I realize my last few posts have been solely about my romantic affairs with various people. I tend to post when something plagues my mind for so long that only writing about will help me organize my thoughts. So of course, it makes sense that most of my posts are about my love affairs. If you haven’t been keeping up, I’m clearly bad at relationships. I’m so bad that I don’t know if I should be mad or sad or happy about my current predicament. I realize I have very few readers, but people help me figure out how I should be feeling. Do have the right to be angry about the this man’s use of my body for sex? Should I feel sad because he dumped me for some bitch I will never see or hopefully meet? At the same time should I be sorry for myself and her for meeting such a person? Is our life pitiful? All the while, I feel one predominant emotion. The same feeling that dictates any unhealthy or healthy mutual relationship. The one many seek to decipher and control. Love.
Like my last post, this one will be about love. Before we move on to my emotional turmoil, let me recount my past hurdles. If I remember correctly, I talked about Eros the bittersweet as an abstract concept. Well, it also translates to a very literal concept. I loved him to give him everything. My virginity. My love. My time. My thoughts. I spent money on clothes he would appreciate and lied to my parents to an extent that I should probably be condemned to hell. It’s no surprise really. I thought he loved me too. I was so very wrong. We maintained a long distance relationship that mostly consisted of sex, but with an understanding that he and I were free to pursue other physical relationships. Simply put, we were sex friends. I honestly can’t remember the last time I went on a date with him. He’s broke. A pothead. So, perhaps he isn’t broke. Either way, I fell. Don’t ask me why. I trusted him too much. We had history though and he was gentle in the beginning. He thought I was funny, but I knew he was funnier. Our physical relationship was with the understanding that he would tell me when he found someone else and vise versa. Thanksgiving 2015.
It came. The beginnings of our broken relationship. He never told me back then that he found someone new. He just treated me like usual until he stopped. Days went by before I realized he was not going to respond. I admit I broke the first rule of sex friends. I fell in love, but he broke the second rule. He cut me off for no reason. We were after-all friends. Is there no basic respect for another’s feelings anymore?
I asked why. He still gave no direct answer and simply said he needed time. I accepted it then. He had found someone else. Furthermore, I accepted the reality of sex friends. We had no future. My acceptance did not mean I had managed to forget or erase my feelings. They were still there as they are now, haunting me from within. Almost a week went by before he asked me if I was okay and whether we could meet up. Back then, I was resolved. I was focused on my finals and determined to leave him behind so I postponed it. Notice how I did not cancel it.
We met on December 20 and then December 27th. Both times we met at his house, but the first time he saw me cry. He told me he thought he didn’t like me as much any more so he cut me off, but now he realized that wasn’t the case. It was troublesome to say the least. We were close or at least I thought we were. In the week following up to the second meeting, I vowed to never be with him and to avoid him. Obviously I gave in. I snapchatted him and he asked me to come over yet again. For the very same reason. Sex.
I was heading towards becoming his sexual object. His past time. Not his lover. I left that day crying, but he never saw that. Yet again, I vowed. All the while, I wanted sex. So I asked him. The second to last time we met was January 7th, 2016. He was mean, in the beginning. It didn’t take him long to realize I had come purely for sex and so he softened up and went back to our usual dynamic. He asked me in his stupid fuck boy voice what I would do if he asked me to marry him. He also took my anal virginity. All in a day’s work. He won my heart and body.
Now, for the last time we met. January 9th, 2016. Two days ago. As I write this post today, I await any response from him to prove me wrong. To tell me he loves me. The way I love him, but I may have unintentionally broken any possibility of that. The last time we had sex, it was at my house. We made passionate love and parted happily. Or so I thought. I keep a spare condom in my room. He asked me if we could use it, but I smiled and said no. He was surprised and asked if it was still there. I never replied and he stated that he would take that as a no. I didn’t correct him. Partly because I wanted to see his reaction and partly as pay back. Now I regret it. I officially feel like a fuck toy. His toy. His bitch.
I haven’t heard from him since. He left for college today and I removed him from snapchat so I don’t know how he is doing. All I feel is what I have left of him. It’s hard to move past the love and see how he has corrupted my mind and body. I honestly want to know though. Does he love me even a little? Is this all in my head? Do we have a communication problem that needs to be addresses. Reader or future me, please address this. Tell me, how should I feel?