by Ms. Jennifer
It’s totally quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. This might not sound earth shattering, but it ‘kinda’ is. I don’t remember the last time I sat in silence not waiting for my next “help me” call. I’m staying with family and they like noise. Oh, “help me” I heard a car door shut… could it be over this quickly?
I needed this day to recover from the last week. My sister came in to watch my dad so I could go to Chicago. I got the email from my ex telling me he was moving out at the end of the month. Could I come get my belongings? I never thought the dude would ever move out of his four-floor loft. But there I sat in NOLA (New Orleans) with my eviction notice.
What to do? It didn’t take long before I made plans to drive to Chicago. It was ‘dispose’ or DRIVE. How could I dispose when I wasn’t even sure what I still had left there? I began to wonder…are hoarders (my daughter politely told me I was well on my way to becoming one) more likely to hold onto people? I seemed to have a hard time letting go. Was this some sort of loyalty that I really admired or was I just some insecure person who was afraid to move on… familiarity was better than something new, or worse, nothing?
The night before I was to leave, I laid in bed my head swimming. I went to bed early but woke up after a few hours wide awake. I decided to get in the car and go. I drove through the night wired until around 5:00 am when my body finally road killed my brain. I passed out at a rest stop. Did I mention I had no air condition and it was hot as hell, no, hotter than hell? I was afraid to leave my window open and afraid I would die of heat stroke if I didn’t.
I woke up after a couple hours dripping in sweat, smelly with only a few more hours to go. I’m happy to report when I arrived, I didn’t feel much sitting in that mostly empty space. The bed where David and I had once made love was gone and the table where we’re eaten breakfast and argued was also missing. I started purging…. getting rid of almost everything I had left (I did have to try on EVERY piece of clothing first). I started taking photos of my give away piles… very proud of my new-found liberation from clutter. As I was going through stuff, I came across some medium size “protective plus” underwear. David’s daughter had collected all my stuff and assumed it belonged in my pile, but there is no way my ample ass would ever fit into a size medium.
I was delighted. I immediately sent a text to a couple girlfriends asking them if I could PLEASE send a message to David telling him “I think Pat forgot these!” (because they weren’t his and they weren’t mine). Please, I begged, tell me I can send him a photo of the diapers. God, it was good to laugh. Maybe I was finally moving on! The little shit had moved on without looking back so what exactly was MY problem. I realize it takes two people to get somewhere new and that hadn’t happened and, well, I was the only one wasting energy trying.
Besides my friends had grown weary of my obsession (?) is my love nothing more than some cheap dependency? My one friend wants me to be uplifted and elegant at all times and thought it beneath me to even think about sending my ex a photo of the diapers. Is it beneath myself, or fun, to think about revenge or being catty? Maybe it’s both and just part of being human? Should I be like my ex and be all mature and business-like all the time? I want to “out” the little shit, so why should I pretend otherwise? I’m getting there, but not quite yet.
Letting go/surrender is a life-long practice. One way is to pretend it wasn’t all that important in the first place. But that seems not just unkind, but simply not true. Why not honor what was and when you are ready to move on move on without picking a replacement first? The “adventure” is living in the space of not knowing and I’m swimming in that ocean. Yes, of course, it’s harder when the replacement is younger. We all know “life isn’t fair,” but does knowing that really make it any easier?
Dating, dancing around a new relationship, sex all brings up a lot of shit for me. I’m being told to “date myself.” Okay, but what exactly does that mean? I see, as a co-dependent expert, that when someone else enters the picture I suddenly have something else to focus on … like a fly to shit or moth to light… I get caught in the gravitational pull. If I’m not careful I’m going to burn myself up. If I can’t get my shit straight, then I have to go it alone.
Sometimes, that seems the best course. Been on a few one and done over the last week. Maybe I’m starting to understand the “relationship” is in THAT one and done. It’s pleasant…a nice afternoon of talking with someone. I heard from my latest bad boy, let’s call him BB, he tells me I’m living in the”1950’s.”
He sends me some black and white porn after talking on the phone where mid-sentence he had to go. Okay, this is after a few interesting and stimulating conversations and then NOTHING. This is nothing new. Expected! Even the porn is not all that taboo or edgy, okay, it’s perfunctory, you aren’t the first to have done that either, but I thought we were actually talking about meeting. I suggest….
“How about a walk or coffee first. Aren’t you being a little bit presumptuous (since he told me the porn was a “preview”)? lol”
Three days later:
“No, just pragmatic. I prefer to be direct rather than fake.” You’ll likely appreciate my directness in the long run. I’ll understand if this seems too direct for you.”
“No, I like direct/honest. Maybe it’s more about speed. I also like romance, the attention, energy. I’m used to shit going nowhere.”
“Welcome to 2020 babe. When you’re a woman 35 and up, there are absolutely no guarantees. Take what you can get or get off the field.”
“So, men will only commit if he can have offspring (under 35)? Dick is easy to come by no matter what the age. I don’t NEED a man. I want a man. I am completely able to take care of myself. Maybe you are right, but that sounds rather cynical and pragmatic. There are no guarantees at any age. 50 percent divorce rate. I don’t think there is anything wrong with wanting full spectrum love at any age. If I decide to “settle for the dick” that is easy to find that’s for sure. Why not meet to see if anything is there? But as I said in my Tinder profile “I want the cock, but I also want the brain and the HEART.” “Men are so afraid to open their heart. I get it. I’m am, too, but I am open to the idea.”
“Hey, I’m just sharing stats. Being 50 I’m part of that. Don’t try and rationalize it. Accept it and be your best you. Time marches on. Don’t waste it arguing. Enjoy it.”
What’s wrong with wanting more than being fucked?”
We all want to fuck. It’s human nature. If we’re lucky we fuck those we actually like.”
“But how do you know if you actually like them? It takes some TIME and who is willing to invest?”
“Problem is women like you want guarantees. That not how this works.”
“No baby. I know there are no guarantees. That shit went out with the last relationship.”
“You’re in 2020 with a 1950 mindset. You’ll never win dear. Sorry. And with that I must go. Been up all night baby. Talk soon.”
Spew or squirt. Not all that much different. One and done. Maybe we will “talk later” and maybe we won’t. I called some guy this morning and he was busy supposed to call me back tonight. No expectations and don’t really care all that much. He DID call back and after 20 mins (after I refused to discuss my sex life on a first phone call) he texted me this after hanging up on me (I blocked him so he called me back on a different phone number): “I always get the last word in bitch. You are a broken piece of shit whore who has no idea what she is doing. The reason I don’t care if you disappear is because I have way better options. I don’t have to put up with a loser bitch like you.” (and he sent me photos of five different women he was making out with to prove his point!). Yep, really.
Shit like that say get off online dating and NEVER go back. Maybe I’m in the 1950’s at least in certain ways… believing in investment, pace, romance. Maybe I never will win?
And Mr. Amigo has gone AWOL. He made no promises only that we “try it.” He claims he wants more than a fuck buddy, but he knows that is the correct exam answer. I thought he would be a generous lover (and hungry) so there weren’t really any expectations until there were expectations like he stopped calling. Prior to this he initiated, and I responded. Sometimes he would call me in the morning, sometimes at lunch, but he was over after work every night except once or twice when he had another gig. And then it just stopped cold.
Okay, now I had learned it was better to not make shit up so I simple sent a text saying “I don’t need or expect to see you every day, but it would be nice to connect with you or at least know if you are with your wife (job) or if you are coming here. Can you let me know?”
Two days later I get the message he’d been sick. That makes it seem like I NEED to take a chill pill, but I could feel a shift and that’s probably because the next day we had made tentative plans to go away (on my way to Chicago) so I asked if we were still on despite knowing the answer.
Of course, I make shit up, because my brain can’t stand not knowing (or doesn’t like reality). Is he really sick? What if he’s REALLY sick? That must be why he’s not responding.
Bullshit. He’s not sick.
But what if he has Covid-19 and is in the hospital?
Girl, you’ve been used. A fuck and run. Maybe I am living in the 50’s. I’m so busy saving the pussy that I don’t have any idea what my pussy wants (until it’s licked, but we have to get that far) …
Omg, what’s the new story? How can I have my own desires and wishes if I have to play good girl (or “whore”)? How can I feel good about myself if the guy goes AWOL after he gets some pussy? Or am I supposed to be using him like he’s using me… is this how things are done in 2020?
Is that REALLY all or a majority of men want is some new pussy? Why don’t they want the rest of it?
Is it nothing more than a game?
But how can I expand/explore if I either have to choose either being a good girl and “withhold” it or being a slut and giving in? That does seem like the 1950’s, but what has replaced it? Am I just supposed to be like a guy and fuck and run? It’s not about saving the pussy, it’s about using the dick (or wallet or whatever else woman want from men), but if I don’t need a man for any of that then what is the point? But as soon as I start to open up to something more than a transaction, he disappeared.
It’s like opening the door and then immediately slamming it in my face.
Could I have been that wrong about this guy? Is it true what the guy told me on Tinder…Mr. BB? I guy will do ANYTHING to get some pussy. “They buy dinner, take you to work, paint your house, whatever it takes.” He also told me “I skipped the best.” At least Mr. Amigo was never arrogant which is probably why I trusted him. He was humble, hard-working, and certainly not privileged.
“If men dominate with the dick then how is a woman to find HER groove? She has to always hold back or give in….”
“Oh, how cute. You have absolutely no clue do you babe? You actually used the word “men” to describe PUA’s (pick up artists) which tells me you’ve probably been burned many times. PUA’s say what you want to hear. Men say what you need to hear. Both will dick you down nicely. But one won’t make you hate yourself in a month.”
“I don’t know about your meaning of PUA’s. lol. (Can a woman be a PUA?) Why should I hate myself for being naive or hopeful? I don’t quite see it as black and white as you. For if a man may say whatever it takes for a quick squirt, doesn’t that say a shit ton more about who HE is? And doesn’t that say something about some of the issue(s) women have with men? …when men dominate with the dick it doesn’t leave women/me much opportunity to open up my sexuality. I either have to try and protect my pussy or be naive and think we are really connecting. Why should I feel bad when it seems more about men’s general inability to connect? Men should realize if they hold space for a woman to blossom, they will get a shit ton more good fucking than a quick squirt. So ultimately it’s their loss.”
Well, this dude, I’m happy to report, didn’t have it TOTALLY correct.
I sent Mr. Amigo a couple more messages. I didn’t want to be a total fool, but I still wasn’t sure. Could I have judged him so wrong? I asked him to come back and help me finish the work if he didn’t want to have a personal relationship, he could change his mind. But I couldn’t deal with starting all over again after having SO many problems with so many different contractors.
Which is a response, right?
So now I knew. It was over. The universe was giving me another chance to practice. Of-course I wasn’t nearly as invested as I had been with David and his family. This was going to be much easier. I wasn’t going to feel used, because, hell, I had enjoyed it, I mean really enjoyed it (except for the first time when he entered me after agreeing to just “fooling around.”) I was starting to realize things were way messier than I had given most of my life experiences credit. These men weren’t ASSHOLES they just did asshole things.
So how to get closure? Walk away and say what an asshole and slam the door? Or should I feel used and like shit about myself? Nah. What if I landed somewhere new? Somewhere like that was exciting, and fun, and connecting AND that was shitty, and scary, and I feel vulnerable.
What did I do with that? I started to get myself SCARED. That’s what I do. I don’t need some guy to slap me down or call me a whore. I fuck myself up nicely all by myself. I mean I’m an expert! So, what do I need some confused hombre for?
Still, my pride had to send him my closing remarks:
So that’s it? All you wanted was a quick squirt? I have so much more to offer than that…
And then he responded….
“Sorry you like me, but you know I work all the time… blah, blah, blah…”
“Don’t worry I don’t like you any more…lol.”
And suddenly he’s back, but we aren’t going there again or, if we do, it’s not going to be for a long time. Even if he’s only a fuck buddy, I need someone who can communicate honestly with me who won’t just disappear and then be like “Que?”
I mean I get it… it’s not just him who is fucked up. He’s scared and hides behind his work and I’m scared, but at least I try and talk about it. But after he disappeared, I went off the rails. I was so freaked out that I had mis-judged everything, that along with my pussy hurting, I decide I’d gotten an STD. To celebrate my moving out of Chicago, I went to a walk -n clinic to get myself checked out. Loco? I know this fear is not normal. It’s really gotten out of hand and I’m not sure what to do about it. What do other people do with their fears? Clearly, I have a hard time relaxing and letting go. But when someone is dishonest or doesn’t communicate, I not only become unglued, but I can conveniently blame them for my shit.
One solution is to never do any of this again… or to slow down and start to build trust again, but how does one do that not just in COVID land, but in general, in the land of Swipe, in knowing your lover will lie, or hearing men only want that sweet, juicy pussy? I love sex, but it confuses the hell out of me, and I’m not the only one with this problem. And I understand a lot of this has nothing to do with any dude. You have to be a warrior to love. Meanwhile, I’m going on a date with myself.