Dealing with Men: Part 3

Okay, enough about my husband, old boyfriends, and the occasional overly confident man who just can't take a hint.  Let's really go into the weeds and get our feet dirty with the worst kinds of men: the dangerous kind. 

Guy Number 1 lived in my dorm during my first year of grad school.  He was not terribly smart, but he must've been keen enough to notice that I studied a lot, so I was probably smart.  Presumably it was for that reason that he showed up in my doorway one evening asking me for help with his algebra homework. To set the scene a bit, he was way over six feet tall and it was basic, 9th grade algebra.  But I was so nice.

Ha. Now I know better.

So I was feeling pretty elated after a BioChem exam and didn't have any plans to touch a textbook the rest of the night, so I took mercy on this poor lost soul and proceeded to spend the next two hours trying to help him understand word problems.  Eventually it got late (as in, like after 11pm) and I finally had to point out that I couldn't exactly pull an all-nighter with him.  He reluctantly vacated my room.  Probably shouldn't have let him in to begin with.

Anyway, he comes back a day or two later to tell me that he took his algebra test and he thinks he might've done better on it thanks to my help.  Naturally, I am just so proud of myself for making a real difference in someone's life!  That ought to put some good Karma out into the universe for me, right? He wants to thank me, but his only idea is to take me to the bar, which I wasn't about to do (thankfully I was a little wiser than that, at this point), so I politely declined but thanked him for the offer. 

Fast forward a few weeks and it's final exams.  I'm a graduate student, so hopefully it goes without saying that I spent most of my time studying, which was exactly what I was doing when this guy came by to see me again.  This time he wanted help studying for his final, but he was on his way somewhere and couldn't do it right then.  Fine, I say.  Come back tomorrow and if I'm not in the middle of doing my own work, I'll try to help you for a little while.  As fate would have it, I spent most of the next evening sitting on my futon with a textbook open on my lap, studying.  Guy #1 comes by, sees that I'm occupied with -- hark! -- my own work, and proceeds to just lose his absolute shit.  No, you didn't read that wrong.

He went nuts on me. I mean, coming in the room and looming over me (see previous: over 6' tall) while actually shouting sort of nuts. While he lays into me about how "we talked about this" and a few other baseless assumptions, I stare up at him in shock.  Just... bewildered.

Eventually I try to defend myself, because I really don't think I deserve this shit. I'm paying over $500 a credit hour and I take at least 16 credit hours per semester, so not only do I not have time to be at his beck and call, I also can't afford it.  I try to remind him that I have my own classes and my own exams to prepare for.  I try to tell him other methods he can pursue to get help with his work, like going to his professors' office hours or attending a study group. A variety of other perfectly reasonable suggestions which he either dismissed as not an option or flat out told me were bad ideas.  Bad ideas, he says, as if standing in my room and shouting at me was a good one.  Eventually I get really overwhelmed and kind of scared by his behavior and I tell him he needs to get out my room.  He obeys -- but only to the doorway, where he turns back around and continues to shout at me from the hall.  I shut the door in his face and he finally left. 

Thankfully, nothing further happened with him, at least not for me.  I overheard a fight he had with the Resident Assistants in the kitchen at the end of the hall a few weeks later.  I guess he volunteered to bartend for a charity event and just.. didn't realize it was volunteering.  They argued for over an hour about him getting paid for it/not getting paid for it.  They ended up sending him to his room like a child or they'd call security. True story.

Eventually, he exposed himself at the Rec center to some poor woman who was probably just trying to lose a few vanity pounds by jogging around the track a few times a week.  After that, he got kicked out and I imagine he's become either a wife-beater, serial rapist, or serial killer in the meantime.  A real winner, that one.  I don't even know if he ever told me his name.

We'll need to fast forward years to get to Guy #2. Picture me: a perky young pharmacist working in a department store pharmacy, wandering around the clearance bins near the cash registers after my shift is over.  I have a small list of things I need to get before I go home, but before I get started, Guy #2 walks in the spots me.

At first, I didn't even notice him. I just went on my way to get diapers for my baby and maybe some new pajama pants for him, when I notice Guy #2 was also in the infant clothing/diaper area of the store.  There's nothing wrong with that of course, but he was acting weird as fuck about it.  He didn't have a shopping cart or even a basket.  He barely looked twenty, so it was also a bit of an odd part of the store to find him in.  But even at that point, I just assume it's a coincidence. 

Next stop is the toy department -- that's where things really set off alarms in my brain.  As I'm looking through the Hot Wheels, I notice him walk by the aisle going one direction... then he comes back by the other way a minute or two later. This whole sequence repeats itself a second time, and I notice he glances down the aisle at me as he goes by.  When he sees me noticing him, he quickly looks away. Maybe he's shy. Maybe he's a murder.  Who can know?

I decide to test my theory that he might be following me by taking a very obscure route all the way across the building to the other side of the store, ending up in women's shampoo.  He must've lost sight of me, because after lurking around for a few minutes, I don't see him anywhere. 

Whew, I shook him off.  Now I can check out without being assaulted. 

As I approach the front of the store again, however, I almost get there when I finally see him again.  We seem to notice one another at the same time, and as I immediately dart into the girls' clothing, he does too. He still has no cart or basket -- no items in his arms.  I can tell by the way he quickly averts his gaze that he's staring at me whenever I'm not staring at him. 

I can't stay in this Godforsaken place forever.  I have a family and I haven't had dinner yet.  So I check out using the self-check area. There's a small line but it moves quickly. Guy #2 gets in the line a few people behind me (nothing to buy, remember), and as I'm paying for my stuff, I make direct eye contact with him and just stare at him.  Not in a watchful way, as before, but in a I'm on to your shit, you shit. I see you kind of way.

This passive display of aggression apparently spooks him a bit, for he aborts mission and goes on down the aisle past the other checkouts. With his back turned to me at last, I literally dart from the store and sprint across the parking lot to my car. I don't start the engine, though, because a moment later he emerges from the front door and just stands there, looking around for me. Eventually he wanders away on foot, disappearing around the side of the building. 

I have no idea what he planned on doing to me -- maybe nothing.  Maybe he has a kink for stalking women through department stores, or maybe it makes him feel powerful even though he's not.

Or... maybe he's a rapist murder.  Again, who can know?

I encountered him one other time, and even as I type this now I can say that I've thought about this moment a lot since it happened. Being an employee, I park near the back of the lot and I happened to be wrapping a present on the backseat of my car (going to a party after work, obviously not prepared). I'm standing on the ground, facing into the car with the passenger door open beside me.  Using the backseat as a makeshift table, I wrap the gift while the paper makes a bunch of noise.  As I'm finishing up, I hear someone pass by my car behind me.  Now, it's not unusual for people to walk to the store from neighboring areas, so I'm not alarmed -- only curious.  I glance over my shoulder to have a look at this traveler... and it's him.

He keeps on walking. He doesn't look back at me.  I doubt he knew it was me, but as I drove away a few minutes later, I thought about how easy it would've been for him to shove me in the back seat, slam the door, and drive away with me.  My car keys were right there -- with a push of a button, he could've started my car and I'd be gone.

I think about that shit all the time.

Dealing with Men: Part 2

 So let's talk about my experience with men.  In high school I was socially and physically awkward so I only had one boyfriend when I was fourteen and pretty much got overlooked by boys the rest of the time.  When I went to college after graduating, I suddenly found myself in an environment full of 20-something guys who had no idea who I was, which was perfect for me (even though I didn't know it).  They didn't grow up with me in my deteriorating hometown and they had no idea that I studied too much and had never had sex.  They just saw me as a girl/woman and that was that. 

So the first guy (can't remember his name, sorry first-guy) lived on my dorm-room floor.  He was shorter than me and was in to horseback riding, but he was nice and we became what I thought was friends.  It wasn't that I didn't want a relationship, I just felt no attraction to him.  So one night we were watching a movie when he asks to see my class ring, which was really just an elaborate ploy to try and hold my hand. I politely told him I wasn't really interested in starting a relationship right now (even though I was).  The next day was Friday and he was going home for the weekend, so I wanted to set the record straight with him before he left. I took him to my dorm room, sat him down, and gave him the Friend Zone talk every man dreads. He listened to me while I reassured him that I thought he was great and I enjoyed hanging out, but I just didn't have feelings for him like that. I hoped he would understand, and he said he did.  

Sunday comes around and he doesn't swing by to say hi to me like usual.  Nor does he the next day, or the next week, or ever again. 

Fast forward two years and I'm walking to class... and I see this kid.  By that time I was dating my husband already and so deeply in love that I gave absolutely zero fucks about any other man -- but he acts all happy to see me and comes over to say hi.  He asks if I remember him and I say with deadpan enthusiasm: "Yeah I remember you. You had a crush on me freshmen year and when I very politely told you I didn't like you that way, you never spoke to me again."

Needless to say, he wasn't expecting that response, and made some excuse about being late to class so he could scurry off like the coward he apparently still was.

/Lesson #1: boys don't want to be friends.

Second guy was the sort of "cool" guy who was probably way out of my league but for some reason showed interest in me one night during a party in my dorm building.  It was super late and a bunch of us were hanging out and he was laying his flirt game on thick, but I was loving it.  Unbeknownst to him, I was a sad little virgin and had no idea that he was just trying to fuck me.  After returning to my own room to go to bed (because it was damn near morning), he knocks on my door.  I'm in full flannel pajama pants -- definitely the least sexy ensemble imaginable.  I think they were blue plaid, even.  Anyway, he tries really hard to get me to come hang out with him some more, but I'm persistent in how badly I needed to go to sleep.

So the next day I go to search around for him thinking that we could maybe hang out some more and see what happened.  I found his room and he agreed to watch a movie with me (rather unenthusiastically).  I think we laid on the floor and he might've touched my back, but that was it.  I got this overwhelming vibe that he was only hanging out with me to be polite, and when I ended up going back to my room once more, he didn't try nearly as hard to convince me to stay. I don't think I ever saw him again.

/Lesson #2: fuckboys.

My first college boyfriend was a metalhead a grade above me.  One day he saw me working the cafeteria counter wearing a black t-shirt and an actual chain around my neck and cupid just shot him in the ass, I guess.  I had no idea who he was. He came looking for me one weekend when I was away with my parents, then tried again the next weekend and finally we connected. I think he was super direct and just straight up asked me if I wanted to go to some movie with him and a few of his friends.  He was tall, blue-eyed, and didn't seem like a serial rapist, so I agreed.  I remember epically defeating he and all his friends at air hockey while at the movie theater waiting for our show to start.  I had a lot of fun. The second time we hung out was on his futon in his dorm room, where we sat for like 3 hours and had a really awesome, deep conversation about Life and the Universe.  We talked for so long that my mouth got dry and my throat got sore.   

Now, this metalhead of mine was a perfectly nice guy, he was just super wrong for me (and me for him). I was incessantly clingy and he was more independent.  I wanted to be around him as much as possible, but he only needed to be around me a few times a week here and there.  He most likely wanted a physical relationship, but after 18 years of indoctrination, I believed I would catch on fire if I had sex outside of wedlock.  He knew that about me and was always very respectful of that.  He never tried to pressure me into anything I didn't want to do, and it wasn't until years later that I learned what a novelty his behavior was.  The problem was that I was super horny all the time and I must've unintentionally teased him until he had blue balls regularly.  After all, I was 18 years old and my body was just sort of waking up. 

He was my first sexual encounter.  One night I spent the night with him and things got heavy and suddenly he just couldn't take it anymore, I guess.  He carried me down the dorm-floor hallway bridal-style to the recycling room at the end, which was closed up for the night, so we could be alone.  I proceeded to give him probably the worst hand-job of his life in that room, although in my defense, his dick was the first I'd ever touched, so I had quite literally no idea what I was doing.  I remember feeling so surprised by how velvety soft his skin was -- I thought it would be disgusting touching a guy's dick, but it was actually sort of magical, in a way.

Eventually we broke up when we realized we were more like friends than romantic partners.  He was always really nice to me even after that, and I continued to enjoy talking to him at parties.  He was smart and spoke in fluent, dark sarcasm, which remained delightful even after he wasn't my boyfriend anymore. I see him on social media sometimes and wonder how he's doing.  Over the years I've wondered once or twice what it would be like if we bumped into each other randomly in some grocery store or on the street.  Maybe we'd laugh about that God-awful hand-job I gave him and I would thank him for being as honorable a guy as a 19-year-old could be.  Maybe we'd exchange an awkward hug before going about our separate ways.

But I'll probably never see him again. 

/Lesson #3: Touching a real dick. 

Stay tuned for Part 3: Stalkers. 

Dealing with Men: Part 1

After watching about 700 episodes of Forensic Files and every other true crime TV I could get my hands on, I'm a little more cautious than I used to be.  As in, if my husband and I were to meet all over again the same way we had 18 years ago, I probably wouldn't go to his house all alone with only my pajamas to protect me.  In hindsight, I understand that I quite possibly dodged a bullet.

Over the years, interacting with men has become very intimidating.  Most of the males in my life are either related to me or married to my friends (rendering them mostly harmless), so on the rare occasions when I'm exposed to an outsider, I really have no idea how to behave with them anymore.  In the presence of single men, I feel like I'm always being silently appraised for my mate-potential.  Am I pretty? Do I have a tolerable personality? Do I laugh at the stupid jokes? Will I endure subsequent conversations with them of which are not forced upon me?

Navigating the world as a happily married woman, I use my husband for protection all the time.  Whenever a guy makes a pass at me or starts crossing over the threshold of the Friend Zone to explore how far I'll let him go, I usually fall back on the "Oh I'm married" excuse to get away unscathed.  In movies you see this all the time: a guy approaches a beautiful woman and starts to flirt with her and despite making it obvious that she's not interested, it's only when the threat of a male rival is brought up before a man finally backs off.  And in my experience, sometimes even that isn't enough.

"Do you love him?"

"He doesn't have to know."

^^^^^^^^^ Things grown-ass men have actually said to me in response to me pointing out I'm married.  

I've been subjected to the attention of a particularly persistent man from the other side of the Goddamn world recently, who really takes the trophy in not taking a hint.  Thankfully I only have to deal with him over social media, but the experience is just a glaring reminder that I can't interact with a man without him thinking, even if subconsciously, that my attention is in some way flirtatious.  A woman shouldn't have to tell a man she's romantically unavailable to get him to leave her alone.  A woman shouldn't need an excuse at all to not be interested -- her lack of interest alone should be enough.  I gave this man zero reason to think I was into him, but he somehow still managed to convince himself that he was God's gift to women.  Even after I informed him I was married, he only backed off for a few days before jumping right back in as if I'd never mentioned I was unavailable at all. As if I couldn't go back and take screenshots of all the times I let him know.

So yeah, I dodged a bullet.  Not only did my husband not rape and murder me that night over 18 years ago, but he also rescued me from a world of men who don't even hold a candle to him.  I was naive in regards to safety, yes, but also in regards to just who was out there and what I was in for. 

*whew*

Eighth World Wonder

 When I met my husband I was eighteen years old, a freshmen in college.  I was dating another boy at the time, who was just the right amount of wrong for me.  I talked to him on the internet and we became friends.  I tried to set him up with a friend of mine who he'd expressed interest in, but she had another guy who was already "courting" her, so the whole thing ended up being really awkward.  The day after we all first hung out I walked to class with my friend and spent the entire journey chewing into her about what an asshole the "other guy" was for behaving so territorially.  She felt bad.  For some reason, it didn't strike me as strange that I was so protective.

Eventually things with my boyfriend kind of went south.  One night I was feeling especially neglected and stayed up late talking to my future husband (though unbeknownst to me) about it online.  He invited me to go out and grab a coffee/drink in the hopes of making me feel better, but I declined.  I was already in my pajamas and it was late.  So, in my naive wisdom, I suggested that he come pick me up and take me back to his place instead, which was a whole city away from my dorm room and I didn't even tell a single soul where I was going.  I got in his car -- wearing satin pajama pants and a spaghetti strap tank top, no bra -- and we drove to his place.  How I didn't end up on an episode of Forensic Files just goes to show you what a stand-up guy this man was.

He was very charming and flirty by nature.  So flirty, in fact, that when I eventually ended up breaking up with my boyfriend and venturing forward in life as a single college girl, I didn't pick up on the signals that he had a thing for me.  Over the summer he would call me on his way to work every morning and leave me a voicemail (back when I turned my phone off at night, lol).  At some point in the day I would listen to a fourteen-minute long message from him describing everything he was seeing on his drive in to work and whatever else was on his mind.  He was very sweet.  But I was too oblivious to realize that he actually liked me.

It wasn't until I started showing interest in another boy that he finally came right out and told me.  I mean, as blatant as a man could possibly be.  By that point, the effort he'd put into me must've felt exhausting, and he understandably wasn't about to let it all go to waste by watching me hook up with yet another man. So he confessed his feelings for me and there I was, eighteen years old, just pleasantly shocked by this development.

So we went on our first date (which was magical) and for me there was no turning back.  Within a month I loved him and felt convinced he was "the one."  Everyone thought I was crazy -- and probably I was -- but I wasn't wrong.  I looked at him, saw a magnificent thing, and just never looked away again.  Suddenly there was no other man in the world, and as I'm typing this (eighteen years later), I can say undoubtedly that that hasn't changed. 

I told him he was the Eighth World Wonder. 

Working Remotely Is Better Than Sex

 More on this to come.

And Just Like That...

 ... Everything has changed. 

:)

2022

 I could use this win.  Throw me this bone and I promise I'll be the best damn version of myself I've ever been.

Please.