This is the tale of my most disastrous love affair. If you can call it that. So I'm seeing this guy. We'll call him...Billy.
So, Billy was in a metal band, beard, long hair, hairy chest and barrel chested. Totes my style. We saw each other for a few weeks, hung out endlessly. He asked me not to sleep with anyone else. I thought that was a bit odd considering we weren't dating but hey, I figure maybe he'll ask me out?
Originally he had expressed concerns about me being "fet friendly" (read; a full time submissive). This was still when I was halfway in denial about my kink status and said "no problem, I'll put a hold on it."
He wanted to hang out. Now keep in mind; I don't cook. Ever. I barely even clean. I'm a lazy princess for sure. To each their own. When he agreed to pick me up for a date, I went the full nine. Spent an hour getting ready. Bought the food myself. Made him salad, spaghetti, wine, it was damn good if I say so.
He waits three bites into dinner, looks at me and says "Hey, we should talk."
Oh lawdy. Those dreaded words.
So, he asks me to discuss my uh "bdsm choices". "Oh, don't worry about it, " I say, naively. "I've decided I don't care about that so you don't have to worry.'
"Oh no", he says "I mean I don't want to continue this."
I stop. Really, here the middle of dinner? I've had five bites of spaghetti.
"Are...are you breaking up with me?"
"Well," He starts, "it's not really breaking up because we were never technically dating."
Ouch. He likes to go below the belt.And you know, asking people to be exclusively then ending things a week later saying you weren't "technically" dating is not mixed signals. At all. /s
"Okay," I posit, "ending things, whatever. Why did you wait until the middle of dinner?"
Why did he wait til the middle of dinner? What follows are some of the most painful words I've ever felt.
"Because I was hungry.'
Hungry, ladies and gentleman. Hungry. He waited until li'l ole lazy me made a delicious dinner and waited until the middle of it, because, you know, hunger.
So I did what any self respecting woman would do--I grabbed the wine, went in the bathroom and cried. And what did this lovely piece of man meat do? He finished dinner. That I had made.
He starts realizing after half an hour of me crying rather shamelessly this was probably a shitty way to "end things", so his original offer of letting me sleep on the couch slowly turns into more and more desperate pleas asking if I had anywhere to go.
I asked him to drop me off at my friend Dominic's, because, and I quote, "I thought I was getting laid tonight so I may as well go get some dick and a booty call."
"Well I guess I had that coming", he says.
I pack up my things, being sure to finish both my wine and his before I leave.
So of course me not having a car at this point, I have to sit in there with him for the twenty-thirty minutes of dreadful awkward silence and stilted conversation it takes to go to Dom's house. Of course I try to make up and say, "Listen, I know things didn't work out, it's nothing personal. You're not an asshole. I just haven't been attracted to anyone this way in a while." Muscular metalheads with jobs are hard to come by.
So he says, "Oh because I'm so sexy?" Trying to lighten the mood.
In my infinite wisdom I say, "Too bad your dick is small." It was, folks. It was nary a clitoris. It was the only mark of negativity on an otherwise handsome man.
So, I left. And that is the story of why you shouldn't ask a bitch to be exclusive if you have no intention of dating her, and why the next time somebody breaks up in the middle of dinner I'm finishing my goddamn meal.
Oh, I packed up my spaghetti and took it with me. That dick doesn't want my pussy, he sure as fuck ain't getting my leftovers.
