This feeling of unrequited like/love/anything… it really sucks. I am so head over heels right now that it feels like my face is stuck in a vacuum cleaner. The problem is that I feel this way about a man who only calls me hands-free when he’s driving. He doesn’t call me at the beginning of his trips either. He calls me at the end…like when he’s almost home so that when we’re just at the point where I figure out something witty to say, he’s telling me that he has to go.
The ridicule. It needs to stop last week. So why do I still give in? Why, when he calls, do I jump at the phone without hiding the reckless abandon in my voice that so clearly gives away my brash obsession that it probably pushes him farther from me.
I have never been so sprung that it hurts.
The worst part is that the one thing that I thought I had in the bag…the sex; I have to beg him for it. We’ve only been hanging out for a month and I’ve already gotten three “Not tonight/I’m tired”. He tells me that we can’t have sex right now because he doesn’t have time and suddenly, those words make me want him even more. I’m so hot for Darren that I would kneel on glass shards in the parking lot of a Seven Eleven just to have the pleasure of giving him a blow job.
I know that I am being fucked with. But I want so badly to believe him when he mind-fucks me, that I actually do believe him. I believe him when he says that he’s just hanging out with a friend who I’ve seen a picture of and who just happens to be a woman so beautiful that her teeth sparkle. She is one of those kept women who could get away with being beautiful and useless…except that she quotes poetry on a regular basis and has an MBA, so she has brains to boot. The fact that they are decorating his bedroom together? I justify that away too.
Darren gives me mixed signals but I tell myself that they are all small acts of love. We watch a show together and he calls it our show which is so cute, I forget that Curb Your Enthusiasm was ever a title. I ignore the fact that he puts his TiVo on pause when I laugh too loud or try to have a conversation. He leaves voicemails that say ‘Calling just to talk’, and I tell myself that he didn’t mean to call at the times that he knew I’d be working. When he introduces me to his friends, I pretend that it’s not so he can pass me on to them three months down the line when he gets bored. But let’s face it; he told me that that is why he wanted us to meet.
Ha-ha.
Lol.
I’m laughing so hard right now that the tears are welling behind my lilac painted eyelids and in a minute my face will start to look like the face of a Russian doll, cracked under a bicycle tire and left for dead on a rainy Portland street with it’s paint drenching off of its face.
I’ve recently found that I’m begging for more than just sex. I want him to hang out with me, and his alligator arms limit all contact to once a week. I bake truffles, enticing him to come over, but he tells me that Sundays are his personal day. I try to talk dirty to him only to be told to that it is a cute but sorry attempt.
I have never had to try this hard and the level of difficulty is exhilarating. It’s like a challenge to win his love. It makes me want him more and more and more and more and more. He’s like a drug. We don’t talk for three days and it hurts me but just as the pain starts to numb, he reaches out…a quick phone call in the parking lot at the grocery store…and I am an addict again. In turn, I feel like a desperate woman: a woman who is insecure. She is a character in a Made for Television Lifetime movie…a girl not like me.
Except that she is.
Me.
No comments:
Post a Comment