It was a freshman year romance. I had just gotten out of a relationship with a felon, and about a week later when I returned from smoking the devil’s lettuce and a having mediocre hookup with a random, there he was, sitting in my dorm: my future ex-boyfriend who would ruin me. Okay, so you’re probably expecting some sad story where I get dumped and fully break down. I wish that was the case. So badly I wish that. No, that is not what happened. Here’s what happened.
High as balls, everything was wavy. This kid struck me as innocent, sweet, and was a geed. Everything my asshole ex of one week wasn’t. We talked, got to know each other and before I know it I was asked on a date for two days later. We went for food where he drops the bombshell that he is virgin af. Like. He had only kissed two girls prior. Red flag. But like I said, I liked the innocent vibe. He gave me a kiss that night and it was like shoving my face into a vat of spoiled milk. Slimy, weirdly chunky (there was a lot of lip) and an unpleasant experience nobody should ever partake in. But hey, this guy is just a rebound right?
Next thing I know, maybe a week and a half after my previous breakup, we’re officially dating. For the record, the reason I dumped my felon ex was that he was insistent I be emotional and shit. But this new guy didn’t expect anything, I could express as little or as much emotion as I wished. I liked him more because I wasn’t being forced to like him. However, he stopped wanting the physical aspect of the relationship. So I made a promise to myself I wasn’t going to initiate anything anymore, he had to. Now this is where shit goes south.
Apparently, this kid never initiates shit. So I tell him one night, let’s get drunk together. It’s a Tuesday. Which he points out, because like I said, he’s a geed. But I don’t care. So we get drunk, and instead of initiating anything the kid tells me his life story. We’d maybe been dating a month and I find out… well I’m screwed.
Come the month anniversary, he gives me a gift. An “Open When” box. Eh, cheesy. But I shove it under my bed without a second thought. Then my roommates ask me what I got from him for the anniversary and I fish out the box. We open it.
Inside are a bunch of letters such as…
“Open when you need to know I love you”
“Open when I propose”
“Open when we get married”
“Open when we have our first kid”
What. The. Fuck.
I spend another two months in pure shock. We were together, but we never kissed, nope, didn’t do shit – hardly even hung out. I was catatonic in a way. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing in genuine fear that this psycho would seriously hurt someone if I pissed him off. In my mind, it was over. I contemplated my entire existence. I decided I never wanted to get married. Is this what marriage is like? No sex? Not even hand jobs? I have plans. I have shit to do. Am I really stuck with this guy forever? Is this what all people in college expect from a relationship?
When I eventually have the balls to talk to him after my catatonic crisis, I tell him it won’t work out and that I have too much going on for a boyfriend. That it is me, not him. This delusional psycho has the nerve to say “No. Don’t you want to try?” and “Don’t you love me?” If I wanted to try, if I loved you, would I be saying this? Eventually I have to go full-on bitch to get this geed off my back.
When we get back to school, he has the nerve to go up to my friends at the bars who maybe met him once and told me he looks like a lesbian and asks if they remember me. When they inevitably say no, he says “Oh I’m Tmarc’s ex.” Dude. That’s embarrassing for me. So I go bitch again and tell him to keep my name out of his mouth. Which is really ironic in a sense that I’m writing this article – but it’s out of genuine care and warning to all seven of my dedicated readers. He denies everything like a little geed. Whatever, over it.
So for the time, I have stepped out of the dating game. With good reason. Don’t date a geed guys, nothing good will come from it..
Nice Move160
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tmarcs
Surprisingly tmarcs to be a lawyer. She has a horrible Chicago-Italian mixed with Midwestern accent. Would never make it in a sorority in the South. From liability to risk manager. Tell her how to live a less fraternity, more sorority life at tmarcs.TSM@gmail.com.
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