Disclaimer: I am writing this as a two-parter for those of you who frankly don’t care enough about my love life to subject yourself to this much reading. For those of you who do stay the course, I thank you and God help me. Part 2 here: The Fling’s the Thing
It all started about a week ago with a guy I’d been talking to on tinder. We agreed to meet up so he came over and we sat on my terrace drinking wine and chatting. When hunger struck we grabbed a bite, which he willingly paid for, before heading back to my place. We had a great connection, sharing a lot in common and I really enjoyed his company. It seemed only natural that he’d stay the night, which he did, but the next morning I couldn’t help feeling underwhelmed, in all departments if you catch my drift.
As a consultant in town from Boston, he seemed like the perfect candidate for a fun little fling, but if I wasn’t interested in what this fling could offer then what was the point? Despite the okay hookup we kept chatting on and off but I wasn’t sure if I would see him again.
Fast forward to Friday night while out with some people from work. We were having a great time and I was vibing with this guy who I’d always thought was cute. He’d had a girlfriend till about a week prior but was now single so….I’m sure you can see where this is going.
Well, however you think this story ends, you’re probably wrong.
Cut to the next morning after he’d gone home. I recounted the details of the night to Miranda who’d been out with us only to realize they were pretty friggen horrendous. I remembered feeling insulted and uncomfortable a number of times the night before but became increasingly bothered as I spoke the deets out loud… A highlight reel of my night with king of the douchelords:
- We hook up and I immediately get a speech all about how I need to be aware that this was just a hook up, he’d just gotten out of a long term relationship and how I wasn’t to try trap him in something. Uhm excuse me sir? Could you be more patronizing??? You cleeearly know nothing about me because if you did you’d understand that I don’t want anything from you either. But ok, whatever, guys give this speech all the time (as I would soon find out) so I let it slide.
- We continue to hook up and I kiss him – as normal people do – only to be asked why I had done that when we had just clarified that our hookup was strictly physical. This is when I started to say WTF. I am not a prostitute and will absolutely kiss you if you’re in my bed, its part of the package deal. I can separate kissing from emotions and if you can’t then that’s your problem, not mine…Douche.
- And finally, the piece de resistance: he actually tried snapchatting a post-coital pic of me to his friends! And his response to my protests? “Don’t worry; your boobs don’t have to be in it”. WOW, really? Thanks so much, you’re such a great guy!!!
If you can believe it he still had the audacity after all that to tell me that we should keep this between the two of us. Yea, cuz snapchat is a very private and intimate realm…Sorry bud, no can do, this is 100% going on my blog.
I couldn’t believe the rudeness of his behaviour, but you must remember that I was drunk too and ended up making a (BIG) mistake. He slept over – I did ask why the F he’d wanted to given his many rules about what “just a hook up” means – and we ended up hooking up again at 6:30 in the morning. He immediately ducked out to get ready for a noon brunch and….I know, I KNOW! Not only does that reasoning REEK of bullshit but I definitely shouldn’t have hooked up with him again. Uch, I never claimed to be innocent in this story.
Anyway, those are the main points I’m actually willing to share about this experience but let it be known that this isn’t an exhaustive list of his douchebaggey behaviour. Obviously, I was really upset about it the next day, at him but even more so at myself for not having more self-respect. I was used but I had let myself be used and that was a tough pill to swallow.
I ended up moping around for the entire next day, feeling cheap and pretty disappointed in myself until sometime in the afternoon Charlotte mentioned she’d come to a male-related epiphany over a laffa wrap. Well, I couldn’t find any decent middle-eastern food, but I did find some peace after a long walk and a seriously emo playlist, and decided I would just chalk it up to a shitty experience that didn’t have to define me.
I’ll pause here, so if you’re only interested in hearing about one of the worst hook ups of my life then feel free to stop reading. But if you’ve been paying attention and are wondering what happened to Boston Boy I suggest reading on, because my next post is when I stop being a hoe and start getting real. The Real World – Toronto Edition.