This weekend, if we were talking about the week over our cups of coffee and tea, I’d tell you that the Pirate is out for good. Partially in part because of his self-centered ways because he couldn’t be bothered to have an actual conversation with me, and partially because of some meddlesome person who decided to contact me here, on the blog.
I should be thanking her, but in reality, I’d already come to a decision and her getting involved only made me question whether or not it was the right decision… after doing some particularly stupid things… Like showing up unannounced to his doorstep. Twice.
Let me give you a rundown of the whole short-lived affair. Just in case you’re new to the story.
A few weeks before my birthday, so approximately 2 months ago, I met a fella on Tinder. He was handsome, albeit smaller than most of the guys I’ve dated. We’re about the same height, but I probably outweigh him by a good 60 pounds or more. I know I’m fat, but I wasn’t worried about it because on the first or second date he made a comment about how skinny girls leave bruises, complete with a story about how such a thing actually happened.
Also, on our first and second dates, he gave me a run down of just how amazing he was in bed. Bragging about how several of the women he’d slept with were just so shocked at how amazing he was! Then he’d follow it up by tempering his bravado by saying it wasn’t really that he was that good, but that so many people were just having bad sex.
At least that last sentence was true. I’m not saying he was bad, but he has one basic speed, and it’s jack rabbit. He takes direction alright, but we never really got to explore each other and see what was really possible. For me, this was one of the big issues.
Not the sex part specifically, because well, I actually liked him as a person, or the person I thought he might be.
There were two versions of him: the guy before sex, and the guy after sex. The guy before sex was very self-centered and had a ton of things to say, but it was all about him. You can go back through my posts about the Pirate (so named because he actually wore a pirate costume on our second date, and although it was strange, it wasn’t a deal breaker) and see how this constant talking about himself without leaving me any time to talk about myself or my feelings has been kind of an ongoing issue since I met him.
At first, it was nice not having to be the one to talk. The Bartender had done something similar, going on and on about himself and his situation, and telling me all about Columbia, and then about New York.
Never about South Carolina, which it turns out is where his wife lived, but the point is that I’ve learned to let a man talk. The way they talk tends to help me figure out how to read them. With the Bartender, he would tell me how much he loved sharing his stories with me, and then tell me how much he wanted to learn about me, too. There was give and take, we’d take turns telling stories, often while we were in bed watching a movie, or just cuddling…
Not so with the Pirate. He would prattle on and on, in vast detail about stuff that I could care less about, and then when he could finally tell he’d talked too much (usually when there was only a few minutes left in his allotted time slot for me), he would ask me about my life, and I’d inevitably have nothing to say. He’d talked for so long and said so much, even if I’d at one point had an anecdote of my own to share, the moment to share it had usually long since past.
And for all that is holy do I not care about pirating, Godzilla, or his ridiculous medieval combat team where he dresses up as a goblin in full armor and basically LARPs!
But don’t tell him it’s LARPing. He assures me they are two very different things, as LARPing, or Live Action Role Playing, includes quests. This is less than that. They just get dressed up and beat each other up, free for all style in hand to hand combat with fake weapons. From what little I actually could stomach enough to listen to, there’s no organized strategic battle plan, just fake killing people and wracking up points.
Like paintball, but with fake swords instead of fake bullets.
And as such, it might be fun, but holy cow, did I hear way too much about it.
We had interests in common, like painting, Star Wars, writing, etc… We could have discussed those things at length and had actual back and forth conversation, and sometimes we did. After we’d been intimate, or if I’d interrupt him, sometimes we could have an actual back and forth discourse, like civilized people.
Most of the time, however, it was the Pirate show, with an audience of one.
He even, like the Boy, would set me up to watch the shows that he was interested in. Because of the Boy, I mistakenly took this to be him showing interest in me because he wanted to share parts of himself with me.
After the last week or so, I realize he’s just that self-centered.
There were a couple moments that I thought that he was showing genuine interest, that he was perhaps leaving me hints saying through Instagram things he couldn’t say to my face. Like when we had an argument (more like him telling me his side and then refusing to hear my side… because, you know, he’s a self-centered asshole), and then he posted a word that has become one of my favorites: Pistanthrophobia. I even wrote a poem inspired by it because I figured he and I were both suffering from it.
I mistakenly thought that, because he’d had a bad experience before, he was trying to go slow. And I was trying not to be pushy, but still trying to offer activities that we could both do, that would allow me to have a little bit of say in what happened with us.
In the two months that we were dating (he finally admitted we were dating…sort of) twice did we do something other than just go to the movies or go to his place to chill in the filth and the roaches.
The first time was our second date, the one where he showed up as a pirate. I was in total control of that date, and my therapist suggested that perhaps that was why he dressed like a pirate for it: because that was what he needed to be comfortable in that situation.
Makes sense to me, anytime I feel like I’m going to be in a situation I’m not comfortable with, I wear my shapewear. Strangely enough, being shoved into spandex like a human sausage makes me feel like I’m wearing armor, and makes me feel sexier so I can handle tough situations better.
The second time was when he came over to my place and I cooked for him. Even though he hurt my feelings before we arrived at my house, and he had me in a pretty bad mood before I’d gotten started, when we got intimate that time, it felt better. Even though we were still on his stupid time schedule, we had room to spread out a little and I felt a legitimate connection with him. We reached climax at the same time, and it was the first of the couple of times that he actual got me to the toes curled, can’t feel my feet orgasms that the Boy gave me Every. Single. Time.
Then again, the Boy had more stamina, and was working with much larger equipment…
Don’t get me wrong, the Pirate was more than adequate (that would have been a nice pic to add to the collection, if he’d ever have sent me one… or if the collection still existed), but it always felt like a race, and after, he often asked me about how many times did I get there, or did I like when he did such and such… It was like a clinical study. All about improving his technique instead of just enjoying one another.
In other words, even him being able to please me was really only about him.
So yes, when the Pirate said to me that the sex was ever only “a moment,” I totally understood what he meant.
And when home-chick (whom I originally mistook for his roommate) was blowing me off on his behalf, and told me that the Pirate (although she used his real name) was very passionate with the girls he was actually into, it was an unpleasant way to find out that all the little things that had made me think he might actually have been into me were just wrong.
All the little inconsistencies weren’t him going slow, it was him just not liking me.
Of course, before she sent that, he and I had a conversation in which he was trying to give me the brush off, but he wanted to stay friends, and it was almost word for word a conversation the Boy and I’d had during one of our on again off again times, or maybe even the very first one… which would have explained why I thought we were doing an on again off again thing and he’d tell you we were only dating for 6 weeks.
But with the Pirate (probably because it was so much like the Boy and it scared me), I was trying to tell him that if he was actually blowing me off romantically, then I was done. I had no interest in going through the same thing I had with the Boy. It was then that he started changing his story around.
He needed it to be his way, and only his way. He didn’t want me romantically, but he still wanted to be friends. And instead of actually talking to me so I could clarify that, he kept interrupting me and accusing me of not listening, when I was trying really hard to understand what he was saying. And it made me really angry.
So angry I went to give him the necklace that he gave me back. A gift that was very important to me.
And he argued with me about it. Trying not to take it back, and saying things like “if… no, when we hang out again” we could talk about it. Instead of letting me get the clarification I needed, he just yelled at me for screwing up the space that he needed. Forcing me to do things on his time table. Again.
Say what you will about the Boy, at least he used to let me talk things out to get the clarification that I needed.
I went home, angry and crying the whole way, and wrote him exactly how I felt, and was done. I’d given him back the necklace, and I was done.
On here, I speculated whether or not I’d give him a second chance. I wanted him to prove to me that he did see some value in me: that it wasn’t just a line he was feeding me when he told me that he liked me as a person, which is much more important than finding me attractive. I was hoping that he’d find some way to be able to have a conversation with me, showing me that he’d heard what I said about it being important to hear both sides of the issue, and for him to show me he could listen to me and talk like a grown up.
That was what I really meant by giving him a second chance. I didn’t know if it would ever move beyond that point, but I wanted him to prove that I mattered to him. He was trying to fight to keep me as a friend by not letting me give the necklace back, and he gave me $10 for gas… not nearly enough to cover the gazillion errands I’d taken him on in the 2 months since we’ve met, but then again, I chose to do that because he was important to me. I wanted some sign that he legitimately thought I was important, too.
But I was willing to give him the space he needed to figure it out.
Then enters home-chick, who won’t tell me who she is, with the comments…
I thought it was his roommate since his roommate is the only one of his friends that I’ve met. It made the most sense. I had no doubts it was someone who actually knew him because she called him by name, while I try really hard to make sure not to do such things.
I tried to ask him for clarification, though in my anger, I didn’t do it properly. I asked him if he seriously just had his roommate blow me off for him. Instead of asking me what I was talking about he assumed (like he always does) that it meant I was at his house. His response to me was that I better not be at his house when he got home because he wasn’t talking to anyone today.
And even when I tried to explain what I was actually talking about (albeit angrily), he didn’t even acknowledge that I’d said anything.
I made up my mind that I was going to talk to him face to face where he couldn’t ignore me.
And then I went to the movies with a friend, and got a little bit of sleep. I woke up at 5:30, so I could take a shower and be there at our usual walking time, and instead, I was calm. I had no need to talk to him. No desire to talk to him. I went back to sleep. I was satisfied with never seeing or hearing from him (or his mysterious friend) again.
Two hours later, and home-chick was talking to me again. And since she was doing all the talking, and he wasn’t saying anything, AND she told me that he was getting rid of me so he could date some other girl (which didn’t match what he’d said originally), it threw me into a Hulk-level rage, so the plan was back on. I hopped into the shower, and went to his house. I woke him up, and tried to have a conversation with him.
It ended with him telling me he had nothing to say, and me telling him that I needed him to say something or I was never coming back. He chose not to say anything.
By the time I got home, home-chick was talking to me again. Which made me angry all over again, because he swore he didn’t know who she was or what she was talking about.
So I sent him a message. He said he’d check it out and see if he could figure it out because he really didn’t know.
Suddenly, I needed to know if I’d overreacted, or if he was really as big a douche as her comments made him seem to be. Her comments made him seem like not only a douche, but a coward as well. And a liar.
I cannot handle cowards and liars. I can work with someone who’s an asshole; it tends to come with the territory of an Alpha male, but cowardice and lying are deal breakers.
But what if I’d been wrong? What if I had jumped to a conclusion?
He seemed genuinely confused about who this person was, or what she was talking about when she said he was crushing on someone he’d met at Comicpalooza. He made a pretty valid point about she could have found his name and enough information to make it seem like she knew him by scoping out his Instagram, which wouldn’t be hard to figure out who he was from that, since we liked all of each other’s stuff, and his nickname on here is the Pirate, and well, it says it right there in his Instagram profile that he’s a Pirate out of water…
I was willing to apologize if I’d been wrong. Still not sure it would have been enough to actually get him a second chance, but if he’d been willing to actually talk to me about the situation, like a grown up, I’d have been willing to listen.
I still wanted him to show me that he actually cared about me. I still wanted to feel like I mattered a little. Or at least that he recognized that I do in fact matter.
Twenty years of men telling me that my brain is sexy, my libido is a gift, and my tits are nice, but that I’m not worth choosing to keep. That I’m not worth the effort it takes to be in a relationship. That I’m not good enough, or pretty enough, or calm enough to want to be anything more than just a plaything to be used and then given away when I need a little more to understand. It’s taken it’s toll on me.
Apparently it made me weak, because the Pirate pointed out that this conversation was already finished when I walked away and said I wasn’t coming back, and that’s apparently what he wanted anyway, so.
Now he tells me that he’s changed my name in his phone (had to look through my phone records to find his stupid number so I could figure out what was going on with the chick commenting on my blog) to read “Do not reply,” and he has nothing further to say to me ever.
All because I wanted things to be equal. I wanted to feel like, just this once, someone found me worth the effort of something as small as a conversation. An honest to goodness conversation.
Of course, if home-chick is telling the truth, and not (as he has suggested) just some random bimbo from Instagram, then he is a coward and a liar, and not worth my time, and she can have him.
I keep thinking that one day this stage will hurt less.