We all know of a relationship that started out ok, but sometimes when you live with someone, it's better that you don't sleep with them, no matter how nice they are. This tale from Beth only reinforces the opinion held by many...
"I once lived with this guy. We'd been good friends for years! Known each other through High school and even through college... Well, my freshman year at college, his senior year at uni, we decided to move in together. We'd never had a relationship we'd just been good mates, and I mean really good mates we had the best time together and we'd have these deep talks for hours about everything. From nonsense, to school, life, our dreams/goals for the future, relationships, everything. I told him I was saving myself for the one man I knew I'd spend the rest of my life with.
And over the course of about 2 months of living together he'd worked his way into my heart. Brought me flowers and just little "thinking of you" things, a quote that reminded him of me, or leaving me a brief joke or message on my voicemail that he knew would make me laugh or smile, just stuff like that. Sweet things that endeared him to me even more than he already was.
He also knew of my self esteem issues, I mean, on the outside I was the all confidant, sexy, outgoing, and independant woman and all that jazz. But on the inside I was still the chubby girl in high school who guys flirted with but never dated. Before him I had never had any sort of boyfriend or relationship, I mean I'd dated one or two guys, and encountered a few jerks, but never a relationship of any sort... And he would just every occasionally say something like "If you were with me, I'd treat you like a queen!" or "Why didn't you and I ever go out?" and before I knew it we were dating.
Over the course of perhaps another couple months or so I was in love, or thought I was, didn't know any better. And I thought he loved me, he said he did, he showed by actions he did. So, here he was, one of my best friends, handsome, smart, someone who I thought loved me and saw me for who I actually was. Someone who knew me better than anyone else I knew, and who really seemed to respect and love me... Me!
One night, we get home, he opens a bottle of wine, normally I don't drink but he'd said it was a special night, anniversary of the first time he'd realized his feelings for me or some bollocks. And I CANNOT hold my liquor. It's why I don't drink, I'm such a lightweight. One glass and I was pretty much gone. You know... So we started fooling around a bit and he kept saying how beautiful I was, and how much he loved me and before I knew it, we were in bed together... Something I'd envisioned as magical since I was old enough to know what sex actually was and it barely lasts ten minutes before he's done?... I can barely remember feeling anything but a little pain and this overwhelming hurt and feeling of being dirty when it was over. I didn't know why I felt that way at the time. I had never had any prior experience to compare it to. I had no idea what was normal, what wasn't, but it still felt completely wrong. I wanted to be held, to be told it was alright, that I had no reason to feel that way, but he just got up and left, slept in his own room.
I cried myself to sleep that night, and over the course of the next week we barely saw each other. I know now he was avoiding me, hard to do sharing an apartment, but he managed it. He would stay extra hours at work, school, the library. And I, in turn did the same, to try and take my mind off of it, all the while thinking it had been me, that I had done something wrong... At the end of that heartwrenching week I checked my e-mail where I'd received a letter from him and it opened with "Hey" just hey, no "Dear Beth" or anything. Even before we moved in togerther, when we were just friends, he always greeted me, or wrote me starting with "Hey baby" or something silly... But it was just "hey" like I was some stupid giche he'd met at a party! He then wrote "I hope you didn't really think anything of what happened between us the other night... I was just using you for sex... Sorry..." Bull shit he was sorry!
In a moment of hysterics and hurtful anger, I threw his stereo out the window... Then went to stay with my friend Casey that night, went back to get the rest of my things later. I just don't understand... He'd gone through all of that, twisted and played with my emotions and feelings, for what? The gratification of knowing he'd been the one to pop my cherry? To be assure that, because I was a virgin, I must therefore be STD free? What? Why the hell would someone do that?
But it just goes to prove, even moreso, that no matter how much you think you know a person, deep down, do you really know them at all? I'm over it now but I still say bollocks to the bastard! And I hope he's reading this, or someone relates this to him... He knows who he is! He's a bleeding ponce and I hope some day a Lorraina Bobbett wannabe rips his balls off like a paper towell! Hell, I know if I ever see him again a swift, sharp stilletto heel kick to the groin is definitely going to be in order!"
Ouch! Has this happened to you or have you done this to someone else? Let me know!
