I trust him with everything. He trusts me with everything.
A few weeks ago, I finally told him that I had a summer fling with one of his best friends. I held off on telling him because I was afraid of what his reaction would be. I didn’t know if he would feel hurt or feel disappointed. So, when I told him, I felt like I was going to confession. I was racked with guilt.
I told him all about it. Every little detail.
“Way to go, Maddie!” As if I had scored big time (I had). He was supportive, and kind of impressed of what I had done. After a while, I realized that I could tell him that anything and he would be supportive. This is why I trust him. He doesn’t judge me.
He trusts me with that kind of stuff, too. He slept with my best friend. Scratch that, he had sex with three of my best friends. I know this may seem like a really man-whore thing to do, but my friends are horny. Every single one of them. He wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t asked. He tells me every time he has a story; whether or not I want to hear. Apparently, he can’t tell his guy friends what he likes in bed. Weird, right? I joke.
From foreplay, to the mechanics, Robby tells me all of it. Every last thought he has, he shares. I’m a little like that, too, except I shut my mouth when I don’t know what to think.
“I like it when we hang out, Maddie, because I can be my complete weird self when I’m with you. You don’t judge.”
Music to my ears. I love my best friend.
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