Wednesday, October 27, 2010

The Asshole of the Century

For more than two years I developed and nurtured an intimate relationship with a man I now consider the “Asshole of the Century.”  I’m not one to use insults lightly, his is well suited.  We met through mutual friends in a bustling bar.  At first, I gave him as much rope as I give any man.  Jaded by my experiences with Gino and countless others I hadn’t the ability to open myself up willingly.  But with time, he whittled at my efforts, building up a strong wind of persistence against my wall.  Brick by brick I came crumbling down.  He was much older and more experienced.  I was the lamb, one of many in his flock and I fell in love with him unexpectedly. 

Our roles changed, immediately and mercilessly.
My initial reaction was to run but eventually he caught up and overtook the resistant and nubile dove.  As they say, the chase is the most engaging part of the courtship.  I now know this to be true within men.

Once he caught me, I was so eager to believe everything he said that I neglected to pay attention to his actions.  I was in love.  The roles were reversed and I became the pursuer.  A role that I did not particularly enjoy.  Every word he uttered, I believed.  Even when I felt the pang of distrust, I brushed it to the recesses of my mind, eager to believe the fairy tale was true - I had found more than a sugar daddy, a soul mate that I could be with forever.
He gifted to me some of my most precious belongings.  Cars, jewelry, he took me on trips to 5 star resorts.  He was my personal genie, granting all that I wished.  And I loved him for it.  The lifestyle itself was worth sticking around for, but his love was an addiction.

The nagging voice within me could not be quieted, I questioned him, raising my concerns and insisting he fess up, “what’s really going on?” “I feel like you’re hiding something, what is it?”
In the face of my inquisition he held steady, quieting my fears with kisses and unbounded lavishness that pacified me for the time being.  Eventually my fantasy gave way to a reality I never wanted to exist.  Reality was that he was married and had a son.  In fact he had birthed another with his “ex wife” while we were together.

Though I had been suspicious all along, the news cut me like a knife.  For many months I had not the energy to breathe a word to him directly.  Pain consumed me. It ate me up till a point I could not look at another human of his sex in the eye.  And I let it, until I had had enough.  I wanted to feel light again, so I chose to let it go rather than hold it within me like a cancer continuously spreading.

Shortly after I began another relationship.  A rebound that ended, as all rebounds do, badly.
My process of internal healing began with a phone call from him… Up till then I had held his pain and schemed of ways to destroy his life like he did mine.   Would I report the relationship to his “wife”?  Would I pen a juicy story and submit it to the New York Times?  Granted his position and his power, there’s no doubt it would have settled on the first page and I would’ve been handsomely rewarded.

In the end I decided against seeking vengeance.  My inner voice spoke and swayed me from a position of attack to one of forgiveness and internal renewal.  We met in person to discuss his wrongs. 

Interestingly enough, he took my mercy as weakness.  As soon as the words of forgiveness left my lips, his were on mine, wanting and seeking the sexual relationship we once had.  I had immediate flashbacks to the numerous times I asked what it took to make him happy, he’d whisper “As long as you continue to fuck me good, I’ll be around, that’s what makes me happy.”  With his charming smile and wink, I was sure he was joking.  Only now am I sure of his sincerity, he was serious as a heart attack.  His only concern was for sweet young pussy and I was the one to supply it.

For the first time I saw him for what he was.  A pussy hungry man with a thirst for something to quench the desert of his unhappy marriage, someone as young and naive as me.  He was completely hopeless and grasping for anything he could catch.  Truly, pitifully sad.

Recently he has tried ardently to get in touch. Sending me gifts on Christmas, asking me to join him on trips and pursing me incessantly.  I have told him, in an earnest manner, that he has no chance.  The trust I once had in him  is now forever gone.  Yet I feel my words only propel him to do more.  As if I’m some sort of adolescent challenge.  At times I want to say “GO FUCK YOURSELF WITH A RUSTY POLE YOU BOTTOM FEEDING LEECH.”  But I hold my tongue, and my emotions.  Because he doesn’t deserve a reaction from me.  And partially… because somewhere deep inside I have feelings for him.

But he’s invited me on a trip for the umpteenth time and I’ve finally agreed to go… with baited breath I await.  The anticipation is nearly killing me.  Because although I’d like to think I’m strong enough to survive his antics, I fear I am not.  Within my heart there may still lay love for him… God help me.