Once upon a time, there was a heartless asshole who used a nice, gentle, and funny person who only wanted to spend some quality time with someone of the opposite sex. But there was no happily ever after for this person, only disappointment and pain. Because that is what assholes do: they only think about themselves and never about the consequences on others. This is no fairy tale. Let me explain…
Coming back to town after this little “trip” to visit The Friend, I needed to change my mind a little and I figured out I could come back to, you know, the real sexual adventures. The adventures I intended to have in order to move on from The Ex, a.k.a. The Original Plan!
(By the way, The Friend is doing as fine as he can considering the situation. He is still in his hometown to take care of everything, but he told me he would be back in town soon; staying in his father’s house is making him too sad… Plus he has to get back to college at some point, even though the whole faculty has been amazing with him.)
Luckily for me, when you become single and openly prepared to meet people, all your friends want to match you with this awesome-crazy-“Oh my God! You’re SO going to LOVE him!” guy they know.
After what happened with The Gamer, I didn’t feel like repeating the experience again—although, to be fair, The Kind-of-Weird-Colleague didn’t actually match us, she just took me with her to a place he was also going to (but when I think about it, it could be all part of a convoluted plan to make sure I wouldn’t say no).
Anyway, let’s just say: matchmaking isn’t my favorite thing.
But when The Best-Friend insisted for the 25th time to arrange a meeting between me and a friend of her cousin (no relation here to The Singer/Lead-Guitarist; it’s another cousin—she has a big family and they just spend too much time with each other), I just couldn’t say no again.
So I met the guy two times. One time we had dinner at a rustic-chic restaurant where ALL the servers looked like urban lumberjacks—with the huge beard, the muscles, and everything. The other time we went for a walk in the oldest part of the city and took a coffee in this cute little European Cafe.
Yeah, I know it looks terribly like a casual dating process, but after what happened with The Gamer, I decided to take things slow and not try to push anything.
Yes, having sex is fun and it is the point of all of my adventures, but it is not the only point. Meeting guys is also the point and dating is also fun. So I just let things go at their natural pace and didn’t force anything.
And my reaction to The Tattooer was so intense that I don’t think there is a risk of the dating turning into emotions. Or, at least, I hope so because I would like a minimum of a month long break between two panic attacks.
But it would be a lie to say that sex isn’t the main point of the whole exercise. So when he invited me to a dinner at his place because he wanted me to see his “incredible culinary talents” (and I’m quoting him here), I was happy to know it was going to happen.
To be totally honest, I was a little curious of the impacts of a dating process before having sexual intercourse. Was it going to make it any better than the basic one-night-stand or not? So it was also an experiment if you will.
Although the result of the said experiment was kind of…
The dinner was amazing (no jokes, he is like a younger version of Jamie Oliver!), but the sex was… bleh. I could hardly explain why. The guy was nice and attentive but… But there was just absolutely no magic.
No fireworks, no devouring passion, no tearing up each other’s clothes or scratching his back in a torrent of pleasure. Just, you know, the physical action of it, like brushing your teeth or getting dressed. Not fun, not unpleasant; it just happened.
And although our dates had been kind of fun, they hadn’t been epic either.
So as I was leaving his apartment that night right after kissing him goodbye (pleading the early morning shift as an excuse so that he wouldn’t be offense), I planned on not seeing him again. And to be honest, a part of me already wondered who would be the next.
“And how does any of that makes him The Asshole?” I hear you asking me.
Don’t worry, The Asshole is on his way.
In the middle of my shift at The Bookstore that morning, I went looking for a book in the back shop. It was so new that it was still in a box and a client was dying to get it to finally know what happened to her favorite character (who could possibly dead! Or just unconscious, which she hoped with all her heart).
While ripping up the box with a knife, I heard sobbings in the far end of the storage, behind a big pile of boxes.
The Too-Nice-Colleague was sitting on the floor, her head on her knees, her face all red and covered with tears.
“Oh, honey… What is it?” I asked her, bending next to her.
“It’s because of that guy I dated… I thought it was really going great, I thought it could really work this time, and he just sent me this.”
She handed me her cell phone then started crying even more.
Here are the last texts he sent her :
I gave it a lot of thought and I think it would be better if we don’t keep on dating
“Oh… I’m sorry…” I told her, but she didn’t even seem to hear me.
I heard footsteps behind me and saw The Kind-Of-Weird-Colleague appearing on my side. Surely, she had been alert by the crying too. Before she asked anything, I handed her the cell phone.
“Jerkface,” she said. “Let me guess, you finally had sex with him?”
The Too-Nice-Colleague responded with a louder sob that sounded a bit like a positive answer.
“And he never mentioned he just wanted sex out of you?” asked The Kind-Of-Weird-Colleague.
This time, the sob sounded more like a negative one. At least, there was an “N” in it.
“You… You really… think he only wanted… sex?” The Too-Nice-Colleague managed to say between two sobs.
“Come on. Isn’t that a good enough proof for you?” said The Kind-Of-Weird-Colleague, showing her her cell phone. “Plus you said the dates were going great.”
From this moment, I stopped listening to them. I was sort of petrified in place. I’m sure I had a horror movie look on my face.
If this guy was an asshole for acting like that, did it mean that… I was an asshole too?
Because if I were being really honest with myself, what the guy did to The Too-Nice-Colleague seemed horribly like what I was currently doing to the friend of The Best-Friend’s cousin.
I had never tell him that I didn’t want to date him in a conventional way, to see if we could possibly be a couple. Yes, I wanted to know him and try my hand at dating. But my ultimate goal was to have sex with him.
And thinking back of our dates, he did say a couple of times things like “I think it’s faith, [The Best-Friend] introducing us” and “I was completely searching for a girl like you without even knowing it”. And I didn’t answer ANYTHING to make him understand that we weren’t on the same page! I just smiled and nodded!
I was horrified by myself when I thought I could be responsible for making someone feel like The Too-Nice-Colleague was feeling right now.
So after my shift, in the bus to The University, I texted The Friend, explaining him the situation and asking him if he thought I was an asshole. After all, he was practically an expert in the domain. His answer, at least, had the quality of being honest :
Of course you are!
Rule #1 of the promiscuous life : always make your intentions clear
Most of the time your partner will not believe it and will still think you’re really dating, but at least they knew what they were getting into
That’s the only way to prevent yourself from being the asshole you’re right now 😉
So in absolute panic, I called the guy and I asked him to meet me that very night (no texting this time, it was way too rude; I had already done it one time and felt enough bad about it…).
I explained him the whole situation, from my intentions to what my colleague had made me realize. And I apologized about a million times during the whole conversation, saying that I should have been honest from the beginning. Letting him believe we could become a couple someday was wrong. I also promise him that I wouldn’t make the same mistake ever again.
He didn’t cry (God, how do I love behind a heterosexual girl!), but he seemed upset. He left without even saying goodbye. In fact, I think the only thing he said to me during the whole conversation was:
“Yeah, you really are an asshole.”
And The Best-Friend didn’t make any comments when I told her how the matchmaking had turned out, but she did me her famous reproaching look, shaking her head.
So there it is! I’m The Asshole! But I plan on never being one again. Feels way to bad…
Tell me in the comments!
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