I’m so attracted to you, it’s insane. I keep repeating this line in my head as I’m staring, literally staring, at this man.
Objectively, I know he’s a six and a half. But there’s something about him – and I’ve noticed it’s particular to this one person – that makes me want to rip off all my clothes and get him to climb into bed with me.
I’m not the one night stand kind of girl. In fact, in my two “one night stand” occurrences, one of them was him. This was followed by a month and a half of embarrassing drunken texts and blatant and overt flirtations. About 95% on my end, and 5% on his.
I made an utter fool of myself, to say the least.
He turns me into the exact opposite of the kind of person that I am. I never throw myself at people, because I’m most often disinterested in them. I almost never have any interest in anything more than fun, flirtatious conversation. With new people I mean. I still need sex. I’m just usually only interested in having it with people I already know well. People aren’t truly attractive to me until I get to know them, and even then a lot of the time I have no interest in taking the person home, or even spending any exclusive time with them. I don’t date people easily, mostly because I don’t have enough interest in anyone.
He was different. I didn’t even know him and I had to have him. And even after our one night together I would still be thinking about him weeks later. I wouldn’t even see him for weeks and I’d still want him.
He is different. Even now. It’s been six months since I’ve had any sort of interaction with him at all, and here I am the next day thinking about him all over again. It was about ten minutes of interaction six months ago, and before those six months it was another six months. I barely even know the guy, and I still can’t get this mediocre looking man out of my head.
I’d finally given up on the dream. Finally realized how delusional I had previously been about a man I barely knew. So this time, seeing him I was no longer embarrassed by my actions. It was so long ago. Enough time had passed.
I went into the night calmly, thinking, hey, he was never interested in me, too much time has passed for it to be awkward, let’s just have fun. Once you accept someone else’s disinterest in you, things get monumentally easier.
But he starts with little comments.
“Good choice,” He says out of nowhere from across the circle of people, indicating to the bottle of Mill St. in my hand.
And then he asks me what I’m doing next year after I graduate. And how I liked the program (he graduated from it the year before)
And then when I tell him I’m going to work in Banff he says, “Oh yeah, I knew that. I was asking about you.”
Nonchalantly telling me that he’s been thinking about me.
And then he’s blatantly watching me as I’m having flirty conversations with his friends.
Later, when I announce that I think I’m going to leave he responds, “You’re leaving already? Why?”
Why are you asking…? I can’t help but feel hope. Are you interested in me? TELL ME NOW.
All these little comments in the night add up to me thinking one thought: this human must undress me.
I have too much pride to text him again, a year later, shamelessly letting him know I’m still obsessed with him.
So instead, I keep checking my phone – hoping for a text that I know will never come because I know he doesn’t have my phone number anymore. But still, I secretly hope that he’ll go to extreme lengths and text my roommate, or my roommate’s boyfriend for my number.
A shameless, and unabashedly obsessive thing I had already thought about doing multiple times.
Pride prevailed, thank God. I’d probably still be under my covers hiding from the world if I had actually gone to such extreme lengths. I saved myself from future (and recurring) embarrassment, but I sat alone in my room at the end of the night utterly disappointed that I was, in fact, alone.