(Warning: The post is going to tread the waters of irritated, swim into the rivers of snarly, and dive momentarily into the depths of anger.)
There was a night, a couple months back, that deserves some dissecting.
Dissecting on why I stayed versus left. Dissecting on why this happened or that happened or just how far up the asshole scale this guy gets to be placed.
But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
I haven’t said much about myself, in the sense of, what do I do for my job, or what did I study in school, or where do I live now, etc. etc. I haven’t planned to go too in depth in these things, for the sake of anonymity. (I am paranoid as fuck.)
But I think it’s safe(ish) to say I’m pursuing a career in the arts. I have a mentor, for lack of a better word, who keeps trying to remind me that he has gone through this path, that he has seen x and y mistakes, that I need to do a and b to take care of myself, and that I need to be patient as FUCK because this is a process and a journey.
He can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is older and wiser than me, and that the knowledge he has because of this will help me, and I can choose to ignore it, but it would be a dumb ass decision. He has not used the phrase ‘older and wiser,’ but, it has been implied.
What does that have to do with the asshole to outdo all assholes?
The guy messaged me online. He didn’t light my fire, but seemed decent enough. Worth a shot, anyways. He called me. I had some concerns, he assuaged them. We decided to meet for drinks.
I usually have rules for these nights. We meet for drinks, that’s it. No sex, not on a first meeting. We meet on neutral territory. We go, we sit, we talk. We get to know each other. Is there chemistry? Is there a spark? Is it worth pursuing further, taking to a place behind closed doors?
I’ve broken this rule twice now.
One guy was worth it. One was not.
In general, I go between studios and home and that’s about it. I know some bars, not a lot. I told him to pick a bar near his work, because I didn’t know the area. He gave me the address.
The address was his apartment building.
I was pissed, and left. He explained he wanted to find a central point to meet, (which couldn’t have been a bar, why?) and I said I was trying to find one. We wandered, missing each other, finally found each other. I was freezing and annoyed. He found a place for me to sit down and eat, get a cocktail, warm up. We started chatting. Again, he was nice enough. The conversation flowed easily enough. I’d had better first encounters, but I’d certainly had worse.
I may go into more detail on this next bit in another post, because it deals with other shit that went on that night. Suffice to say, I decided to go back to his. We went to a liquour store and picked up wine, and he got me a whiskey he thought I’d like. We went back to his, and he poured an entire glass full of whisky. Enough that if I’d drank it all, I would have probably vomited all over his floor.
We talked for a little while, but then we were alone and he was on me, pawing at me like a horny teenager. He said something about liking my reactions. I said I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have sex that night. He continued to kiss me, trying to touch me, trying to turn me on. He wasn’t entirely bad at the foreplay, but I also was very aware it was my body chemically reacting, versus me enjoying myself because it was him. He let me go for a little while, then came up behind me and pulled down my pants when I was refilling my glass with water.
“I hope you made up your mind, because I sure did.”
I don’t know if anyone else has experienced this sensation, to know that the actions happening to you could be coming from basically anyone and your body would react the same way. To feel the synapses in your brain, the chemicals releasing, and know, yeah, this could be okay, but, this is just a body opposite me, not really a person. It sounds terrible, and dissociative, but, it’s there.
(I also understand that if I hadn’t been in such a state of apathy about it, that his actions could be considered assault. I want to clarify I did consent.)
I didn’t want to take off all my clothes, and he was in too much of a hurry to really care. So we fucked with me still wearing my zip up hoodie and knee socks. It looked like an 80s workout video gone wrong. He couldn’t really get it going, he wanted to flip me over so I had to look at him. Then, he whispered in my ear;
“I want my cum leaking out of you as you’re working,” (He was more specific, you get the idea.)
I couldn’t actually respond to that. I shook my head frantically.
“Not right now,” He said, in one of the most condescending voices I have ever head, “But someday. It’d be so hot.”
I was so dumbstruck. I’d just met this guy. I felt so little towards this guy and he was talking about a future in which we’d be having sex without condoms, where we’d be in a situation where that could even be considered a remote possibility.
He finally rolled off me, and tried to take off my sweater. I told him I was cold.
“Still? After that?” He looked both unconvinced and confused. It was true, I was cold – amazingly the ten minutes of whatever that was had not heated my bones – but I was still not okay with being naked around this guy. I know it’s silly, but somehow being naked meant being vulnerable, and what we’d done didn’t (or at least, not to the same degree) in my brain.
He said something about me freaking out about his comment.
“Well, more than just diseases,” I said, “I’m fucking terrified of getting pregnant.”
“Oh, you’re not on the pill then?”
“No, I have an implant.”
I had to then explain what my specific implant was and what the percentage of failure was, to which he said,
“Oh, so it’s not an issue then.”
“No, it is. It’s a very big issue to me. I do not want kids. It will forever be condoms and my implant until I am old enough for a more permanent solution.”
“That’s a bit extreme.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, can I just say, as someone older and wiser than you, you’ll probably change your mind.”
“Well, I’m just saying, I’ve known women who’ve had a similar mindset and they’ve all changed their minds, it’s just something they do.”
Because I seem to be doing a lot of clarifying today, I am not passing judgement on other women who have kids, change their mind about having kids, or on women who want to have kids. I am passing judgement on those who tell me they know more about my own mind than I do.
So, I stood up from the bed.
“Are you mad?”
“I need to go to the bathroom. And yes.”
I came back out a couple minutes later and he was standing up, waiting for me.
“Don’t be mad.” I didn’t look at him. “Look, I’m just saying that as someone older and wiser than you I know people who have changed their mind and you’ll probably change your mind. You might not. But, just don’t be mad.”
And then he tried to give me a hug and kiss the top of my head.
Ladies, Gentlemen, Non identifying, Goldfish, and Bird People,
Let me say it louder for the people in the back.
DO NOT TELL ME MY OPINIONS ON MY UTERUS.
Do not tell me what they will be, should be, or are.
Do not tell me I will change my mind one day, that I am young, that I won’t have a full life without a screaming infant in my arms.
I am glad my parents wanted kids, obviously. I am happy for all those who want to bring life into this world.
I do not. Therefore, I will not. It is unfair to ask those who do not want to, to do so.
No matter how old or wise you think are, you can keep that opinion to yourself.
Because those that are actually old and wise will never have to say so.