However, In Defense of the Bastard…

It started as a bluff; I wrote on FaceBook, sincerely, about a boy who had just performed an act of chivalry on my behalf:
Dear Facebook, Today I’ve known the man I am going to marry. *Caution: This is not a drill; it’s trealler than t’real*

and from nowhere we had the following conversation:

Long tym. Uve finally noticed me

 Fiona O’Dala You know, usually I would LOL, but this time I am ROTFLMFAO! its always been u, X, i told you this when we were four. now i am tired of watchn u practicn to perfect-ify urself for me
    • Hahahaha, i thnk nw am ready, am all urs!! Been waitn 4 ths moment since our 1st kiss, lol!

    • Fiona O’Dala uhm….i dont actually think it was so much “kissing” as it was fondling. i am still waiting for that first kiss–and i have waited a lifetime–literally.
    • Hahahaha, i thnk i was clueless dat tym, ndiye our first kiss wil b b4 end of ths year!! Cnt wait, lol!
    • Fiona O’Dala wen u come inna me house u betta don’ play. nde osati u shud be actn clueless ukabwela. like Z says, “this is destiny”. we have come full circle.
    • No Mr clueless guy, wil b there to impress!! Its destiney indeed, ndiye i cnt mess up!

      Fiona O’Dala When are you back? I need a proper count down.
    •  Will be hme by 2nd week of november!

      Fiona O’Dala oh wow! so soon- yet so far-far away *sigh*
I wasn’t bluffing. He wanted to find out if I was bluffing. He is a man- men don’t bluff-but I found out the only reason men don’t bluff is because most times women do not call their bluff. My thinking was, “I am not serious, but I would sooner be caught shitting outside -naked- than say, ‘I was only joking'”.
Come back home, he did; Contact me, he did; Bring up the subject, he did; Beat his breast, declaring his man-ness and that of course he wasn’t bluffing, he did; Take strides to fulfill his word, he did not. He would initiate plans to meet and then re-count to me how his plans had fallen apart and he couldn’t make it. So being the dominant aggressor, I called him one day to tell him I was going to pick him up. I had a feeling he would bring a spare wheel to diffuse the situation. The situation was not diffused. We ended up kissing when dropping him off. The kiss itself was nice-he did this thing to my lips with his lips-there was no tongue. Our mouths were open. I obsess over tongue-less wet, open-mouthed kisses. I still cant figure out how they happen. Perhaps I have watched too many Girl Next Door movies where a kiss is no kiss unless there is tongue action. If left in control, I definitely go tongue first because I really don’t know what else to do *mental note to take tongueless kissing therapy*I literally gave him my lips to do as he pleased. We separated. He was smiling at me-actually-grinning. I said bye. He said bye. It was awkward. My roommate, who was driving the car, and I, drove off. I felt responsible for the awkwardness. I didn’t want him to feel like I hadn’t enjoyed the kiss or that he was a bad kisser so I texted him some slutty comment about wanting him. It seemed to diffuse the situation.
When we were appropriately sober a few days later, we had this conversation:
“Do you feel awkward about our kiss?”
“Nuh, not really…” I didn’t know whether he was lying or not so I decided to bring up my awkwardness to make him feel o.k about talking about his awkwardness if he did in fact feel any.
“Well I do. I was shocked that we actually kissed when our whole hooking up started from nowhere.”
“The only time I really thought about it is when it hit me that I had cheated.”
But wait; that’s not even the climax.
“I didn’t even know you had all that going on….”
“You didn’t know I had a girlfriend? Remember I told you”
*Boom! Ladies and Gentlemen*

This conversation-recount has been quite a hit with my friends, with them giving the proper signs of indignation mixed with awe at all the right intervals that I am even embarrassed to say I believe he believes he told me because it can only mean two things; either I KNOW he told me-which makes me a slut- or worse: I am gullible. As a general rule, I don’t mind being viewed as a slut-or any label actually, it could be nun or prick-but only if my actions determine this; in this case, I don’t know how to make anyone believe me that I did not know but that I believe he really thinks he told me and that I am not gullible so they should just accept this little mix up as a “mix up”. To be honest, when I recount the story it’s solely for let’s-get-a-laugh-out-of-this purposes but my friends are too nice to me; they refuse to laugh at my expense.

I deleted his number and all his texts after this. I could probably salvage some decency with a paragraph or two about how I did this because I felt exploited and cheated, and “Oh, the Bastard! Damn him to hell!” But the truth is my actions came from the realization that beyond liking each others’ FaceBook statuses, there is really nowhere else to go. Human nature which dictates that we must have our cake and eat it too compelled him to want to carry on the acquaintance, “It’s ok”; “We should still hang out”:

Dude, I am the love of your life

You’ll never meet another anyone, anything, anywhere

Better than me (- Thobe)

*We can never ‘hangout’*

I wish I could make myself sufficiently angry, if for nothing else but to show my integrity and wholesomeness. Even HE assumed I was angry which means that is the expected course of action for any decent girl.

*Upon randomly meeting a few nights later*

To my friends: “Fiona is mad at me”

My friends prolly thinking: “She has every right to be; shoot, we angry at you” but of course social etiquette dictated that they say nothing

Before the realisation that I am supposed to be mad: “I am not angry at you”-bewildered.

X keeps reinstating the fact that I am so I stop arguing. He takes out his phone and lays it on his lap. I am sitting next to him. He presses it so that the screen lights up. There is a picture of a girl- I assume it’s his girlfriend. I don’t know whether he is showing it to me but he is certainly not hiding it. I wonder if it’s a conscious effort to tell me that he has a girlfriend and, therefore, I need to back off or if he is too drunk to realise the ramifications of what he is doing. More likely, it doesn’t go that far; more likely, just a dude playing with his phone, which happens to have a picture of (his) girl, and he happens to be sitting next to a neurotic who over-analyses things. I wish he would just either show it to me or make a blatant effort to keep me from seeing it, at least, then, I would know whether to comment on the situation or pretend I don’t see it.

I don’t like it when he talks about his girlfriend; I don’t think it’s so much jealousy, as it is not knowing why he is bringing her up, again it’s more likely that for him she just fits into the context of whatever he is saying. So when he tried to kiss me several times that night I was wondering if: he was just being a douchebag; excessively drunk; or checking if he had accomplished his (potential) task of getting me to back off. Then he started frisking my friends-which wasn’t funny; but my friends’ uncomfortableness more than made up for what the situation lacked in humour. They couldn’t welcome his attentions because I was there and they couldn’t give him the finger, because I was there. *Conundrum of Conundrums*

The reason I don’t kiss him is because I don’t subscribe to that whole “home-wrecker” ideology. I don’t particularly have any moral crises over it; it’s just that men who have girlfriends are about as attractive to me as men who have hemorrhoids.

Thus far, I hope we have a consensus that he is a bastard if for no other reason save his lack of respect for his girlfriend (?whom he whom he gives the illusion of complete commitment by having her picture as his phone’s screensaver?)

The reason I am attracted to X is because he loves my mind. The reason I am obsessed with him is because I love his-he is *cliché alert* funny; frank; and don’t-give-a-shittery (although I judge him for an episode where he deactivated his FaceBook account because ‘some girl was tagging him in inappropriate pictures’; this weakened the idealistically ballsy image I had of him. It’s like finding out SuperMan has less wind in his cape than we had thought).

I feel like we connect; so I guess in a fucked up way I want to connect literally. I think X is put off by my frankness- like most men are; they feel like predators cheated out of the chase. Thank God, I don’t meet men I am attracted to often, otherwise I would be like some desperate puppy chasing men allover ‘just wanting to be loved’; as it is, I just come off as some fucked up bitch who says inappropriately bitchy things to men who are ‘just trying to make friends’, at bars.  To me, X comes off as this liberal child of a progressive progressive-movement. He conventionally says the most unconventional things; however, I recently learned how much he pressurises his sister to be ‘a certain way’. So I wonder if it’s one of those ‘I am ok with people being gay as long as it’s not my son’; ‘We are not racist, we just don’t want our daughter marrying a black guy” situations; or he really IS conservative but wants other people’s sisters to be liberal to enable him easy passage through life. Either way, with the boundaries that he sets for his sister (it’s not so much the boundaries but the method of setting them), he must have set, preconceived, notions about ‘how a woman should be’ and it certainly is not like me-ALTHOUGH, he wants me to hang out with his sister more often because I am a ‘positive influence’ *blush*-excerpt from conversation spawn from our second chance encounter.

However, in defense of the Bastard, I find it hard to believe that he would hurt me because I have known him my whole life so I kind of have an incestuous love for him; like, I feel like I am his sister, but then I want to screw him, so I feel like if I screwed him, he would never hurt me because I’m like a sister to him so no matter how many red flags I come across I just keep going-going, perhaps even get excited by them like how finding ‘caution’ tape surrounding your house makes you frantic to go inside because you know there is nothing there that could hurt you but at the same time you are anxious to find out the danger. I don’t know whether he puts these red flags consciously or unconsciously but I keep driving through them; and the fact that we are both aware of their existence reassures me of his well-meaningfulness towards me.

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One Response to However, In Defense of the Bastard…

  1. Pingback: Pressure « Psychetymology

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