I have been used. I used to hang out with this guy. He had a girlfriend who had just left him, and I had a boyfriend who had just left me. We attempted to find some solace in each other’s companies, I suppose.
He was not the kind of guy I would typically find myself going out with. He was the Average Trinidadian male, a creature I found to be as commonplace as implants in a Cinemax porno. And equally boring. He did have a couple of distinctive qualities – he was polite, and he did not try to touch me the first few times we went out. The latter was something I thought amazing.
But when he started touching me, he was deaf to my voiced unwillingness. It started the 3rd Saturday we went out – to his house, actually. He offered me a massage that I accepted, and in accepting, took off my shirt, as he asked. Later he would tell me that he saw my taking off my shirt as an invitation to do more, which was why hands that were supposed to remain on my shoulders and back, ventured further to my chest and under my bra.
I told him to watch his hands, but I was ambivalent. From the very first day, I knew where the supposed “harmless hanging out” was headed, and I was only awaiting this moment. He was boyfriend material, I thought. For once I would actually have a normal relationship. The only unfortunate circumstance was that I was not attracted to him – neither emotionally nor physically. But other than that, a perfectly normal relationship. I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps I saw his politeness, and I saw his mother's affection for me, and I wished to ignore all else.
He fingered me that night, and I gave him a blow job. Neither of us came. And it never got to sex, though I am certain it would have come to that had I let him.
We saw each other very often after that, and each time he would try to touch me. I never initiated a single sexual touch. It was always him. And I always let him. To a point. I told myself that I was leaning towards being his girlfriend, and oh doesn’t this feel so good, because you know it’s been so long. But I would never let it go past certain points. Never complete nudity. Never his penis going anywhere near my vagina, so no sex of course.
He always found it difficult to take no for an answer, and I would always tell him:
“Go slow.”
Go slow, I said.
Go slow, because I am waiting for this emotional attraction to form.
Go slow, because I am anticipating the formation of some sexual connection.
Neither came.
I remained close to my ex, telling him about the new guy, making him jealous, unknowingly leading him to assert his possession of me.
We had sex.
It even came to the point where I would have sex with my ex one day, and the very next I was on the new guy’s bed, getting fingered.
Eventually, partly through my ex’s dissention, and partly through my own feelings, I decided to break it off with the current guy, thinking that if I am reluctant about something, I should not do it all.
The current guy did not take it very well. But after some time, he revealed to me that he had been having sex with his ex. Until then, I had managed to keep the reason of my unwillingness to enter into a relationship with him to my personal feelings, not disclosing my indiscretions with my ex. At that point, however, I saw there was no point in keeping that secret to myself any longer.
Our relationship had been a charade all along. It had been two people, in a pathetic attempt to get over who they loved, jumping into a relationship with someone who they knew to be completely unsuitable for them. It was best to put such a sorry state of affairs to an end, but he felt bad.
I thought we could still be friends. We were both guilty of infidelity, of untruthfulness. We would look back at this one day and laugh.
But he felt bad.
And then one night, while talking to me online, completely unprovoked, he told me:
“I can’t believe you were sucking my dick after 2 weeks.”
Among other things.
I was confused. How is one to feel, after being endlessly tempted, ceaselessly persuaded to indulge in something, then after indulging to a point, and finally ending the sordid ordeal, to have everything that was done… rubbed in one’s face?
He was telling me I was easy.
He was telling me I was a whore.
He later told me, in what I am certain in his mind amounted to an apology, that he did not mean what he said – he only said to make me feel bad, because when I broke up with him, I had made him “feel bad”. Those were his words.
By that night, I had only decided on my celibacy for a couple of days. But that night solidified my will.
So yes, I have been used.
And for those who do not recognise the events I have just explained. Do you remember JD? Yes. You should.
“Idealism is what precedes experience. Cynicism is what follows.” – David T. Wolf