All the feels

So I have taken a (good) while to write this post, considering this happened in June / July. I’m not sure why I took my sweet old time as I am no longer confused, or have big feelings, but it has given me a lot of food for thought.

You might remember the Poker Player. The one that postponed his flight for me and who I thought was the one, albeit for a little while. After six months of very occasional keeping in touch, he was back in the country. How did I find out? Through Facebook. That’s right, he didn’t tell me. Imagine this. It was a Friday afternoon, I was bored at work and basically waiting for five o’clock to hit so I could jump in my friend’s car and get over the foodtruck festival that was happening in my favorite city. On top of that; it was a lovely summer day. As I was scrolling through my feed, I all of a sudden see a ‘Poker Player is attending…’ Yup, he apparantly was in the country and planning on being there. I stared at it, then panicked. I had come to work without make-up, and my hair was tied up because I hadn’t washed it. I couldn’t possibly face him like that. And face him I would. The festival was in a small park where if you knew anyone, you’d for sure run into them.

After a quick, heated consult with my co-workers, I decided to jump into the showers at work and at least do my hair. My boss was in a meeting, and I had twenty minutes left. I don’t think I have ever been so fast, but at least I felt better about myself. On the way, in the car, finally, my friend nearly pissed herself when I told her. But lo and behold; it only took fifteen minutes to spot him.

My stomach sank. As much as I had wanted to see him, I realized he had never told me, so he didn’t care enough for me to know. But there he was, as hot as I remembered him, and I hadn’t washed my hair for nothing. I pointed him out to my friend, and then casually strolled over there, did a ‘surprised’ double take, and asked him what the hell he was doing there. (I deserve an Oscar for that). I immediately got a big hug and three kisses. He introduced himself to my friend, drank half my glass of wine and seemed genuinely pleased to see me. We chatted for a few minutes before his friends dragged him away, and that was that. No see you laters, nothing. My friend was ecstatic. She absolutely adored him. She doesn’t adore anyone.

All through the night we’d occasionally run into each other, squeeze an arm, or just smile. My friend added fire to the fuel by telling me he seemed so pleased to see me. On my way home, I texted him that this country might be a little too small, but that it’d been nice to see him. He was slow to respond, but when he did he asked me to come to the bar with him and his friends. By that time I’d reached home. Too little too late.

Though the next day he asked if he could come by to ‘see my house’. I’m not an idiot, but the prospect of spending a couple of hours with him seemed great. Living in the moment and stuff. The past had taught me not to expect anything from him, so I knew that this was all I’d be getting. I could decline to protect myself, or I could just go with it and enjoy whatever time we’d have. I chose the latter.

He came, we talked about stuff big and small, mostly big as usual. He again started the talk on no relationships and what not. Old news, and I didn’t need warning. Once we started fooling around a bit, he suddenly got up and said he had a surprise. He took off his shirt, and said he’d been working hard at the gym. It was adorkable, and I had to hold back a smile. I just appreciated the muscle instead. We spent the next few hours in bed, which was highly enjoyable, as usual. With one hiccup. In the heat of the moment, a split second before he’s about to enter me, he again announces that he has a surprise. My mind went blank. What the hell kind of surprise could you have, at that moment in time? Well, this one: he had gotten tested and he was clean. I was a little flabbergasted, but told him I hadn’t tested in a while. He took the risk, with my approval. Truth be told, I haven’t had a man come inside me in a decade, because I’m not on the pill. I had forgotten what it felt like. And what a mess it is. When he left, at the end of the afternoon, I watched him walk down the street, and accepted that he’d be walking out of my life. I felt okay about it. The fact I went for drinks with a friend shortly after helped. He left for the US a few days later, the only contact we had was me texting him that my tests had gotten back okay.

Fast forward to six weeks later; he was back. I knew he’d  be as he has to fly through in order to go home. He always takes some time to visit family and friends. I didn’t want to text or call him, which he didn’t either and mildly irritated me. A few days after he returned, I saw him on a dating site. With a full copy of his passport. It was such an idiot thing to do that I messaged him to take it down. We spent the majority of the evening chatting. Things got pretty deep and personal, yet remained at the surface. Sounds weird, I know. He then said he would make time to come see me.

He texted me two days later, while I was at a work dinner. I told him I wouldn’t be home before ten. He said that was fine and we’d be in touch. Long story short; he showed up at eleven thirty, just as I was about to lock the door and call it a night. I knew this was a booty call, but I wasn’t so impressed with that. We chatted for a little while, I showed him the house I bought (of which he knew exactly where it is) and he told me about his trip. Naturally we had sex. It was so good I tried (and succeeded) not to cry. For some reason that orgasm came with a release of some other stuff. Part of me knew that this would be it. It might be the last time I’d ever see him, feel this way and knowing I’d had to let go. He didn’t notice, it was dark and we didn’t speak.

At one thirty in the morning, he looked at the clock and said he had to go. I asked if he was fucking kidding me. He came up with excuses about having to bring the car back and not being able to take out his contacts. I was pissed. To me, that was poor manners and disrespectful. We’d know each other too long to be pulling that shit off. He left regardless.

The next day I was still unamused, told him that and purposely let it escalate. For a friends with benefits arrangement, I need some kind of human, friendly, non-sexual contact to balance out the hooker feel. He wasn’t even telling me he’d be leaving the next day. That’s how much he cared. While he understood my points, he stressed that he’d been clear. He had, and that was not the issue at hand. We agreed to disagree. I told him that if he ever came back, it would to come from him, but that I was not going to run after him again. We said a temporary goodbye.

And that’s the story of the Poker Player. I learned a thing or two from him. (That at thirty two, I’m too old to rely on morning after pills, for one). Yes, he’s full of himself, but there’s something about him that draws me in. It’s easy to get lost with him. But, after all that, I have not felt sad. Closing it off like that was a good thing. He’s back next month, and I intend on keeping my word. I have no desire to get in touch, but we’ll see how that goes when he’s physically here. I don’t think he’ll do it either, I gave him shit after all. At this point in time, I am alright with that. A year ago, I had thought he might be the one, but I was wrong. And that’s okay.

If you made it to the end of this monstrous post; I applaud you!

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The night I lost and gained my self-respect

First off; this shit’s embarrassing and I’ll be judged by a couple hundred strangers on the internet I don’t know. But, since my anonymity is still intact, off we go.

There’s an ex I have been in touch with sporadically ever since we broke things off. (You go figure it out). It turned out we happened to be partying in the same city last Friday. By the time we found out, he was already on his way home, and I was pretty much done. We however kept in touch since, and conversations got hotter and heavier. By Monday, things reached a climax.

We were gonna live out this fantasy we (mostly he) had been discussing. I was persuaded to go see him, a good hour and a half away from where I live. What he wanted was this; a whore. He wanted me on my knees, fuck my mouth until I choked, gag me and fuck me in the ass and spank me until I would be begging for mercy. He sent me pictures of what he’d do to me. They were explicit. He wanted me to bring toys. There is a lot in there I can go along with, if not everything. But I was missing two things, respect and empathy.

Sounds contradictory? Maybe. In the final hours leading up to this, he made a few things very clear. If I wanted this, I would come to him. He did not want to leave his house. I told him he would have to come pick me up from the train station, and also that I would need a ride in the morning. Initially, he did not want me to stay. He said there would be enough time to catch my last train home at eleven thirty at night. I refused. It was not until I told him I did not want to be thrown out on the street like a hooker and have to sit on a train for two hours in the middle of the night. Mind you, it was a Monday and I had work the next day. It was not until I pointed out any man with a shred of decency would not let a woman travel on a night train by herself for two hours that he succumbed. The other major roadblock was his unwillingness for cunnilingus. Literally. ‘I am not going to put my mouth on you’. I had actually heard this from him before, so was not majorly surprised. He made it clear I was there for his satisfaction and not mine. I had agreed to this, so I could not blame him. After all he said he was being honest about it. ‘I don’t care if you get off’.

In the heat of it, I accepted all of it. I knew he was a jerk, so I wasn’t very surprised. But as I had taken my shower and was on my bicycle to the train station, my heart started to sink a little. Did I really want this? Yes, I was horny for it, very much so, but he had demonstrated very little understanding for what I was about to do. While I waited for the first train, I contemplated turning around and going home. I could just not make up my mind. I wanted it. But did I want it for the right reasons? I was making a huge trip, really put myself out there, and for what? The train came, and I got on. I was torn and told myself there was still time to go back.

During that twenty minute ride, I waited for a sign. I was going to be fucked in every way imaginable, and would not be able to walk the next day. I would have a sleepless night, and would have to get up very early at that to make it to work in time. I was going to cancel on my yoga buddy. For a fuck. I got to the station, and needed to wait for another fifteen minutes for my connection. I texted him. ‘I am halfway and breaking out in cold sweats. Say something please.’ I needed him to say something nice, to reassure me it would be alright.

He did neither. He wanted to know what was wrong. I told him I couldn’t decide if I was doing the right thing. He sent me another explicit photo and proceeded to tell me I’d come halfway, what was the problem? Didn’t I want this? Hadn’t we talked about this? I told him the train had arrived and I had two minutes to get on. He said he wasn’t going to talk me into anything. If I wanted to come, I should, but he was cooking now.

The train left. I texted him. ‘I can’t do it.’ We went back and forth a bit. He wanted to know what the real issue was. I sent him a long text. I was afraid I would not be able to look at myself in the mirror the next morning. I was going to be a slut, and I didn’t know if I’d be okay with thattomorrow. That because I was making so much effort to get to him it was too easy for him and too cheap for me. He was putting in zero. I couldn’t justify it in my head. I was doing everything and he was doing nothing. That made a full whore circle in my head. I would have done it to myself.

He said he understood, yes he knew he sounded rude and selfish, but that it was part of the fantasy, he had thought we were on the same page.  I had thought so too, but all these second thoughts made me realize I was better than that. He would use me and spit me out like he had done a year ago. It didn’t matter to him who fulfilled his fantasies, as long as he had a warm, hot body. It didn’t matter to him how I felt about it, as long as he could do whatever he wanted. There was zero empathy and respect for me.

Another train passed by. I turned around and went home.

*tbc

 

He’s back.

The asshole Musician. I received a message from him a few days ago asking if he fucked up asking me for work stuff. Yes, he had. He apologized, we messaged back and forth for a bit while I wondered what he wanted. It did not take long. Things were not going well with his new chick. They had met up in London while he was on tour, and things had been awkward between them. They’ve been having a long distance relationship until now, meeting occasionally, but mostly relying on FaceTime and messaging. And then when they had actual time to spend, things went downhill. I can’t help feeling a little pleased. In your face. It wasn’t me.

Anyway, now that that’s going down, he apparently needs a back up. Enter Ella. Before I knew it I was sucked into a long thread that went further and further, eventually leading to him saying he’d be back in the country today and maybe we should finally turn mutual fantasies into reality. All of me is screaming YES, YES fuck me senseless! I am having so much trouble keeping a clear mind, while I know that it won’t ever happen because if we were to agree on meeting, he would cancel last minute. I would love him to be my birthday gift and think I could handle it too, but it’s all just such a bad idea. Though, I’m getting ahead of myself as usual.

I have been in touch with the Stud occasionally as well. I have not seen him after our last date, but he texted me last week to say I was not supposed to look better than the bride after he saw photo’s of my brothers wedding. Way to go on the sweet talking. I have decided to go easy with him. If he wants to see me, he’ll have to put in some effort.

Ending rant.

Thank you India

I am back! I spent the last 3,5 weeks in India, and it has left me loads to contemplate, as usual.

But first things first. Did I see the Stud before I left? Sure did. I flew on Saturday night, and we were supposed to see each other on Friday. He had mentioned he might be a bit late as he would be coming from his dad’s house, but 10 pm is what I call a bit more than late and more like a bootycall. But I went. He was tired, and not completely present. We quickly called it a night, and continued conversations in bed. Naturally we had sex, perfectly normal sex, and woke up early the next morning as he had to leave the house at 9. We said goodbye with a kiss, he got on his bike, and I went to the trains. I all too well realized there had not been a ‘see you in a month’ or anything like it. And worse, I also realized I had left my bangles on his coffee table. Crap. I left with a bit of a heavy heart that night.

India was, once again, crazy. And amazing, and extravagant and dirty and full on and loving. This was my fourth trip, and even though I loved it, I did not lose my heart like I had in previous visits. There were some epic things, I met some fantastic people, saw wonderful places, and got my fair share of unwanted attention. But since this is not a travel blog; I will share two appropriate stories.

I met Veer when he lived in Amsterdam two years ago. We hung out quite a few times and hit it off so well initially that mutual friends were asking if they should start preparing wedding invitations. Unfortunately, nothing ever happened between us. He was either shy or not into me like that, and I was not willing to put myself out there. We did continue meeting though, and kept in touch when he moved back to India last December. So while I was there, he came to see me, and we spent three days together. We went hiking, went to ganga aarti ceremonies, dinners, the whole shebang. We even shared a room. It was funny to see how he had adapted to his surroundings. He was much more assertive than I remembered him to be. When men would stare at me for too long he would take off his sunglasses and give them the stare of death. Quite the turn on. And yet, even when sharing the room, he did not make a single move even though I practically invited him to. He’s far too westernized to put up a ‘good Indian boy’ front, so I had no choice but to accept he wasn’t into me like that. Bummer.

I also met up with Kunal in New Delhi. We have been friends ever since the first time I came to India, five years ago. Quite some time, strictly platonic. We used to have good conversations on differences in the east vs the west, he has traveled a bit, comes from an affluent family and so our correlation had been established long time ago. I was only in Delhi for my last night before going home, and he took me out. We went to a fancy area in town, and enjoyed a few drinks on a rooftop bar. We hadn’t seen each other in a year and had lots to catch up on. After an hour or two we got hungry, and decided to move to the next place. He paid the bill, and down the dark staircase we went. Downstairs, in a deserted lobby, he suddenly grabbed my hand and announced he was going to kiss me. I beg your pardon? I told him no. He asked why not. I said no again. This sucked, we still had to go through dinner and he was my ride back to the hotel. After the initial minute of awkwardness, he got over himself, and we managed to have a nice dinner. He dropped me off at the hotel afterwards, and said goodbye with a hug. Not a word on the subject.

Until the next day. He sent me a text asking if I was upset. I didn’t know if I was, so I told him no. Good, then he wanted to know why I had refused him? We were having a perfectly good night, I had no reason to refuse him at all. I could have just done it. Instantly, I fumed. I sent him a harsh text saying that 1; I was not attracted to him in the slightest (truth) and 2; I was seeing someone back home (kinda true, I hope). He jumped on it by saying he was sorry, he would never have done it had he known I was involved with someone. I told him even if I would not have, I still would not have done it. I had no obligation to him whatsoever, having a pleasant night does not entitle him to anything. He threw out a few cliches about western women and our morals. I swear I had steam coming out of my ears. I had lead him on by going to dinner with him and so on and so on. I sent him a very mean text about his own morals, poor education on the matter and how disappointed I was he had to confirm a stereotype. He apologized, but naturally things have not been the same. I have lost a friend and I am disappointed with myself for misjudging him. It has left me with a bitter feeling about that part of my trip.

So I have been home for a few days, back to work already, and before the weekend, sent the Stud a text that I was back home. And I got nothing in reply. I had texted him for his birthday when I was out and we’d gone back and forth for a bit, but now, nothing. It has been a few days, and he has been online constantly. He has seen my message. My point is; we’ve been on four dates, he has even gone as far as to take me to his father’s house, at least have the decency to say ‘hey, sorry, a month was too long’ whatever. I do not handle the ignoring well. If after a one night stand; fine. But not four dates. So again, am I jaded for thinking he is another asshole, or is he busy and I just need a bit of patience? He might have realized he’s not that into me after all, but dude, grow a pair and tell me. Hopefully I am just being impatient, but it does not feel good. Maybe he’s out of my league after all.

To make myself feel better; I am going on a date with another guy from Tinder tomorrow. I don’t even know if I have been rejected, but I better get over it before it hurts!

So That’s That

I sent him a message last night, and it took him a good 12 hours to get back to me. Look out for the sorry.

photo

 

Yeah, he really gave a damn. Needless to say he never replied to my last comment. I kind of wanted to add something saying that if he wanted a fuck, he better up his game. But hey. This is a step for me as I never call men out on their bullshit. 

Another Asshole

I’m so fucking angry with myself right now. Because I fell for it again.

Mr. Fiji said he’d like to make up for his cancellation and take me for drinks tonight. I gave it some thought, discussed it with my friend Selma who said screw him, and decided to meet him. He’d come to my city at 9, and I told him to let me know when he arrived so I could pick him up at the station. All good.

And as I am writing this, I am obviously not on a hot date. I had showered, dressed, put make up on and the whole she-bang, and waited. At 9:30, I sent him a message. He saw it. And to this point, he’s not replied. So it’s 2 hours later, and I’ve changed into my PJ’s. I am so fucking upset that he’s another one of those assholes that goes no-show and I’m left feeling like an idiot.

I can’t wait to hear what the lame excuse is and to give him a piece of my mind tomorrow. In the meantime I need to calm myself down because I won’t be able to sleep like this.

When will I stop doing this to myself?

Midnight Bootycalls

I’m in the middle of one as we speak. Let’s back it up, shall we?

Anyone remember the rugby player from Fiji I was talking to online? Well, he’s been very hot and cold. We’ve tried to meet up twice, and he cancelled very last minute both times. With valid reasons that were actually true (he’s added me to his facebook and instagram) but still. Not into that. We had decided to meet up again tonight for a drink. But this afternoon, I sill hadn’t heard from him (as usual). So I sent him a note, to which he replied: ‘Probably not babe, I need to stay off the beer’.

Ok. 1: They do serve other beverages at bars. 2. I am not forcing beer down your throat. 3. What the hell kind of lame excuse is that? So I told him that I wasn’t into the yes no maybe thing, and that we should leave it. He was quick to apologize, saying he just moved here (no you didn’t) and that he needed time to settle but that we’d meet up for sure. Whatever.

So here I am, in my sweats on the couch, when my facebook messenger goes off. ‘Do you want to come over tonight?’ Well hello. Bootycall, anyone? I gave it a few minutes of thought, and then told him I can’t tonight. Really, I want to, I really do. He’s so fucking hot. But I am trying to be better. (And I’m on my period, which is actually the real excuse). I asked him if he was feeling lonely, to which he said he just wanted some company, and told me again to come over. I imagine he usually gets away with this stuff, so I’ll give him a bit of a hard time. I have no choice, as much as I wanted to!

Also, Louis is totally on again. I had to tell him again I wasn’t about to have sex in the bathrooms at work. Apparently he wants it so bad he wants to come to my house again. Last time we’d talked about it, he found it awkward. Guess something is eating him. I cancelled on him for last week though. Not sure if I want to do that whole thing again.

Look at me! Being such a good girl.