I placed a personal ad … wanting to meet a nice, normal, smart, funny guy. I get a response. Actually I get several. But one stands out. He’s funny as hell. It doesn’t take long and we start the “dance”: Emails back and forth. Online chatting. Texting. The phone. The face-to-face.
We met on a walk. We picked a random street and said we would start walking towards each other and we would just run into each other. We would know. We did. It was fun. We walked a lot that day. Talking. Laughing. We didn’t want to go back home. We didn’t kiss but on my way home, I got a text message—he really liked my mouth and he can’t wait to kiss me. He just thought I should know that. Good to know.
I hadn’t been in a relationship in years. And by years, I mean, years. I was overdue. We made plans—I was picking him up after work and we’d find a place to hang for awhile. We found a quiet spot and ended up making out in my car. It was hot. The makeout session—not the car. I’m sure we are on some camera somewhere … being watched by some pervy city worker.
That kissing was enough to get us to the third meeting. It was at a rooftop bar—a gorgeous day. I was so happy. He seemed quite nervous for some reason. Gosh, he was cute. And tall. He does stand-up. Not because he’s tall but because he’s funny. He’s a writer. I’m trying to write. Something. Anything. He wrote a short film. Directed it. It won some kind of award at a local film festival. He’s a really good kisser. I was smitten.
We left the bar and went to a hotel. We had sex. We didn’t really talk. It was not good. He got up, got dressed, hugged me, and left. I sat there on the edge of the bed wondering what in the hell had just happened. I cried. Actually, I sobbed. I was mortified. I never thought I would hear from him again. A few days later, he messaged me. He couldn’t get me out of his head. Huh? He would love to live in my backyard. He’d be happy in a tent. He was engaged. Did I feel the same way about him? Wait, what? Engaged? He wished he had the balls to call off the wedding. What? The conversation concluded with him saying something like “if my relationship with her ended, I would jump off my balcony … and I live on the ninth floor.”
Yep, that would probably do it.
I’m not going to ask the question because it’s all bullshit anyway—about why a guy cheats. Why anyone cheats. There is no reason. No rationale. No excuse. It’s a bad thing. We all have a choice. Period. And, common sense would dictate that I ceased all communication with him. I didn’t. Oh, I didn’t see him again but we would chat. Email. Talk on the phone. Never mentioning the encounter.
I’ve seen his wife. Oh yes, he went through with it. Big wedding. Very fancy. Gorgeous dress. She’s really cute. Has a sweet face. I know all about them—mostly from the links he would send to me about their engagement, their wedding videos, and pictures of their dogs. Here, look at my life. Look at what I have. I’m so happy.
It was getting close to a year since we’d last seen each other (the sex day) and I receive a text message from him:
“Come and meet the puppies.”
I could spend the night … the whole week. She was out of town. He never stopped thinking about that day.
“What day? The rooftop bar / sex day? Why did you think about that? It was awful” Ok, I didn’t say it … but I sure as hell was thinking it.
He couldn’t get me out of his mind. What? Again, common sense would dictate I say no.
I didn’t. I went. I went to their apartment. I wanted to see where he lived. His life with her. The bed where he says they rarely have sex. The bed where we would have sex. I saw the dogs.
The sex was awful. Again. I think it lasted all of about forty-five seconds. No joke. It took me an hour on the train to get there and then after he rolled off, he made it perfectly clear that he wanted me to leave. Some excuse about meeting his friends from his improv group. Well, I guess that meant dinner and a movie was out. I threw on my clothes and left. I didn’t cry this time. I was a combination of mortified and embarrassed. I deserve both. I haven’t heard from him since. I never will.
I did learn that he and his betrothed are moving to the West Coast. If he wants to pursue this whole acting/writing/directing thing, that’s where he should be. They’ll be gone by the end of the summer. It doesn’t matter to me one way or another.
I wasn’t going to say how lucky I am that I’m not her. But I can’t help it, I am lucky. I didn’t want to come across as being an innocent party in all this. I am not. But it’s my cross to bear. I’m bearing it. Barely.
Yes, I’m an idiot. But even after all this; I still deserve a nice, funny, normal, smart and available guy. I do.