Well it’s official. I just made a bigger fool of myself that I possibly have ever before. And that’s saying something. I have been composing a letter to Jacob for about a week now. I saw my therapist today, and she says that I should be more transparent with men. So I decided to finally deliver the letter. I went over to his place. I could hear several voices, including a female one of course. I knocked on his door. “Who is it?” Jen. “Who?” “What do you want?” I have a note for you. “Who?” Jennifer —–. “Just leave it under the door.” So I did.
“WHO?” Like he has no idea who I am?! Christ I’m stupid. Anyway, this is the letter.
First, I am not psycho, or desperate. I am very clear on the fact that you do not want to see or speak to me, and I certainly don’t want to impose my presence on someone who doesn’t want it.
However, once I get an idea in my head, it’s difficult for me to get it out: I need you to hear me. Someone who I trust completely told me today that I should be more transparent with men, so this is my first attempt at transparency – something that terrifies me completely. So here goes: I really liked you, I don’t understand what happened, and I would like to.
I admit that my purpose here is entirely selfish. The pattern that happened between us is a painful one that I have experienced before, and I would like for it to stop. So the pattern is: I meet a guy, he seems really into me, but I’m still thinking about it – after all, I just met him. Then as soon as I feel something for him and start to like him back, he stops calling me, for no reason that I can figure. So apparently I made a mistake somewhere along the line, but I never have any idea what it was.
When I picked you up that first night I honestly didn’t want anything but sex. You were the one who kept talking, and talking, and talking, all the time telling me how great I was. I took it with a grain of salt, of course, but then when we finally did have sex, well, that was the best compliment of all. I have never had a man seem so into fucking me before.
Then the next time we met, you told me you wanted to be a gentleman, and pick me up and take me on a real date. It sounded so wonderful, and I admit I actually believed you. I had no reason not to. After all, you knew I was a sure thing for sex, so why keep buttering me up?
The night we hung out at your place was amazing. That night made me decide that I did want to keep seeing you. I don’t mean that I wanted a boyfriend. I honestly don’t want to be exclusive with anyone for a while yet, but you seemed so smart, and interesting, and cool, and fun, and the sex was already amazing, so I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to date you. I suppose my idea was that we could both be free to date other people as we got to know each other over time. As I think I’ve said before, I’m not very good at this stuff.
And then a few days later you sexted me when I was at work. First time for me, and damn it was exciting. Another plus in my mind – we seemed to be so comfortable with each other, but not in the boring way, you know?
And then I didn’t hear from you for the rest of the week. I knew you were sick, but I started to get nervous anyway. My offer to bring you sickie food was my attempt to reintegrate myself into your thought processes. I thought it was a very generous gesture as well. You did thank me, but I thought your acknowledgment of my awesomeness was somewhat lacking. You also seemed to be pretty much ignoring me and just watching your movie, so I got up to leave, a bit peeved. Then the fucking over the couch incident occurred. Which was amazing. But then you made a joke about kicking me out, which didn’t feel like it was entirely a joke. Then when I was actually leaving and saying goodbye outside your door, you responded to my “Well I’ll be back next week, we should do something…” with kind of a brush off. Huh.
That was a Friday. I came back on Sunday afternoon, complaining that I needed a massage after doing my half marathon. You said you did too. “Yes!” I thought. “He’ll ask me to come over and we’ll have some more amazing crazy sex!” And then you told me to go to Convoy Street. Excuse me? That’s when I realized the bad vibes I’d been getting weren’t just my imagination, although I couldn’t imagine what could have possibly happened during a week when you were supposedly sick at home. I decided you were being a jerk, but also that I was an idiot to keep contacting you when you were no longer interested, and I texted you to that effect.
But me being me, I couldn’t let it go. So I texted you a few days later, asking you on a date for that Wednesday, which you accepted. I also mentioned that I was going to bar N. Then you showed up at the bar, but made it clear that it was because your “boys” kept texting you, not because I was there. I mean, you literally turned your back on me for most of the night. Then you apparently tried to pawn me off on a couple of your drunk friends. Really? What the fuck was that about? Then on the way out you said you had “business to conduct” and would “call me later.” I just felt like an even bigger fool than before.
So before I saw you that night I was already annoyed and insecure about what was going on with us, and then you pulled all this bullshit on me. I had had guys do this kind of shit to me before, and I was tired of just taking it. If you felt like I was being psycho or something, well, I felt like I had good reason for my behavior – it wasn’t just about that night. Your ignoring me in such spectacular fashion was simply the proverbial straw.
If you were/are dating someone else, that’s fine – you could have just let me know. I’ve met plenty of other guys since I met you. I’ve gone on dates with a few, made out with a few, had sex with one. You’re the one that I’ve felt the most connection with by far, both intellectually and sexually. If that’s not the case for you, well, fine, sucks for me.
However. I DO NOT like feeling like a fool. And rarely have I felt a bigger fool than on that night at bar N.
So my stupid drunk ass went home and wrote a whole bunch of pitiful, emotional text messages. I don’t even remember what I said, I was so drunk and upset. I do know, however, that I was balls-out honest, and completely vulnerable. I know that I cried myself to sleep because I felt like such a complete idiot.
I texted you that Tuesday saying that I hadn’t heard from you, and that therefore I assumed our Wednesday date was off. I deleted you from my text history and contact list so that I couldn’t further embarrass myself. Then on Wednesday morning I got a text to the effect of: “I don’t think tonight will work out.” I had already made tentative plans with girlfriends for that night, so I didn’t know if it was you or one of them. I thought it was probably you – all I remembered was that your number was an 858 – so I sent you that text re: having an adult conversation and memories of great sex. I honestly didn’t expect to hear anything back. Then twelve hours later I got your text saying you could call me the next day. I actually, halfway, dared to hope that I would hear from you, but of course I did not.
I don’t get it. Why even bother to respond at that point, when you had obviously already blown me off long before? For that matter, why did you blow me off? And no don’t tell me it’s about that night at bar N – like I said, I felt you pulling away before that. Did I do something wrong? What happened between sexting me on Monday and fucking (but dismissing me) on Friday? I know it seems pitiful and desperate that I would even ask, but like I said this has happened to me before, and I would really like for it to not happen again. I would truly appreciate your help.
I would also truly appreciate it if you could send me a quick text just to let me know if you got this or not – I promise that I will immediately delete your number. I also promise that this is the last time that I will contact you in any way, shape, or form, unless you desire otherwise.