Isak and I: Our Non-Labeled Thing That I Want to Keep This Way Forever

Did I ever tell you a story about a guy named Isak? A guy who’s somehow a sex friend—with little to no sex involved?

Probably not. Mostly because I carry a lot of shame around it. The kind of shame that comes from loving every second of something you’re not supposed to.

Unlike what his name might suggest, Isak isn’t religious at all. This is hot, fresh gossip that’s been slow-burning for years. The kind of story I’m technically not supposed to tell—because it doesn’t fit with my values—but here I am, spilling it anyway.

If you looked at the stories I used to read as a 13-year-old girl on the bus at 7 a.m., you’d say: “Of course she ended up in this kind of situation.” Except now, I’m 21, and my adult self completely disagrees. I’m confused. Where did my morals go? But at the same time, thank God I carry a brick and not a heart anymore.

Picture this: it’s quarantine. Memes and thirst traps are everywhere. And Tunisians? We all ran back to Facebook.

That’s where it started. A cute, sarcastic, woke guy sends me a friend request. I accept. We tease each other. We start texting.

I don’t remember the details of our first conversation, but I know this: it escalated fast. We became each other’s closest friend. The kind you call when you’re mentally breaking down. The kind who sends you dirty texts right after helping you cope with anxiety.

It lasted three years. Through high school. And I was weirdly chill with it. I never once begged him to see me romantically. I even coached him on how to treat women, and he helped me see how desired I was. We raised each other.

And the only confusing part? I don’t remember when I got so okay with all of this.

Isak had it all. A literal genius. A math nerd who played basketball and still somehow got the highest bac score in his school. I was so disappointed in how dumb Ostin (my actual crush at the time) was that Isak turned me into a sapiosexual.

What we had was, in hindsight, a trauma bond. Isak was in love with an ex who kept breaking his heart. I was humiliating myself for Ostin. He was drifting from religion, and I was getting closer to it. We were opposites, but nothing could stop us from exploring each other—even though we had never met. Ever.

Then summer came. And I saw his Instagram story.

Tell me why he was on vacation… in the exact same town I always go to with my family. Not a famous beach, not a party city—just a quiet town mostly filled with old people and retirees. My childhood vacation spot.

So obviously, we met.

I’ll keep the juicy part clean because I can’t believe I’m saying this publicly. We did things. Dirty things—still within my limits. It wasn’t that steamy, but I saw stars that day. We tried to recreate every spicy message we’d ever sent. And I won’t sugarcoat it just because I love dragging men: it wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t what I had in mind. We were just kids, testing the waters.

Writing this brings up so much I might unpack one day, but what shocks me the most is this: I made out with my best friend, and we both just… moved on. We didn’t fake anything. We really were just friends most of the time.

Two years passed.

After that day, our contact slowly died out. Not because of the makeout session. We just grew up. Life after high school hit us like a truck. Isak moved to France to chase his fancy degree, and my life thanks to Allah just kept getting better.

And by the way, I’ll never be scared to say that. I love my life. People act like you need to have a sob story or a mental illness to be valid. But I’m proud of where I am, and I wouldn’t trade my journey for anything.

Back to Isak: we stopped talking like we used to. We were both busy drowning in new experiences. I entered this whole new world, and he became just a small part of it. Religion helped me evolve. And from afar, through social media, I saw him grow too—just slower.

Honestly, most guys I knew didn’t grow up much at all. And I wasn’t imagining it. Science says men hit full emotional maturity at 43. Women? Early 20s. Isn’t that depressing?

Anyway. Eid came. And I decided to keep our tradition alive by texting him Eid Mubarak. A small gesture, but I also did it out of care. He once tweeted about how hard living abroad was, and even though he’s not religious anymore, I figured he'd appreciate being remembered.

But I couldn’t find him on Instagram or Facebook. Did he block me?

I found him on Messenger and sent the text anyway. Figured: if he deactivated, he’ll answer when he sees it. If he blocked me, this was the perfect way to call him an asshole one last time.

Tell me why—while sitting in a room with 20 family members and my dad next to me—I get a message on Instagram. From Isak.

I can’t lie. I smiled like an idiot.

That night, I lived two lives: texting Isak and enjoying family time like nothing was happening. My phone never left my hand. I want to smack myself for it, but also kiss my own forehead for how good the convo went.

And yes, babes—I brought receipts.

Here are some of the messages that came in that night:

"Crazy how close we were. You were the only person who truly knew me. One of the rare people who knew about my OCD. Time flew by and everyone went their own way."

"We didn’t agree on what we were… friends with side heat. The weather got hot sometimes and we couldn’t handle it."

"You were a great one."

"You were there for me during my OCD like no one else. I hope I was a great friend too."

"We’ll meet up this summer. Smoke hookah. I’ll give you a two-year update."

"I hope you’re not traumatized by me + that town."

"You got more beautiful with time. Like fine wine."

"Didn’t you have a knitting business?"

"It was never right. We had chemistry as friends… we just got hot."

"You don’t know how proud I am right now."

"You’re hot. It’s undeniable."

"Forget the jerk prof, just pray for me, love."

"I want to give you a forehead kiss."

"Try weed with me this summer. Just a little. I need you to stay conscious." (WHY WOULD HE SAY THIS?! I screamed.)                                                                                                     context: i told him i was curious about weed but would never do it

"Of course, love. What kind of gifts do you like?"

Me: "Whatever your eyes like."
Him: "My eyes like you."

Me: teasing him that I have no control
Him: "She didn’t change that much after all."

Me: joking about wanting a vibrator to make up for not making me come two years ago
Him: "Vibrator it is. Have fun, baby."

 "My hands won't be off your body until you cry, empty your brain and give you what you want  and i do not expect anything back btw"...(okey wow i have no words) 

I panicked and said no, get something symbolic, but honestly? The diva between my legs was twitching.

This is a deep, messy story I’ve never told anyone fully. I don’t know how big or small it feels from the outside, but to me—it’s huge.

Isak and I are talking again now. Sometimes it’s hot. Sometimes it’s motherly. The other day, a friend said, “You two are married and just don’t know it.”

And I get it. Because male/female friendships are hard. Men usually want sex. But guess what? I do too—in this case. So we’re actually aligned.

Isak is my son. I raised that boy. He raised me. Two years of silence and we still clicked like nothing happened. From the first conversation, we just knew each other.

He tries to act tough, but he’s a golden retriever at heart. Most of what he knows about dating? I taught him. I can handle Isak better than his mom can.

What I’m saying sounds insane, so let me simplify:

I admire Isak. I understand him. I want to make out with him. I feel like we’re a platonic-intimate team.

But I did not and do not feel the “oh I am falling” twitch in my stomach.
I do not feel love.
I just like being around him.

It’s purely an intellectual, sexual friendship—and yes, it’s rare.
I gave it a lot of thought. I tried to see it from many points of view and asked myself if I’m lying to myself.
But I physically cannot see it as a romantic thing. I just enjoy it without the label.

I cannot see myself having sex outside of marriage, even with him. And marrying him is something I could never see as a plan at all.

But thinking about this made me also realize:
I can imagine using him as a husband in a worst-case scenario one day.
I could fuck him. I could have kids with great genetics. It could be a marriage where he lives whatever life he wants outside, and I can enjoy being fucked by my best friend from time to time, and live my own life with the money he's gonna spend on me.

I am now realizing how horrible that sounded—but that is the worst-case scenario, I swear.
I already have three other life plans.

You call it delusion. I call it a rational mind entertaining some chaos.

Oh, and he also promised me three orgasms (our lucky number) after apologizing for not making me come, saying he “learned more from experience ever since.” 

Things are getting out of hands and Isak is my own ticked to hell, the devil couldn't reach me all those years so he sent him back to make me this horny and unhinged.

I don’t know if that will happen—but I’ll keep you updated :)

I could write forever and this still would be out of context from how much shit there is, so please be there and patient for another part and maybe even a series 

I don’t know what I got myself into,

but I hope future me is safe.

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