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.