When I look back at all the things I've gone through, be it my own doing or not, I get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. All the feelings I had locked away, pushed to the back of my mind, so I could move forward- a perfect example of carrying out baggage.
I wasn't jaded, and perhaps the steady highs and lows of turbulent experiences branded me in such a way that certain things will simply be unforgettable.
This post takes me back to yesteryear, and in a way, it was sort of fun?
Even if the outcome was me being inevitably shattered by the end, there was a gnawing feeling of curiosity that had overcome me at the age of twenty. I wanted to be familiar with it —the free fall, the rush, even the slight satisfaction of gaining somewhat of an upper hand. I wanted to be irresistible, and if this could boost that shimmering limelight I had somehow found myself spotlighted by, why not? So, when I tell you that this was a strange, yet dangerously new feeling… I wasn’t kidding. I suddenly craved to be seen. Sadly enough, like anyone that age, I wanted to be special.
I had been working at a bar on Whyte Ave for nearly five months. Being young, with $105.53 in my bank account, a city transit pass, and a pair of Prada spring heels that I couldn’t afford, likely due to the fast-paced living in the city that captured the essence of being young and carefree. However, semi-decent takeout and labeled clothing seemed to be the norm, as was the nightlife; everyone wanted to let loose after a long day. If you weren’t known or at least made an impression, you got nowhere fast. It was all about who you knew, let alone if they were worth knowing. How I ended up on the scene, meeting the people who would shape my life for both the better and the worse, is still somewhat of a wild story, even to me.
Being young and in the dating scene wasn't entirely all that great. To me, the men out there either wore too much hair gel or cologne. Perhaps a few of them had too many girls on the go. It was a slew of madness of girls wanting to find love, and everything in between.
I had been dating J for maybe a couple of months- 3 at most.
At first, it was fun; he was super sweet, and we had a couple of things in common, e.g., we liked Marvel, went to the same gym, had a mutual friend, and we talked about RHCP albums we liked and disliked.
HOWEVER, little did I know he was a kinkster fiend, who very much enjoyed the idea of bondage, having his own harem, and fulfilling his fetish bucketlist... as well as frequently asking questions about sexual preferences, and he had the temperament of running hot and or cold whenever he was moody.
He once requested during dinner at a nice restaurant, if I could “Recreate a scene” from a movie, From Dusk Till Dawn, where Quentin Tarantino drinks alcohol from Salma Hayeks foot, as she pours a shot of tequila down her leg. I thought he was kidding. Surely he was joking, right?
I will point out that I don't normally get anxious. He made me anxious to the point it was hard to deduce whether he was trying to get a rise out of me, or his poker face was on point. Don’t expect me to read minds, just the room, I am not any good, alas... my acceptance letter to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters will forever be an opportunity I'll never get to have.
Dating him was a rollercoaster ride, with obvious faults and or flags... Take, for instance,
- He wanted to know my work schedule 🚩
- If I weren't staying at his place, he wasn't comfortable with me being at my own... alone. 🚩
- He wanted to see my finances... 🚩
- He would show up at my workplace, with friends, and stay there for hours waiting for my shift to end. 🚩
- He got jealous when I hugged my friends hello, goodbye, or when I congratulated them. 🚩
- He’d watch me eat… not like a casual glance but full on gawk at me. 🚩
Being young is what we've all been through. Knowing what we know now, and doing the opposite is a rite of passage most people have to trek.
Being younger, dating a guy several years older than me (Think late twenties early thirties), I was a nincompoop. Mostly for tolerating that type of behavior and for knowing better because it was obviously toxic.
When I finally decided to break things off, it had been after a topic of Polyamory and how he wanted to try doing so with me. I was already beginning to draw back and distance myself slightly. I of course said, "Not a snowball's chance in hell", and he said, "Okay.. Fine..." The kicker, a certain party, a certain friend of his was having. It was in a nice neighborhood, and I was thinking of being fancy, brought a bottle of white wine to the party. I didn’t realize that very bottle would have been my emotional support wine, because stepping into that house ensured it was staying in my hand. Ever get the feeling that if you leave a drink down somewhere it’s going to get roofied? The theme sort of mimicked Girls Gone Wild, with a variety of ages mingling- J fit right in, me… not so much.
It was “fun” at first. We talked, and I was introduced to a few of his other friends. I had completely ignored/didn't register the giant glass bowl in the front entry with all the fucking keys in it- and was certain a few men and women were being overly flirtatious with me. One older woman, possibly mid-thirties, wanted to know if my breasts were in fact real and if she could cup one, because she "Didn't believe" me.
By 10:00 PM on the dot, the host came around from the hall with the giant glass bowl with all the keys in it, and said with a smirk, "You all know what time it is! Ladies, come pick a key!"
J had brought me to a swinging party... after our discussion on monogamous dating. While shirts were coming off, and people were starting to lock lips... I saw my opening and pulled an Irish Goodbye and slipped out the front door with my bottle of wine in hand. Holding it like a newborn to my chest while sneaking over enemy lines to the bus top.
I left J at the party and wanted to go home... while he was overly chummy with everyone there, I realized that if I played his game it would be at the expense of my own comfort. I wasn't so much hurt as I was disgusted because he really wanted to have his cake and eat it too. I wasn't interested in polyamory, and he knew my feelings on it. He was supposed to have stayed the night at my place, but... I had changed my mind. I locked the deadbolt and used the chain lock so he wouldn't be able to get in.
Later that night, I got a text on my cellphone to come and unlock the door. Not wanting to get out of bed, I decided to call him while he stood outside my apartment.
When he answered, he sounded slightly confused as to why the door wasn't working, because it was doing the opposite of opening up to let him in. I asked, "Did you hook up with anyone there?" he went quiet for a second and said, "It's not a big deal.." then tried to make me the wet-blanket because we're supposed to experience these things together, and how dare I ditch him at a party.
My response to that idiotic statement was pretty groggy and a smidge direct: "Come get your shit in the morning, I am going back to sleep. Don't call me again." To which I set my ringer to mute and rolled over and went back to sleep.
Sorry, J, you're the weakest link, goodbye!
He tried to talk to me a couple of times after that, a couple of drunk-dials to me, and stopping by my job. The bouncer at work prevented him from getting in one evening, he realized I did, in fact, have an ace of my own, and played it wisely so he couldn’t hassle me. Now to figure out how to switch gyms, and whether or not I was traumatized by having a Banger Sister attempting to cup my tit.
I guess this story is one of ick and ew.. and a little, "Awe... shit!
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