Yes, I know I shouldn’t be surprised, and honestly, I feel something other than that. It could be disappointment, whether in him or in me for believing all of his outrageous lies, only more time will make that clear. He was one of those conventionally attractive men that kind of gives you pause. Easily digestible. Easy on the eyes and irritating as hell (as men tend to be).
This guy really seemed like a dream nigga, claiming the titles of feminist, activist, pro-hoe, reader. He knew the difference between there, their, and they’re and appreciated art. He had to be a good 50% of the long ass list of qualities I’d desire in a mate.
I remember the night we met in person. After matching on one of those dating apps (one of the reasons I warned people about the trash you find there. I mean, I was on there so you know it’s not safe.), there was kind of an instant connection. Maybe I should take all of the blame, but I’m not going to do that, because there was no way in hell I could’ve known he was crazy when I messaged him. What was I looking for? Sex. I keep my wants low with men nowadays because I know I can’t depend on them for much more than orgasms.
So, with that thought all the way drowned in the liquor and fun I’d already warmed myself with that night, I went to meet up with him. “We have to start somewhere,” he said 20 minutes (or less, hell, I was buzzed) after we’d been sitting in the truck, offering me his hand. I was amused and my interest had already been piqued and that’s where I went wrong the second time. I put my hand in his hand.
Unfortunately, that first make out session did not end in orgasms, but, surprisingly, I wasn’t all that disappointed. I was already ready to see him again. That dick was on my mind, and I wanted it in my vagina. Maybe that’s where I went wrong a third time. There’s something slightly suspect about a man who doesn’t press you for sex on the first night. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with men who actually respect women. I’m saying, it’s suspect as fuck, especially given what I was to learn about him several months later.
That was the beginning. Shit felt like rainbows and warm rain…but the storm was coming, and it was going to storm every damn day. (Read about the storm here.) That’s how great I was doing until I was minding my own business on Facebook (aka, Stalking and Coping, my theme song) when I came across some new fuckery. The receipts were long, detailed, and straight from the fingers of that rotten Twinkie. We all know how bad sugar is for you, but it turns out this nigga was spreading that poison all over the place. I’m not even about to say he was cheating on me, because, we weren’t in a committed relationship, thanks to me, and I was also sleeping with other people. Which also reminds me how this nigga used to get so pissy every time I “hid” the fact that I was sleeping with someone else. But from day one I said I wasn’t going to be exclusive so…am I supposed to repeat that daily like an affirmation? “Hey hun, don’t forget, fucking other niggas today. Still adore you. Kay? Have a fabulous day!” I wasn’t doing that shit.
I guess I didn’t trust him as nearly as much as I wanted to and, I’m not into committing to people who always swear they miss you but are never around to prove it. I’m not going to pretend to be angelic. I become dismissive and distant as hell when I feel like someone isn’t giving back the same energy I’m giving. Does that make me an awful person? Who the hell knows? I don’t give a fuck. I’m not slaving for anybody’s love.