Jeff was another Tinder find. The bio on his profile amused me; something sarcastic about being a brooding artist, and a fixer-upper (that last part was true). The language he used implied an intelligence level I find attractive, and we matched. He sent me a message right away, asking if I’d be interested in meeting. I told him I prefer to chit chat a little bit before making plans – if we can’t maintain a conversation through texting, I don’t want it. So we texted, then we called, then we had really intense phone sex. I agreed to meet him.
He tried to flake on our first date, saying he was having issues with his mother showing up out of the blue from Texas, he was in a bad mood. I told him I was coming anyway, I’d cheer him up. I was terrified of driving to Tulsa, had only done it once before, a week prior – to visit a very close friend in the ICU a couple of days before she died. I just knew it was going to be a good time, the chemistry even before we met was FIRE. And I could really use some cheering up, myself.
It was early July, and already swelteringly hot. I wore a sleeveless romper, fixed my hair and my face, got in my car, and braved the summer evening traffic. He lives in an area near downtown that has plenty of bars and restaurants. I parked in the lot across the street from his apartment and took a deep breath. I called to let him know I had arrived, and started walking towards the bar where he was waiting for me. Except I couldn’t find my way out of the parking lot, so I just walked in a big circle until he called me and told me he was behind me. Smooooth.
I turned and saw him, holy shit, I thought. He was beautiful. We immediately made out in the middle of that confusing parking lot. He took my hand and we walked to the bar. We were the only ones there. We spent the next three hours sitting on the patio together. Talking, drinking, and chain smoking. We never stopped touching for a single moment. I loved his hands. A man named Mad Dog came in, selling roses – Jeff bought me the one sunflower in the basket. The atmosphere the entire time was absolutely electric. The conversation flowed, we laughed, we kissed, and kissed some more. I texted my friend, ‘I adore this man immediately.’
Finally, he asked if I’d like to go to his place. YES I WOULD. We walked across that parking lot, into his building, and up the stairs. He was behind me, he grabbed my ass and I heard him say ‘My GOD.’ He opened the door and whispered to me to go straight to the bedroom, we didn’t even stop to turn on lights; undressing each other and leaving a trail of clothes, and my sunflower, on the floor all the way from door to bed.
It turned out he had had too much alcohol and Adderall that day to be capable of an erection. It didn’t matter, we fucked regardless. It was intense, rough, passionate, loud, messy. All of the things. We told each other we were in love. His bed had no sheets on it, and was under a window with a gorgeous view of downtown, there were no window coverings. We opened the window, lay side by side and looked out at the lights while we smoked and talked and touched. His eyes looked so beautiful in the darkness. He begged me to stay the night, I told him I couldn’t. I told him I would see him again soon. He told me he loved me, I said I loved him too. I got dressed and kissed him goodbye, leaving him exposed and snoring on his equally naked mattress. I forgot my earrings, still on his windowsill.
Over the following days he made and canceled plans with me several times. Eventually he confessed he was struggling with my marital status. He wanted me to be his person, not my husband’s. He didn’t know how it would work. I suggested we meet and talk about it in person, he agreed, and he promised he would not flake on me again.
Surprise, he ghosted. I called, I texted, I left two voicemails. No response. He blocked my number.
I want to preface this next section by explaining that I have never in my life begged a man for his attention. But that’s exactly what I did here. I sent messages on Facebook and Instagram. I begged and pleaded. I texted from a web-generated phone number. He told me to stop. I couldn’t sleep, I cried, I dreamed about him. After three weeks of this unrecognizable, hideous nonsense, I showed up drunk outside his apartment, back in that fucking parking lot. I begged him one last time to see me. He wasn’t home and he told me not to contact him again. A fair response, I felt. I sent one more message, the following day, to apologize for my behavior and to assure him that it would be the last time he would hear from me – and it was.
But it would not be the last time I would hear from Jeff.
To be continued.
Fat and Slutty 