So I’m thinking that I can’t be the only one… that’s ever slept with someone and immediately wish I could take my sex back.
Not that it was bad, but just because you know you’ve signed on the dotted line for another dead end relationshit. The last guy I dealt with, I really had no intentions of ever crossing out of the friend zone but the guy was super persistent.
Eventually my emotional walls came down as we became friends and then eventually all physical walls fell down too. So now, here I am sitting in the dark, staring at the shadows of my clothes tossed across the floor… listening to him enter his second REM cycle. Instantly I get pissed. I want to yell at him, WHY TF ARE YOU HERE?
Courting phase, skipped. Committed relationship, skipped. And yet here your naked ass lies in my freshly washed sheets. Why do I let my standards fly out the window as soon as my imagination starts to run wild? I briefly think about just smothering him with a pillow and quickly erase that thought. I’m pretty sure that’s how serial killers are born.
Half a year had passed and I’d been out on approximately one date and spent countless “quality time” hours and I was still no closer to the relationship I deserved. I’d been patient, understanding, giving, loving, supportive — all those things a man typically desires in a woman and what do I have to show for it?
A state-of-the-art 2017 edition fuckboy. I remember laying across from him after we first did it like, he could wake up tomorrow, leave and never speak to me again — because he owes me nothing. Not an explanation, not a worry, not a care, not a damn. And here I am caring and shit. For why?
Using my free time to think about all the shit I want to do for him to make him happy. Wondering what he’s doing when he’s not with me and if he’s thinking about me. Going out of my way to do little shit that will take him 3 weeks and an argument to notice I’ve done. All for him to be able to say, we’re not technically together sooooo… [insert fuckboy action here].
The worse part is that when we had sex, I felt it in more than just my lady parts, I felt that lil twinge of electricity in my chest. That place where the pleasure connects to the veins in your heart and starts to pump irrational thoughts to your mind. Thoughts like, “maybe he’ll change his mind” “maybe this will work” “maybe he is serious”.
And so the cycle begins. I remember after the first time it happened thinking, “fuck, I’m gonna do this again and he knows it.” I knew he’d figured out the combination lock to remove my chastity belt and tap that ass any time he really wanted to. I also knew he was more strategic than to try it every time, but eventually he’d gain momentum. And every other week would turn into every few days, and every few days would turn into every other day and then every other day would turn into every day.
I was so angry. At him. At me, I fussed at myself thinking how long it had taken me to earn my virginity back. Thinking how long it took me to repair my emotional health after being ransacked by the last fuckboy. And yet, again, here I was fucking this boy. At one point he reached his arm out to scoop me up under his arm pit.
My immediate rebellion kicked in and I rejected him. He hates rejection and I know it. I rolled over angrily secretly praying that he would reach over and still try to pull me closer. He didn’t. So now, here I am sitting up at 4 in the morning watching him sleep peacefully after his climax thinking about ways to make it look like a natural death.
He’s too old to play these games and I’m too old AND too smart to be caught in this fuckboy web. Every time I try to move to pull myself out of it, I end up getting more tangled in his bullshit. So now I sit here giving myself a pep talk about how tomorrow will be different. I won’t talk to him, I won’t see him, I won’t text him.
I mentally put my foot down and just prayed my actions would follow. But in love and war do they ever? I actually scoffed at that word. Love. This boy was so deep in my lust he’d do or say anything just to keep me close.
Who’s the real crook here? Him for not caring the way I wanted him to, or me for knowing that he didn’t and maybe wouldn’t ever… but still expecting him to?
Either way, I’ve been ROBbed.