It’s been a YEAR.
You know how long that year has been-you’ve told me umpteen times how long it’s been and how you can’t wait to finally see me again. You complained about how long it’s been since you had any. I couldn’t say that, because it wasn’t. But that doesn’t matter. It’s one of those things.
I was so hopeful that things with you would blow over. You even “fell in love” with that one girl. I was so happy for you, but it didn’t last.
Before long you were back to your old tricks, trying to tell me you loved me so much. You barely even know me, how can you say you love me? Besides, wasn’t it clear that I didn’t need you? That I was 500 miles away, and going through boyfriends and flings all by my big bad self without your help or guidance? Ever realized that in that year I might have CHANGED? Grown up a little? Yeah, as a matter of fact, I grew BALLS over the past year, learned how to say no, turned myself around.
I don’t want you anymore.
I thought you were cool, and easy to talk to, and cute, and sweet when I met you last summer. I thought you cared. You listened. You were intriguing. You made me feel wanted, desired, beautiful, and intelligent…I cried the night before I left, and you held me and it was wonderful and heartbreaking. My friends knew you by face.
When I went home, a month later you happened to mention it like it wasn’t a big deal. “By the way, you know I’m bi, right?” You didn’t even tell me you were bisexual until I got home! 500 fucking miles away! I guess you waited because you knew I wouldn’t like it, and hate you for lying to me about something so important. You were honest about everything concerning yourself except that.
Do you know how scared and disgusted I was? Not only had you decided this long before you met me, (giving you plenty of time to realize this and let me know), you had participated in things before you met me that make me sick to think of. You had the audacity to brag about it, while 500 miles away I’m sitting in my living room ready to cry. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Hell yes, it would have changed what happened. What if I had slept with you? And caught something? I might have never known if you hadn’t told me.
You were older, smoother, wiser and worldier. You saw my innocence and you liked it, and you took it. Your name was at the top of a list, a long one that might never finish. And since then I’ve told you, time and time again, gently at first then firmly, that I didn’t want to get involved when I saw you again. You said it was ok.
But you haven’t stopped pushing. You keep bitching to me about what you want to do to me once you get me alone, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck, because you’re not getting jackshit off of this little girl. Not this time, no. No.
No…what a novel concept. Your puny brain obviously can’t handle it. Every time I talk to you, I dread it now, because I have to keep telling you it’s NOT going to happen. And once I think you’ve finally understood, you pull something again. You demean me by the questions you ask and the things you assume. You thought I would SLEEP with you? Oh no, fuck that. And I’m not going to “at least give you head.” I’m not going to touch you if I can help it!
I am not the same person I was a year ago. I’m sure your charms are still in working order, but I’m trying something new now, exercising my self control. I’m going to this conference as a way to learn and grow. You’re treating it as a way to see me, and I don’t like that. You’re selling yourself, and me, short.
So throw away your hopes for the last time. There’s no way in hell you’ll get anything from me. Go prey on some other little girl this year.
