My sister sent 2/3 of her kids out to stay with me and my folks last minute yesterday. I was in the middle of the beginning of a posh meal with an old friend and ex-lover, Zed, when my step dad asked what time I was coming over.
I side stepped my assholery and killed two birds with one stone: I’d be there around 8, and no, that meant I couldn’t hang out and “play,” Zed.
I have zero interest in ol’ Zed which fascinates me because we’re legitimately friends. Isn’t that the type of man I should go for??
He was the best friend of a graduate college friend and once I’d chewed him up, I moved on to Zed.
We hit it off with our appetites for food and cocktails and penchant for long, dark nights out on the town. I was 36 at the time, or 100 years younger than I am now if you want to know the truth.
I thought he was a fantastic kisser, but our bedroom chemistry fell flat. He tried to be cute with criticisms about my “performance” and not surprisingly, I wasn’t amused. I was also hungry for giant cock at the time and Zed was just a normal human male.
I got the sense not long after that he had caught feelings for me, but I was on the war path and couldn’t be bothered. Then one night while playing with my Book of Questions with me and The Neighbor, Zed had some allergic reaction to one of my answers and stuck his steel-toed boot in my face and derided me menacingly for what felt like an eternity.
He also wasn’t good with Peyton, falling back on an old school “I am the adult, hear me roar and kowtow to me!” sort of mentality with a fucking sweet little 4 year old. Uh… NO.
I chalked it up to his PTSD from multiple tours in the Middle Wast, but that essentially ended my sharing my time with him in any capacity for some years until we crossed paths on a dating app in 2016.
He’d calmed down, softened, been through more shit. He’d missed me he said. I agreed to see his new house and go to dinner with him.
The night was decadent and hedonistic, though also completely sexless. I was irritated with him the majority of the night and felt like I was putting up with him as I danced just out of arm’s reach. Last night was no different when he made it very clear that he’d like to date me or at least fuck me.
“My physical needs are met,” I said frankly. “Plus, I think I may just be done looking for more than that anyway. It’s too hard, my bar is too high, and I need to focus on other things, anyway.”
He made an ill-timed joke about the “coincidence” of me reestablishing contact. Which I hadn’t – it was another internet crossing, but whatever. Peyton is gone for two weeks and I’m sick of Mens, so I took him up on an offer to see each other.
I’ve been thinking about it pretty much non-stop – this idea of “giving up.”
I had yet another boring, go-nowhere date on Tuesday and when I saw a lone man sitting in the bar my first thought was OH NO. Never a good sign. What’s it called when you feel absolutely nothing for another human being? Apathy?
I just looked at him and couldn’t imagine him giving me half as much pleasure as The Golfer gives me. Also, his five o’clock shadow reminded me a little of my father at his age, just before he died. Also never a good sign.
If things between me and The Golfer stay the same then I can expect to have the best sex of my life 1-3x a month. I’d rather have it 3x a week, to be sure, but I wouldn’t be sexless and I could focus on other things. Like moving and working up the ladder at work and organizing my sock drawers and blogging more.
He’d be a known and familiar quantity in my life; I could just relax a little.
And Peter has to go. He just has to.
For more than three years I have been a willing side piece gobbling up whatever stolen moments and scraps of him I could get and since he’s met One-Month-Girl I have been relegated right back to that role without ever getting the chance to grow tired of him from a marathon weekend together or even a motherfucking sleepover.
His recent illness has put an even finer point on it: despite me being his destination when he was struck down, I was probably the last person to learn of his condition and status and was left completely in the dark overnight and stood up. Again.
He apologized in a drugged haze and I struggled to think of what to do about feeling so cast aside and disrespected; this isn’t a text conversation and I also felt badly for him. He has no insurance and spent the night in the ER.
I decided to focus on him first and offered to have food delivered when he was up for it, and yesterday he called in the favor. I even remembered his ex-girlfriend – who’s nursing him back to health – is a vegetarian and a picky eater so got her Pad Thai with tofu as a way of apologizing for my intrusion.
He was grateful and called me baby and sweet and kind and caring and said he felt almost cured since the beef pho I’d ordered for him. He passed on her thanks.
You’re very welcome. I can imagine how stressed out you are by all of this and I wanted to help somehow. I doubt you’ll take me up on my offer stay with me (One-Month-Girl wouldn’t like that lol but it’s still there), but I can at least feed you, so feed you I will ?
He never denied that OMG was his ultimate destination once he’s well enough to leave his apartment with the ex-girlfriend in it, which confirmed how far from the top I am in his mind. It sticks in my craw like a lump of ice, cold and painful, but my righteous anger is swiftly melting it. Fuck. That. Shit, man. Fuck that shit.
I am fully done inviting people to stay in my life who treat me like a faithful dog, ever ready to forgive and always searching for a pat on the head no matter what the fuck they’ve done to me. That goes for everyone, not just men.
Clarity will be my word for the back half of 2019. Clarity to protect myself and clarity to be patient, but most of all, clarity to be real and bold and stronger than ever. No one needs boundaries more than I do and it’s gonna be tough.