Background: The Source of HeartBreak (SoHB) Part 2

The SoHB had a hard time with the breakup. It confounded me. He didn’t seem to value me that greatly when we were together. In all of our eight months as a couple, he took me out on only two dates! Why was he upset now? Fortunately, work sent me to Birmingham for a month, so we had some much needed space. When I returned, I threw myself a 30th birthday party. It was a raging success with one exception. I had hoped that my former crush would attend, and my fantasy of reconciling with him put the SoHB completely out of mind. The crush didn’t show, of course, so I holed up in my room for a spell, crying on The Flirt’s shoulder. Ah, well. Shortly, I was back in the swing of the party. Later, the SoHB found me nearly passed out on the couch with The Flirt. We weren’t cuddling, or even touching, but I recall hearing him swear softly at the sight of us. I feigned sleep. I later announced to the remaining party-goers that I was going to bed. They were welcome to continue as long as they liked … just lock my doors when the last one left. The SoHB is always last to leave a party. He came to my room and sat on my bed. I can’t remember much of our conversation, but there was some discussion of giving it another try.

Two weeks later, it was his birthday. Predictably, his ideal revelry was attending a local event called Beerfest. Also in typical SoHB fashion, he ran about 2 hours late for his own birthday gathering. As I watched him walk toward us, having grown frustrated in waiting for him, I felt absolutely certain that I did NOT want to try again. Having a heart-to-heart in the middle of a crowd would be inappropriate, so I resolved to keep my distance throughout the evening. At one point, after we had enjoyed all the offerings of Beerfest, I found myself cornered in a bar with him and another friend for a length beyond endurance. I had to escape…quickly! Making the excuse of finding the others, I exited to find Rachel* and The Flirt involved in lively conversation. This better fit my mood. I stopped to enjoy their repartee. Within minutes the SoHB burst out of the bar in a huff, mumbling incoherently. He was upset that I had left his company to enjoy The Flirt’s, innocuous as it was. I tried to calm him …reason with him, but I wasn’t going to chase him all over town. He went off on his own, and I didn’t see any more of him that night. I heard from Rachel that when she later chanced upon him, he was livid, alleging there was something going on between The Flirt and me. He was upset with both of us for several weeks. I tried telling the sober SoHB that he had jumped to conclusions, but he was more content playing the role of wronged friend and ex-boyfriend. I decided to give him space. The Flirt and I cooled our flirtation.

In time, the SoHB discovered that nothing came of his suspicions. While I gave him space, I was also ever-present, reminding him that my friendship was still available. Our comradery restored itself, and we returned to our old routine of socializing on weekends with friends at the local pub. The element of romance was hardly missed, except for one brief moment when I thought he might win me back. I walked out of my front door one Sunday to find a single rosebud tucked beneath my windshield wiper. That single token wasn’t enough to sway my decision, but if he continued…

When I questioned him about it the next day, he expressed regret over making such a foolish gesture. He had chased after girls before, and he was resolved to never do it again.

Most of the time, I was proud of how we almost seamlessly flowed out of romance into friendship. I was certain this was how mature people handled breaking up. By November, we were content and secure in our friendship. This was the month that Jeri*, his oldest friend, was married. She had tried setting him up with a co-worker of hers for a while, and finally succeeded by arranging their first date to be at her wedding. When I learned of this, it touched a jealous streak I didn’t know I possessed. I made unsuccessful last-minute attempts to find my own date. I dreaded the blessed day.

If I’d had a date, perhaps I wouldn’t have felt so uncomfortable. The Flirt was there solo, as well. It helped. We more or less kept each other company throughout. It became my aim to unobtrusively observe the SoHB’s behavior with his date. I wondered if he would be attentive to her. I wondered if he would show her the interest of which I suspected I hadn’t been worthy. I felt a mixture of pleasure and dismay that he completely lacked any chivalrous manners. Although I would have been hurt to see him fawn over her, I hated seeing him be so unimpressive. He seemed ignorant of all the courtesies a gentleman pays a lady. I found myself torn between coaxing him to offer her a drink, and secretly being pleased that he hadn’t done so by his own volition.

The newly married couple held an informal party at their home after the reception. (I guess everyone is doing it these days. I’ve been to three weddings where they did this.) Everyone imbibed without restraint. As often occurs, the boys and girls segregated to talk about each other. Conversation was unmemorable until the SoHB’s date left us. Immediately, the conversation turned to the SoHB and his ineptness with women. Jeri had also been trying to urge him in the right direction all night. She turned to another friend and said, “You know, the SoHB and Kwirk dated a few times….” I didn’t react, but it bothered me. We hadn’t just “dated a few times.” We had been involved, but here was his closest friend displaying ignorance of it. At least her input made me feel a bit better that it wasn’t just me. He couldn’t give the appropriate attention to any girl.

We left the party at the same time. On my way home, he called me on my cell phone after dropping off his date. I asked him to come over. We made out for the first time since… I can’t even remember. All the while I insisted that he not take me too seriously. I strove to be completely frank about my mixed up feelings and behavior… that they did not mean I wanted to be with him or keep him from being with someone else. I told him as we lay together that I considered this night a final farewell. It was to be a bittersweet ending.

He continued to date the girl briefly. I don’t know who ended it, but he later told me that he hadn’t been ready yet. I’ve wondered if I unintentionally sabotaged that relationship.

The next several months were spent in a paradox of growing ever more dependent on him while trying to distance myself. Most of the time I felt that he was still too attached, but I recognized a co-dependency in myself, as well. Around the first anniversary of our breakup, I developed a slight crush on The Flirt. For once the SoHB had perfect timing. A little health scare made him take notice of his diet and give sobriety a turn. He also began a religious work-out regimen during his lunch breaks. He turned down all happy hour and lunch invitations. This worked well for me at this point. I had no desire to start a relationship with The Flirt, but I wanted the freedom to show interest in anyone I chose without reservation. Before his sobriety, I had also managed to end his drunken 2AM phone calls and visits to my door. I was moving on.

The summer was always a demanding travel season at my company. I spent most of it on the road. I returned to find The Flirt disinterested in me. He was infatuated with someone else. The SoHB slowly came off of his sobriety, but maintained his diet and exercise. I soon noted that he had completely lost the beer belly and was looking fine in his blue jeans. I found myself attracted to him as never before. I tried distracting myself with The Flirt, but that came to a screeching halt when I found out that he conspicuously disappeared from my Halloween party to have a liaison with a scantily clad Cher. “Cher” was a co-worker with a penchant for flashing her augmented breasts, plus many embarrassing drunken moments. She was someone The Flirt had always claimed to disdain and was smart enough to leave alone. When I learned of his indiscretion with her, my attraction to him evaporated… poof! ... Gone. The only desirable person left was the SoHB.

It started gradually, insidiously. Shivers ran through me when he passed my desk at work. I found myself missing those early morning phone calls and visits. If he participated in an event, I wanted to be there. I might skip it if he wasn’t. I wanted his attention in spite of myself. I defied caution to receive it. We again became so tightly entangled, I began to fear what might happen if one of us became involved with someone. I began to fear what might happen to me.

I took inventory, sifting through all of my options. While The Flirt possessed a certain sex appeal, he was wholly unsuitable. While I was exposed to men of confidence, charm, and ambition, no one could tug at my heart like the SoHB. All paths pointed back to him. He was, without a doubt, my best friend. To him, I divulged my secrets. In him, I trusted more than anyone. I’d found in him the rare quality for which I wished above all else… a gentle spirit. Looking over our history, also, I believed our struggles might have made us right for each other. I realized that the divergent issues of religion and politics no longer burdened me. I saw that in our dating relationship, both of us had been on the rebound. Those past heartaches were finally healed. Lastly, my physical attraction to him was stronger than I ever thought possible.

These thoughts plagued me as I reconsidered the state of our relationship. There were still significant doubts. I couldn’t escape my concern over his drinking. I also feared that a renewed romance was doomed, and this time, a friendship wouldn’t arise from the ashes. But, I doubted our friendship could survive anyway if one of us found someone. One fateful night in late December, the fear became a reality.

We had our typical Friday night happy hour, this time with a few different faces. The only regulars from our illustrious crew were the SoHB and I, together as always. When the restaurant started closing around midnight, the SoHB, our co-worker, Janeice*, and I were the only ones remaining. They were not ready to end the evening. I, however, had resolved to drink and party less. I felt it had spun out of control over the last couple of months. The SoHB had friends who called him from a nearby bar. He wanted to join them. If anything could dissuade me further, that was it. There was a long, complicated history between a certain friend of his and my family. I knew him before I met the SoHB and never cared for him. The SoHB knew this and had never pressured me to spend time with that friend until this night. He was petulant that I wouldn’t consider joining them. I didn’t understand how he could expect it of me. He knew how uncomfortable that person made me. Besides, I reasoned, I wasn’t his girlfriend.

Janeice told the SoHB to wait outside. She wanted to talk to me for a minute. When he stood to walk away, he glared at me in such a manner I hadn’t seen since the night of Beerfest. I was puzzled. Why didn’t he understand? Janeice looked me in the eye and said, “Don’t you see what this means to him? Don’t you see what this is? It’s a test. He’s testing you to see how much you care. C’mon and go. What will it hurt? It will make him feel better.”

I studied the carpet and shook my head in bemusement. My mind flooded with thoughts. A test?!! How many times had he failed me? …And at nothing so difficult as what he was asking. What made him think he could ask anything of me… require this sort of thing from me? We weren’t a couple. It might get confusing sometimes, but we weren’t. Besides, it wasn’t all about his friend. I had resolved to not stay out late. I was trying to look out for myself. He should understand. He would have to deal with it.

I shook my head and said, “I can’t, Janeice. I just can’t.”

He sat in his car waiting for Janeice. He barely glanced at us approaching. I told him I was sorry, but I couldn’t go. He nodded, saying that he understood… that it was okay, but there was something about his demeanor that was not okay. Something … defeated. I hesitated, but he had said it was all right. I went home. Much later, I learned that after meeting his friends, at his third bar of the night, he met an old acquaintance. Things began to change drastically.

***TO BE CONTINUED***

*=Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.

Background: The Source of HeartBreak (SoHB) Part 1

I notice that I’ve been remiss in telling the whole story of the SoHB and why he is who he is. Let me correct that here.

We met four years ago, working at the same company but in different departments. I noticed him around. Thought he was kind of cute, but was interested in someone else at the time, and he had a girlfriend. As new employees, neither of us socialized much with co-workers, so our paths never crossed in that setting. Months passed. My crush on that other person developed, became serious, but was dashed once he realized how interested I really was. I was crushed… heartbroken. He dropped me like a dirty dish rag, without a word, and I had believed him to be a friend first. I always thought he cared enough about my feelings and respected my friendship enough that he would talk to me, tell me if I’d come to the wrong conclusion. Instead, I had to discover my loss slowly, and it wasn’t just the loss of a crush. I lost a friend, too. I was an emotional wreck. At precisely the same time, the SoHB had his own heartbreak. His girlfriend of two years dumped him. I remember him coming in to work one day with two black eyes. He had encountered her at a bar after the breakup and was so upset that he banged his head against the wall until this result.

I know. What a gleeming gem he is, right?

Not long after we had endured these respective traumas, our company asked us to work on a project together for that year’s conference. We both have theater backgrounds and were the obvious choices for putting together a little production. Thus, we were thrown together to plot and plan, toil and gripe. As the conference deadlines approached, we spent more time together. I thought I noticed something in his eyes… a spark of interest beyond work, beyond friendliness. It intrigued me. I thought him nice, but perhaps a bit too timid for my taste. On the other hand, there was The Flirt, with whom I became better acquainted through the SoHB. They worked in the same department and frequented the local bars together. He was tall, cocky, moderately attractive, and flirted deliciously. It’s all harmless, and one knows not to take it seriously, but he makes a girl feel noticed. I recall looking at the two of them standing side by side several times and wondering which one I would rather date.

A pivotal point came at a mutual friend’s wedding. She made a huge weekend-long event out of it with a party after the rehearsal dinner (everyone invited) and a massive sit-down dinner reception including all the alcohol you could want, a band, and a dance floor. It was the first time I spent socially with both the SoHB and The Flirt. I’ll never forget the SoHB taking me out on the dance floor near the end of the reception. I could almost feel his eyes burning into me. I was impressed by his apparent interest in me, but a little uncomfortable that I couldn’t return it… not to the degree given. (A little piece of irony is that much later I learned he doesn’t remember that night very well, and it is the only time I have ever seen him dance.)

After the wedding, we started socializing outside of work, but always in a group. There were four of us who hung out at the local pizza joint every Friday night, drinking beer and shooting the breeze. Sometimes, a few extra would join us. I never drank much before this point. Two or three times a year I would get drunk at a party. Otherwise, I would have the rare cocktail when out to dinner. Drinking was not a part of my lifestyle, and I didn’t want it to be. I loved hanging out with those guys, though. I finally acquired a taste for beer at the ripe old age of 29. In the meantime, the SoHB and I were also building up quite a rapport through IM. It was at the wedding I had made my decision. He was the one I wanted.

I was pleased to invite all of my new friends from work to a gay college friend’s Halloween party that year. He always gives great parties. They have a tendency of getting a little wild. The SoHB and The Flirt were among my guests. Everyone seemed to be intimidated initially, but ended up having fun. The Flirt had the dilemma of being hit on by gay guys, but he handled it superbly. In the end, the SoHB and I were nearly the only ones left standing. All of our friends had deserted us. It was then, as we stood out on the front porch of my friend’s house, that he kissed me. It was just like a routine I heard Chris Rock perform once. He kissed me mid-sentence. I had actually given up on it. I thought the moment had passed. We were a couple from then on. After our regular nights out with friends, he would walk me to my car and kiss me passionately. We would wait until the others were gone or unable to see. I was worried about dealing with office gossip if we were open about it initially. This went on for a couple of weeks. He was obviously interested. It wasn’t a fling. We never did anything more than kiss. I waited for him to ask me out on a date, but he never did. I finally asked him in an IM conversation when he was going to ask me out, so we then went on our first date.

By the end of January, I had begun having doubts. I went into the relationship knowing we were at opposite ends of the spectrum on vital issues. I’m a Christian who values faith as the most important element in my life. He’s a Jewish atheist who alters from denying God’s existence when sober to condemning God when drunk. I’ll admit I thought I could save him. He’s a political liberal. I’m conservative. One of my core values is conserving sex for marriage. He’s lived with a couple of girlfriends. (When he learned of my conviction, he downplayed it saying sex wasn’t that big of a deal… and he never pressured me in any way.) Never having been around much alcohol, I didn’t realize for a long time how much of a problem he has. I would also feel pangs of jealousy whenever he mentioned his most recent ex-. He didn’t want to go certain places because they had gone there, or he might see her there. I understood to an extent, but I also often felt as though her memory kept him from truly being with me. I couldn’t be too critical, however. My former crush often entered my mind, for he fit my ideal. When I compared the two guys, the SoHB always came up short. But the thing that really made me wary of him wasn’t any of the above. I was concerned about a lack of thoughtfulness that indicated to me a disinterest in me. He passed on several opportunities to meet my family. He passed on accompanying me to events where I needed his support. Valentine’s Day approached, which made me nervous. We had dated long enough to recognize the holiday, but I didn’t feel comfortable with any bold, romantic gestures. About a week beforehand, he asked what I wanted to do for it, but I was relieved to tell him that the company was sending me on the road. I acted disappointed, of course. Actually, I ended up getting the flu and couldn’t go anywhere. February 14th was nearly over when I realized that I hadn’t heard from the SoHB… no romantic gestures, no phone call, nothing. He didn’t even check on how I was feeling. That was the first time I ever cried over him.

Things never got any better, but I held on. Every time I determined that I should break it off, his rare gentleness would renew my hope. I tried distancing myself in order to gain some perspective, and he pulled away in turn. We hardly kissed anymore, but we lingered in this wasteland for months. I felt neglected and turned to The Flirt for attention, hoping it would inspire the SoHB to act. It was a childish tactic better left to high school hallways, but I wanted him to recognize I had options. I wanted him to counter The Flirt's attention to me by escalating his own. One night in late June, he finally reacted, storming out of the room when I showed The Flirt a little attention. I went after him, and we argued in the driveway until dawn. That’s when I did it. It was difficult, but I broke up with him.

One week later, I had to break up with him again. Turns out he was too drunk to remember the first time.

*** TO BE CONTINUED ***

If I had just one tear rolling down your cheek...

My hurt, my anger, has reached its zenith. I will allow no more. I had believed there was something that could be saved, something worth working for. I strove to be heard. I strove to be important to him. I strove to be real. I’ve come to the conclusion that all the times he said that he thought I hated him, he actually hoped…wanted me to hate him. That would make it so much easier to eliminate me from his life. That would make me and all the tender feelings he’s had toward me something of his past that he would no longer have to deal with. It would also enable him to step into the role of victim. “Poor guy. Lost his best friend just because he wanted to find love…” Or, “Poor guy. He’s hated by someone he cares deeply for.” It isn’t that easy, though. I loved him in spite of my hurt. I loved him in spite of the betrayal. I believed in him and the relationship we’d spent three years in building. I believed in his humanity, his gentleness, his good heart. There is nothing more to believe in. Had I mattered in the least, there is no way he would have pulled this stunt. There is no way he would have wanted and created this unfortunate circumstance.

A couple of weeks ago, I learned that a semi-local cover band I love would play this weekend at a nearby venue. My best friend and I discovered them last winter and have since caught every local performance, as well as encouraging our friends to see them. The last time they came to town, the SoHB attended and was impressed with them. (As a side note, I remember him acting a little strangely that night. I now know that he had started seeing his new girlfriend around that time.) A few other friends also came and enjoyed themselves. When I found out they were returning, I sent out an e-mail letting all of those friends, plus the ones who missed them before, know about the performance. The SoHB was a part of the mailing list. I saw no reason to exclude him, although I didn’t anticipate enjoying his company if he came. Originally, he responded that he hoped to go, since he liked them so well, but in an IM conversation last Friday, he said he didn’t know if he’d be able to make it. I’ve been rather hacked off with him lately due to the conversation about what he might have me to do if our roles were reversed. He had promised to think on it, but has, in effect, made no more effort to sustain our friendship than ever. My response to his wavering commitment was to say, “Okay. I won’t look for you.” I felt certain his hesitancy was due to plans with his girlfriend. He’s been more noticeably absent lately. If that was the reason, I certainly didn’t want to see him.

The drama began as soon as we arrived, but it wasn’t my drama. As soon as we approached the bar we saw my best friend’s ex- was there with his friends. It could be the beginning of an awkward evening, but I was proud of Rachel*. She handled it well, considering it was the first time she’d seen him since ending the relationship. He had strung her along much like the SoHB had done with me. She did well, that is, until she learned that her ex- had brought a date. She was poised, but had difficulty composing herself. She was the one who had introduced him to this band. He knew she would be there. It was one thing for him to come at all, but showing up with a girl on his arm knowing how it would hurt her was callous. When another of our friends arrived later, I conferred with her over how we needed to watch over Rachel. She can get volatile when she’s drinking.

The band kicked off to a raring start. They had a much larger crowd than last time. Word must have gotten around. I was disappointed that more of my friends didn’t show, and I hated the situation for Rachel, but we danced and genuinely enjoyed ourselves. It was the first time our other friend had seen this band, so I was pleased to see she was getting into the groove at the very first song. After about an hour, over my shoulder I heard Rachel say something like, “There’s ___. (gasp) Oh my gosh…” I turned to look at him coming in, but knew at her gasp that my worst fear was coming true. In he strides, the SoHB, walking behind his new girlfriend with his hand on her shoulder. I only take a glance, and then move up in the crowd so he won’t pass right in front of me. I act as though I haven’t seen him. I am pretending for the sake of my own enjoyment more than the sake of saving face. I sense he has stopped behind me to greet my friends, and glance over my shoulder to see the back of his. Next thing I know, he has moved on. He didn’t even speak to me, which is good. I didn’t want him to. As soon as he is gone, Rachel approaches and hugs me. I can’t remember what she said as an attempt at comfort. I didn’t want to be comforted. I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, that I hadn’t seen her. I had told him I didn’t want to see her or ever meet her. I wanted to enjoy the band. This was supposed to be our night… mine and Rachel’s night to enjoy.

I found myself zoning out during the songs. I would be dancing, then suddenly realize I had drifted off into my own thoughts. I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t escape the knowledge that he was indeed here and with her. I couldn’t believe he brought her there knowing I would be there and would be hurt. As I thought on it, I became indignant. He had told me he was uncertain about coming. Not only was he aware I would be there, he knew of the performance due to MY e-mail only … due to MY invitation. There was so much cold cruelty about it. I tried putting it out of my mind. I wanted to make it through until the band’s first break. I thought they would never break.

The situation made me tense. I ordered a drink, but ended up handing it to Rachel. I had to go outside, get away from it, for a while. A guy, a sweet Connecticut Yankee, chatted me up while I stood there. It made me feel a little validated. His opener was about how I looked so sad. I didn’t go into my story immediately, but I eventually told him how my ex-boyfriend showed up with his new girlfriend. He fed me lines about how beautiful I was, and how most any guy there would love my attention. Maybe they weren’t lines. He sounded so sincere. I’d like to believe what he said anyway. We parted ways when the band started playing again. Getting away from it had been a wise move, but the tension never truly departed. It was official. My night was ruined. I wanted to leave, but couldn’t allow him that victory.

Later in the evening, I encounter Rachel and Andrew* talking at the bar. Andrew is a friend of Rachel’s ex-boyfriend, a nice guy I had come to know only recently. He lends a sympathetic ear to Rachel’s plight. As I wait at the bar, Rachel and Andrew finish their conversation, and his attention turns to me. This could be awkward. The first time (and last time) we met, we ended up making out in public despite his approaching wedding day. Here he was, friend of Rachel’s ex-boyfriend, accompanied by his new bride. Play it cool, Kwirk. Play it cool. I greet him casually. He, like the Yankee, comments on my sad countenance. I explain that I find myself in the same situation as Rachel. At his request, I point out the offending bloke. I think Andrew may have said something in effort to be soothing or boost my morale. I can’t remember. For when I looked over at the SoHB, I noted his girlfriend had obviously stepped away to the restroom. An idea came to mind. I turn to Andrew and say, “Watch this.” With resolute purpose, I approach the SoHB. He’s unaware of me until I pull out his shirt-front and pour my drink, a whole rum & Coke, down his chest. I don’t see his reaction. I simply turn and walk back to the bar to re-order my drink. I think that wasted rum & Coke was the best money I ever spent.

I thought he would leave immediately out of physical discomfort. I was dismayed that he didn’t. Maybe my stunt had no effect. Maybe my drunken aim had missed its mark. He had been standing. Maybe I poured the drink into the open air between his shirt and chest, so very little actually touched him. As I closed out my tab much later, I stole glances at them. They were closing their tab as well. She went to bar for it. I was surprised and strangely comforted to notice how plain she is. I couldn’t even call her cute. That is surprising for him. At the time, I thought it odd that she would be getting their tab, but I realize today it must have been an effort to save face. He stood with his drenched crotch safely concealed behind their table. I returned to the stage, so I didn’t see them leave. Rachel made out briefly with a 21-year-old, so her night ended well. I just wanted to escape. Everything had been too traumatic. Neither one of us should have driven, but we made it safely back to my house. She stayed over to sleep it off. We cried and huddled together.

I don’t understand why things had to take such a terrible turn in our relationship. I never asked the world of him, just a little consideration. I would have tried remaining friends despite the pain if he had treated me decently. He said he wanted to remain friends, but he obviously didn’t want to make the effort. And my feelings for him have been nothing more than inconvenient to him since he’s been dating this girl, as were his feelings for me when they started dating. I didn’t think I would have to lose him entirely. I’m devastated anew with every nail he drives into the coffin. I’m so devastated to realize that he doesn’t care, not in the least.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.

And the Plot Thickens...

In that last conversation with the SoHB, he referred to an occasion after our breakup in which he became convinced something was going on between me and a close friend of ours. He mentioned how he had been hurt over that incident, but he eventually got over it. (Nothing happened. It was all a product of his own imagination and proven to be such as time passed.) I responded by saying that it wasn't exactly the same thing, and maybe I'll lead him on and then go screw this friend so we could be even. I intended it to be a biting comment. I didn't mean it literally.

Saturday night was a Halloween party at the house of another ex-employee of my ex-company. I knew SoHB wouldn't go. He had another obligation that would detain him until midnight at least. There was a slight chance he might show up. I spent the hours before the party in a dizzying balancing act of mentally preparing to see him but not getting caught up in depending on it. I remember sitting in the floor just before leaving, thinking about how I dreaded going, but dreaded more the idea of isolating myself too much. I need to get out and be normal as much as possible. Being cooped up as much as I have been isn't healthy. So, with low expectations, I went.

My best friend was there. So was the former source of SoHB’s jealousy. He’s a flirt. I’m a flirt. We’ve always been attracted to each other, but never made the slightest attempt to pursue anything while I was dating SoHB, nor while feelings were still raw from our breakup. About six months later, we shared a fleeting kiss on a dance floor. About six months after that, we made out after a party. That was over a year ago. It was all just for thrills. We are too completely opposite in everything vital for us to consider dating. In fact, after we made out, it seemed I lost my mystery for him. He didn’t even flirt with me the same. Recently, however, he has grown a little more forward in flirting with me again. Noting my Halloween costume, he aggressively flirted with me at the party. As a gag, I dressed like a “Girl Gone Wild” from that notorious line of videos. My shirt was pinned up, and I wore a strategically placed black sign reading “CENSORED”. Of course I wore something under the sign, but it was cropped and nude colored, so the effect may have been more shocking than I originally intended. It certainly did get attention, especially from The Flirt. It became his goal of the night to peek behind my sign or convince me to flash him for real. I relished the renewed attention.

Needless to say, after 5 hours of drinking, dancing, and general revelry, everyone was sloshed. Now, I was raised as a nice Baptist girl (No drinking, no smoking, no drugs, no sex.), but as an adult, I determined that alcohol wasn’t so awful a sin, so I drank like the best (or worst) of them. Anyone who drinks knows it will enhance your merriment or help you slide into sadness, depending on how you were predisposed. Well, my merriment was enhanced as long as The Flirt was around to boost my ego, but when he left, I slipped into melancholy. It didn’t help that my best friend was distracted with fending off one of her ex’s, which left me with only my most recent ex- with which to make conversation. I segregated myself for a while hoping I might feel rejuvenated, but it only made me want to escape. I entertained the thought of leaving and dropping by The Flirt’s house on my way home. He’d been gone only a few minutes. Surely I could catch him. Oh, I knew it wasn’t a sound idea, but the more I thought it, the more I liked it, so without a word to anyone, I left the party.

The Flirt didn’t come to the door, but it was unlocked and the lights were on, so surely he was still up. I let myself in and called his name. In my drunkenness, I thought nothing of seeking him out in his bedroom. I had slept over before. Never anything sexual, just crashing after a flamboyant night. At most, all we ever did was cuddle, and that was all I had in mind. I found him asleep in bed. I sat on the bed and woke him, then crawled in fully clothed. I don’t remember well what we talked about, but I remember feeling comforted in my sadness. Then conversation turned to our shared attraction and things that had happened in the past. He told me what he wanted to do right then, which didn’t shock me, but I told him it wouldn’t happen. I’m a woman with certain precise boundaries. No one gets past them. I believe sex is sacred to marriage, and I’m still a virgin. He has known this for years. No one has ever pressured me to give up this ideal. His suggestion wasn’t intercourse, but it was definitely beyond my boundaries. I couldn’t let that happen.

I let it happen. Despite this feeling that I have lost my sense of self in allowing it (and through other recent events), I don’t feel guilt or shame, which frightens me a bit. I don’t want this to happen again. I don’t want it to go farther. I have specific reasons for wanting to maintain my boundaries. And yet, I’m so intrigued by the question of what might happen next. He has no significant interest in me, and I have no feelings for him. Still, we know each other very well, and there is a sense of security in that. The thrill of it is very enticing. And I can’t help but remember that night with pleasure. It’s funny. None of it was intended as a revenge against the SoHB (I’m wise to the fact that what I do doesn’t affect him anymore.), but the irony of what I said to him in conversation strikes me. Add to that the fact that it is the third anniversary of our first kiss. It seems just somehow, all the same.