I don’t ask to be loved despite my flaws.
I don’t ask that anyone love me at all.
When it happens, I am grateful. When it doesn’t, I get over it. I know I’m not the only woman in the world or the prettiest. I won’t even tell a guy that nobody will love him better or more than me. Hey, someone might. If he can do better, I wish him whatever will make him happy. I can take not being whatever enough is for someone.
All I ask is that people not fuck with me. That’s it. Just don’t mess with my head or play games with me. Don’t lie to me about what I am to you or try to make weird arrangements to keep me around if I mean nothing to you. Just one simple thing: don’t abuse my trust. Because I appear to some to be an easy target, this request doesn’t seem to have much gravity, and this is when important life lessons must be taught.
It has been a long time since my last text post. This is mainly because I wasn’t sure exactly how to articulate what happened to me. When last I wrote here I was catching feelings for someone who felt like destiny, and maybe he was in a way. Maybe it was his destiny to come into my life to teach me that there was a certain part of myself that needed to die.
It’s related to my having been a fan of The Addams Family since early childhood. This is one of the things that fueled my fascination with “the dark arts”, Goth, and BDSM. I especially liked Uncle Fester who may or may not have been blood related. In my little pubescent fantasy world, I was a grown up Wednesday who convinced dear Fester to try on a pair of old shackles. This later morphed into the Genevieve character who I imagined was made of his beloved blunderbuss in a spell woven by Abigail.
In any case, I thought I’d met my Fester. Indeed, this is his actual nickname. I would stare at him, fascinated, KNOWING this was going to be…but alas, it was not to be. In fact, one fateful night when we met at one of my local pubs, he explained to me over a couple of hours, why I should accept a new skool “friends with benefits” arrangement.
My inner fantasy Genevieve was disappointed. I explained that bitches have an expiration date, and that he’d used up his time. Then he told me that he had had sex with another woman. No big deal…but then he began to compare her to me. She is skinner, taller, and was on some national rowing team when she was in Russia. This was when Genevieve re formed into Wednesday and the lesson began.
What kept me from shutting down and simply not speaking to him anymore at that point is that he continued trying to convince me that I was somehow wrong for not being okay with repeatedly going back to old dick who doesn’t love me. He implied that I have nothing better to do and that I’m being unreasonable. I explained to him that for me, sex is either an antidepressant or an expression of love. Since he has taken the casual position, then since the novelty is worn off, it’s time for him to move out of the way for someone else to provide enzymes or love.
His tone was that of amusement, which is what I expected. So I broke it down very bluntly and explained that being years younger than me, short, and skinny, he wasn’t exactly my first thought when I think of what hot means either. If there are no emotions involved, and we’re talking raw sexual pleasure, I would get more from someone older, taller (on account of positioning), and more thickly built and muscular…like the guy sitting next to him.
There was a fine man in his 40’s sitting next to him. Indeed, he was hot and had that sort of James Bond-ish smile. His eyes indicated a worldliness and comfort with self that I find extremely attractive. Yes…this is the stuff. Bonus, he is from somewhere they generally don’t circumcise, so I was looking at a nice thick bundle of good times to be had by all.
Fester did not take me seriously, and continued trying to explain how he wasn’t acting like a bitch, and that I was being too rigid and harsh. So I tried a different angle of explanation, and explained that FWB is where every sheep I’ve met in Israel tries to place me so they can keep their options open. They don’t believe in romantic relationships with me, but they believe when they meet a nice Jewish girl or nice Arab girl or whatever. Then he basically tells me I’m a psychopath for seeing the difference between independent thinkers and the socially dependent…but somehow he’s not a psychopath for trying to wage an extended hookup.
Anyway, just with the eyes and from what the guy sitting next to him was overhearing, the game was already over. Fester took a bathroom break, and within the minute he was gone, I seduced the Bond guy. When he returned from the bathroom, I introduced them.
The stupidest conversation I have ever been subjected to in my life then picked up and continued for some time. At some point I lost patience, and had to just flat out tell Fester that if all he was there to do is tell me that I’m not good enough for him, he should just fuck off. He had told me about many of his ex girlfriends before, and referred to them as girlfriends…but then when it comes to me, he doesn’t believe in romantic relationships. Right. Fuck off.
So finally he did leave, and a good time was had by all.
…but because I must be the stupidest woman on Earth, it wasn’t quite over. Oh no. We decided to maybe give it another shot, and that he’d take some time to think. Well, he took his time, and I got the message. So then one night, I’m at the pub, and he shows up looking a bit strung out and drunk, and tells me he just wants to be my friend. I felt so dumb I could barely speak. The next day I sent him a message that basically said I’m not happy with the consolation prize, and will need some time to get my head on straight.
Of course, he hadn’t hurt me enough already, and one night I’m sitting in the pub with my friends, and he, who lives in a different neighborhood, and had no other reason to be there, brings his new bitch to try to make me jealous. Indeed, she was skinnier than me, but far from the model of fitness he’d sold her to be. Bonus, she was greasy and had a greenish yellow zombie pallor.
One of my friends, a southern friend said, “I got your back.” I could take them both on my own, but it was very cool to know that I wasn’t just seeing through jealousy filters or something.
Fester and his new bitch waited until after sunrise to leave, as if this would help. When they did, I took the drama outside and told him what I thought of his little stunt. I was not merciful. Then I came back in and drank until the laughter was genuine.
I was pretty messed up, but trying to keep a brave face. A bit over a week later, Fester posted that he was in the hospital. He’d developed swelling of the heart the day after our little talking to. Poetic, to be sure, but I didn’t actually want him dead, so I sent my wishes for his recovery.
We’re on speaking terms somewhat, but well…some things have changed. After him, I got some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten on relationships from Diva. He explained to me what my standards should be and why.
Some of you from a blog I frequented have seen my writings on the fact that I only seem to attract bad-ass because these are the only guys who can see me as feminine. Well, in the case of Fester, my childhood girlish fantasy let me forget this important principle. Love is love, but in lust, if I allow myself to allow relatively girly men to get near me, it is always going to end badly because they don’t feel protective of me.
They’re going to be dishonest with me or try to downgrade me or do something else stupid because they don’t know how else to be with me. They know they’re outgunned on a few levels. If they’ve never had to really fight or struggle, they’re at a psychological disadvantage. If they can’t physically handle me then it’s like Lesbian sex for both of us, which is great with a girl but not really what either is looking for in the opposite sex.
I described sex with Fester to Diva, and Diva asked the hard question…to compare him to Purim. Suffice to say, technical skill is no match for raw power and endurance. I mean, Purim hugs mountains, so I was like divot he could juggle three of without breaking a sweat or dropping a grain of gravel. His mom is an awesome, strong, and sturdy woman, and his family has been laughing at the face of Death since before he was born.
So it’s the five minutes of alpha thing. A fling with someone who is actually male compared to me is less of a heartbreaking, ego bruising situation than weeks with a relative girly man who has to make up all kinds of weird arrangements to avoid either just fucking or just being in a relationship. There it is. I’m hypergamous.
Much like the bitch epiphany, this has shifted my outlook a bit. Now I don’t even look at anybody with a hint of intimidated. I flirt by basically glaring at a dude like I’m sizing him up for a fight. It works…so far anyway.
Both my husbands have been bad ass. Shai just recently went out to confront some great big wild pigs who live in our area and got up into our yard and balcony…among them, a mama and her pups. Steve would do that. All my ex boyfriends who were actually boyfriends would do that. Purim would do that. Bond would do that. Most of my platonic male friends would do that. Fester? would call the municipality and let them tear up the place until morning. Well, Fester before the facing of his mortality would have taken the safer road. I don’t know about now. I can’t say that I care.
I do care for him, but not the same way. I understand that he was right, and we are better as friends. We’re just not romantically compatible, and with certain pretentiousness he was prone to, even a platonic friendship would have been kind of stressed.
When I was a little girl, all men seemed big to me. So I could afford fantasies of a gentle tinkerer with cool machines and magic fingers. As things are now, having beat up two guys and scared the crap out of a few security guards a bit over a week ago, it’s time for me to face the fact that I am indeed a warpig. There is no getting around it. In positioning himself for casual use I was not supposed to take seriously at all or be subject to at all, he was more in touch with the reality of the situation than me.
I’m sure he sees it as me not being good enough for him, and if good means feminine, then yes this is true. I could not be weaker than I am or less experienced in life or combat than I am. I could not un-know what I know, or un-see what I’ve seen. I can’t un-be what I am, and that is a tough broad who will fuck your shit up if you fuck with me or my loved ones. It’s just who I am. The proper man for me in any sexual and romantic situation is someone who doesn’t see toughness as masculine.
I might have found someone. We’ll see how it goes. Either way, I’m not all twisted up this time. At least I didn’t demean myself with someone who sees me as a boy with boobs.