, specifically.
Back before the girlfriend incident, we went on fake pizza date number two. I call them fake dates because what is the point in calling them dates when the person doesn’t want to date you? But you can’t call them fucks or sexing sessions when there was none of that going down, either. It took Clay almost two years from the time we met to fucking kiss me for Christ sake. So we go for the pizza, and we’re two motherfuckers who like to eat. So, hell, we order a large pizza, just the two of us. You already know, this dude ordered chicken on his pizza, and I got all the meats, except chicken. Last time, he was too surface level for me, so I told him to prepare some talking points so that he could contribute to the conversation.
Clay showed up in a plaid shirt and leather jacket, and, let me say this: I wanted him right there in the Round Table pizza shop, but I didn’t tell him. We both came to share a pizza, even though we both had colds that neither of us warned the other about. It was a delightful meal, and I thoroughly enjoyed my time with Clay. But I didn’t love him.
Fast forward a few months. I know you’re dying to hear about the sex. We’ll get there, eventually. Clay would text me every day, and sometimes I would see him around on campus. We never made plans to see each other though. It was more like a serendipitous thing. Out of the blue, he stops texting me, and we don’t see each other on campus at all, even though some days we would have class in the same building. He was avoiding me. Being the direct woman that I am, I send him a text asking why:
Me: Why are you avoiding me?
Clay: What? Am I avoiding you?
Me: Yes, I do believe you are. You have stopped texting me, and you’re never in your usual spots anymore.
Clay: Okay, maybe I have been avoiding you, but it is because I don’t know what to say to you.
Me: Since when? Just say whatever you want.
Clay: Well, something happened to me about two weeks ago, something that is unexpected. You see, I got a girlfriend.
Me: Oh, you just got a girlfriend. You make it sound like you went out to the store and just picked up a girl. And yeah, this is unexpected, Mr. I-don’t-want-to-date-people.
Clay: Yeah, I’m really sorry. I should have told you. I have known her since we were like 8 years old.
Me: You don’t need to tell me this. Well, I’m happy for you.
Clay: You don’t need to hear it because it hurts you or because you don’t care?
Me: A little of both, honestly.
Honestly, I was happy for him because I want him to get everything that he wants, but I was also mad because why didn’t he pick me? I’m a great catch. And we share a love of pizza and books. Plus, I’m hilarious.
So, we stopped talking. I missed his damn daily texts. I wanted contact with him, but I was stubborn and trying to be respectful of his relationship. No more text messages, and we avoided each other’s spots on campus. Until I saw him once. And of course, I tried to give him the cold shoulder, at which I failed miserably. I refused to look into his dreamy blue eyes, at his reddish-blonde hair, and beautiful ginger beard. I knew that if I did, I’d never want to look away. But I didn’t love him.
After the cold shoulder attempt, we were back to not talking. And he was back to girlfriending or whatever he was up to in days passed. A month or so after the time with the cold shoulder, there was this incident that happened, and I really needed to vent to someone. I called three of my friends. I called my mama, but no one was picking up their phones or answering texts. So, I texted Clay, and lo and behold, he responded back within 20 seconds. Here is how it went down:
Me: Hi. I hate everyone right now.
Clay: Hey. I’m sorry. Why do you hate everyone?
Me: Because they do stupid things that hurt people for no reason.
Clay: Wanna tell me about it?
Me: Not really, but I need to vent to someone. You were my last option.
Clay: That’s fair. Now spill.
I went on to tell the man about the crisis, and of course, he calmed me down because per usual, I was overreacting. After the whole crisis averted thing, he had more to say.
Clay: Is there anything else I can do for you?
Me: No, I literally only even told you because no one else was responding to me. What else could you possibly even offer me?
Clay: You could come cuddle with me after you get out of class.
Me: I’m not into three-ways.
Clay: Who is the third person?
Me: I’m assuming your girlfriend would not be okay with this if she weren’t the third.
Clay: Oh, well I don’t have a girlfriend.
Me: I’m sorry.
Of course, I still turned down his cuddling offer because I was still hurt about the girlfriend. Back to daily texts and conversations, several involving the things I want to do to you conversations. Clay was all talk, it seems. We had made plans to hang out, make out, get down and dirty, but something always came up. I was tired of it.
So, I texted him and let him know. He invited me over, and I was about to go, but then of course, he said something stupid and killed the mood. And me being who I am, I didn’t go. I went to sleep instead. More time passed. I know—we’re almost two years into this situationship, and it’s time to either, man-up and do the deed, or resign and just be friends.
Text exchange:
Me: You should come out tonight. We’re going bar hopping.
Clay: I have homework.
Me: Due on a Friday? Also, I told you about this three times already.
Clay: Yes, I have assignments due every Friday, and you didn’t tell me.
Me: Do I need to pull up the texts and show you?
Clay: No.
Two hours later…
Me: sends a selfie
Clay: I’m done with my homework and am going to bed now.
Me: I’m pretty tired my damn self.
Clay: You should come over and cuddle.
Me: Are you gonna be weird?
Clay: Weird, how?
Me: I don’t know. Whatever. Text me your address.
So I went. And I would love to tell you that it was phenomenal. That it was the best sex of my life, and we plan to spend the rest of our nights together. That would be a lie. I also wish I could say it sucked, and it worst sex ever but am glad I got it out of my system. I will tell you that I have never been more awkward with a human in my life but that we talked for hours before we fucked for the first time. But I didn’t love him.
When he talked to me, while his dick was inside me, I couldn’t speak. The wrong words came out, and I made no sense. I laughed at nothing, and I kept repeating “hi.” But I returned the next week and the next, each time, the sex getting better. We haven’t had any more pizza, but I’m sure we will have more sex.
The man inspired me. I began to write things, too. Little poems here and there, and he thought every single one was beautiful. He enjoyed reading them and wondering which ones were about him. I’ll let you in on the secret. They were all about him. Every single one. Because even when they were not about him in a literal sense, he had planted the words in my heart, and they went from heart to pen, sometimes without stopping. But I didn’t love him. I had to start carrying a little notebook around with me, just to jot down the phrases that come to me.
I’ve spent two years of my life trying to convince myself that I didn’t love Clay, and we’ve never even actually dated. But, after the last time we were in each other’s arms, my heart almost broke. Our legs were wrapped together, his left hand in mine; he talked of dreams and of his fears, with eyes closed before the rising of the sun. The one thing missing from his lips was my name. There’s no place for me in either, and that’s when I realized that this will be the coldest winter of my life. So, maybe pizza and sex leads to love, or maybe it’s all backwards. Pizza leads to love and sex or sex leads to love and pizza.
