(…Continued from last post’s mental jerk-off)
Case Number Two.
Meet: the beach bum. I met this loser during a season in my life where I went to the beach almost every day, for no reason, and just lie there soaking up some sun and eyeing the very meager selection of attractive specimens. I just didn’t feel like being home all afternoon after classes.
There were always only a couple of cute lookin’ gringos, the rest of the men there looked like they came straight out of a construction site. And they wouldn’t stop staring at me. The horror.
One day I see this tanned, dark-haired guy with spiky hair and huge sunglasses lying in a beach chair staring at me. I stare back to see how long he could stand just oogling at me like an idiot, until I see him moving his head to the side as if saying "c’mere, I don’t bite". I didn’t quite know if he meant for me to go to him or that he was suffering a horrible neck spasm, so I ignored him. Later on, I decided to get off my ass and take a walk, and the guy is still staring at me. I said "what the hell, he’s kind of cute", and asked him for a lighter. He said "only if you sit down and smoke with me…"
Several weeks later we were going out as a couple. Shortly after we started dating, he lost his job. It was no big deal, he pulled off living for a few weeks with his savings. Some time later, he tells me he landed a job as a theater producer in a new play, which, he said, is one of the most demanding jobs there is. I didn’t pay any mind to this comment until he actually started working. He left early morning and worked close to 12 hours, every day. Every single time I visited him, he was incredibly tired, or pissed off about something from work, or just plain disconnected from reality. Oh yeah, he was also an avid pot smoker, which I didn’t mind, since he never did it in front of me and respected my no drug policy. Not only that, when we had sex, he had to sniff poppers to let himself be taken. (gee, that sounded so poetic and polite. Since the people who read this are none of those two, what i meant to say was let himself get fucked up the ass. There.) He said that it helped him absorb the shock and discomfort of doing anal. I thought he was just a fucking idiot. Poppers? How undeniably gay.
When we went out, he looked so spent, so tired, that I didn’t even entice him to any intimate encounters anymore, afraid of him dropping dead from exhaution. I only went to his house once or twice a week just to watch him sleep during a movie or to hear him bitch about how tired he was. Suddenly the sexy beach dude turned into an anemic old lady.
There was another interesting fact about this MoFo. He still kept a close relationship with his ex-partner of many years. It was like some sort of freakish gay divorce, where they still kept in touch because they had joint custody… of their fucking dogs.
Yes, dogs. This guy was a dog freak. He treated them with more care and affection than he ever showed me. This got to the point that at one time I dropped by his appartment, and he was "babysitting" the dogs for his ex. The little beasts started barking wildly when they saw me, and he just told me: "I”m sorry, they get really nervous with people they don’t know, and if you come in I’m afraid of what they could do, so I can’t let you in today."
What kind of human being disses his partner because of two goddamn canines?
There was nothing I could do and there was no point in making a scene, so I just said a quick goodbye and stormed off. I had a knot in my chest, caused by sheer anger and frustration. I called up my best friend and met him for some coffee, but I sure as hell didn’t tell him about what had happenned. He suspected something was wrong since I wasn’t being quite myself that night, so he asked me several times if I was OK. I just told him things were a bit shaky at home. The last thing I wanted to do was discuss what just happenned with that inconsiderate piece of shit.
What happened that night made me see the light. This bastard doesn’t give a fuck about me, so I should return the sentiment.
I stopped calling him, and it didn’t surprise me that he didn’t call back either.
After a month or so, he finally cracks and calls me back, asking me what was wrong, why did I dissappear.
I told him everything that bothered me about the relationship. The endless work hours, the constant exhaustion, the lack of affection from his part, etc. He just apologized and blamed his work for everything, and said he wanted to invite me to watch a movie and talk.
I agreed. I thought we were going to discuss what went wrong and see if we had a chance of trying to jumpstart what we had (yes, he was cute enough to consider a reconciliation), but nothing could be farther from what happenned. The little dick was as aloof and aimless as ever, talking about his vapid, uninteresting life and his flamingly homosexual friends.
When the date was over, I decided I didn’t want anything to do with this person anymore.
A few months later, I bumped into him in a mall. He was working there, and it was really odd to see him in uniform. At least he didn’t look tired and about to faint.
We talked for a few minutes as if nothing had happenned, and he ended up giving me his phone number again.
Which I never have and never will dial.
The lesson of this day kiddies?
NEVER LOVE YOUR DOG MORE THAN ME.
Ok I’m just fucking with you. I really just wanted to show you one of the few screwed up, flash-in-the-pan, one hit wonder relationships I have been in.
But there is one more. The longest, most elaborate, most deceitful relationship of them all. The reigning King of fucked up partnership in my two and a half decades of life…
But that one’s gonna have to wait till tomorrow.
I’m tired.
Go away.
