There is a certain someone I've mentioned before in this blog. I obviously don't want to write his name, since I don't even put the names of my dearest friends on here, so let's just call him…Satan.
The first couple of years I lived in Denver were not exactly the easiest years for me. I was in a strange new city with very few close friends, I was just about as poor as I could be and still be alive, my life and all my free time were consumed with graduate school and teaching and working as a coffee monkey, and for the first two years I lived in shitholes.
I could never do that again.
But at the time I didn't really know how challenging my life was. I was just coming out and it was exciting. Every time I went to a gay bar or talked to one of my two gay friends about things I was going through I felt like I was embarking on a new and exciting adventure. Embarking on my life
But I was also terribly naïve. I didn’t comprehend how evil some gay boys can be. Evil just for the sake of being evil.
I met Satan one night at Charlie's my third year in Denver. It was at the point in my life where I was comfortable going to gay bars to hook up, but it was rare that I would actually know anybody or talk to anybody. He hit on me and we went over to the Wrangler and were making out within about ten seconds. I went back to his place, and we had the most amazing physical chemistry. He was one of the best looking and sexy guys I had ever hooked up with.
In the following months and years he proceeded to systematically treat me like a piece of dog shit. I was so stupid. Some nights he would talk to me, some nights he would ignore me, some nights he would insult me, some nights he would grab me by my package. He would tell me to meet him at his place after bar-close and then would just leave me sitting alone on his front steps chain-smoking Camel Light after Camel Light until I gave up and went home. He would dirty dance with me at the club, get me totally turned on, and then leave the club without telling me as soon as I went to the bathroom or to get another drink. He would ask me to meet him at the bar the day after we had hooked up and then show up holding hands with another guy.
I still have never figured out why he picked me to torture or why all the random cruelness was necessary, but once I had him out of my system I never looked back.
Well, not much.
Becoming friends with G. right around that same time helped a lot because she was the only other person other than me who understood how truly evil and black his soul was. And she would slap some fucking sense into me if my eyes so much as happened to meet his.
Of course I still see him out from time to time, but he gets no more than a head nod from me. I'm not going to scratch his eyes out or anything, but if anyone is looking for a late Christmas present for me that would be a lovely thought.
A couple weekends ago I met some buds at Broadway's for drinks and saw him there. I even stopped by his table and actually said "hi" to the son of a bitch. He asked me for my number. And instead of scratching his eyes out or throwing a drink in his face or doing something LOGICAL
, I gave him my goddamn number. I am seriously so stupid it's not even funny.
Then he sent me a text message the night the first blizzard started:Satan:
Get over hereMe:
*something about there being a major blizzard outside*Satan:
Im worth it trustMe:
*I have no idea*Satan:
Cause u know u want some bootyMe:
*I have no idea*Satan:
K lets get together unless u have someoneMe:
*I have no idea*Satan:
I have, ur scared lol i still love love uMe:
*something about not being able to get around in the blizzard*Satan:
Ur suv ? dont u live in Denver? U hot man
By that point I was in bed, asleep.
The messages I sent him are no longer in my cell phone, and I was totally drunk and stoned that night, so I can't remember exactly what my responses to his messages were.
And then just about an hour ago:Satan:
When r u going to stick it?
Does he seriously think he's being cute or clever or sexy?
When r u going to stick it???
Jesus. It sounds like a bad Prince song or something.
Years have passed since we slept together. I'm way better in bed, I'm way better looking, and I'm WAY more confident and aware of the rules.
And way more humble, obviously.
So I know – forget about it, right? I know he's not worth a moment of my time. And he's definitely not worth an entry on my blog.
But I am thinking about it. Fucking him one more time on my terms and then never speaking to him again. Or maybe fucking him and then saying something completely insulting to him. Or fucking him and then spreading a nasty, vicious rumor about him. Something – anything
– to put a concrete end to that ridiculous chapter in my life.