Somewhere in the middle of me discovering that I hated the living shit out of my husband, I started to realize my attraction to my best guy friend was getting stronger. Whenever the weekend came around, I would hang out with my best friend and her husband and his best friend. My husband and I had opposite schedules so he was never involved in any of our activities. Also, no one really liked hanging out with him, including myself, because he was so awkward and negative and could bore the hell right out of you. If my husband was to come around for whatever reason, I dreaded it but, when I thought about hanging out with my best guy friend, I would look forward to it. Once I realized this, the “D-word” was on my mind like crazy. Okay, two D-words: divorce and dick. My husband and I stopped having any kind of sex when the Cubs were still lovable losers and our president was black instead of orange. A girl needed the “D” in a bad way.
Once I finally did the deed and told my husband we should separate, my friends and coworkers were cheering me on for the weekend because with divorce shit started, dick was the next step for my well-being and I made it clear to all of them that I knew which one I wanted. My “best” guy friend and I texted all day, every day for months prior, whether it was private texts between the two of us or group texts with us and my best friend and her husband. Most everything was platonic before I told my husband I was ready to leave. He and I had drunkenly kissed twice and drunkenly made our attraction known a couple times as well but most of our conversations were on the friendship level.
The day I left my husband and he put me in the hospital though, I should have taken the cues from this guy and stayed away from him immediately. I texted him before, during and after the violent madness and after I left the hospital, I didn’t hear from him. I texted him hours later, after moving some of my belongings and my dogs out of the apartment I shared with my husband. I said something along the lines of, “Well, I fucking survived, in case you were wondering.” He made some flimsy excuse for why he didn’t call or text or show any concern at all, and I accepted it and still wanted to bone him that weekend.
With my girl friends as cheerleaders, I easily forgot about the violent rage the Sunday before with my soon-to-be ex-husband, and I quickly moved in to a new apartment and ordered furniture, excited for the upcoming weekend ridiculousness. I literally had friends congratulating me for potentially getting laid that Saturday. I felt like I was the entire 2016 Cubs team, about to win the World Series. It had been over a hundred years for them and myself! This was huge. I was so geeked out I could explode. I was hoping I did exactly that on the weekend. At this point, five whole fucking months had gone by that I slept next to a man who avoided touching me in any way so I was feeling very much like my 17 year old virgin self all over again.
Saturday came and I obviously hung out with my best guy friend. At this point I cannot remember the details. I can’t tell you where we went or who we were with. That honestly doesn’t matter anyway, does it? At the end of the night, we did what we aimed to do. I was at his place. He touched me. He kissed me. He paid attention to me. It had been so long since anyone had done any of those things that nothing was going to stop the things that happened next.
Needless to say, if you know me at all, the weekend consisted of intense drinking. The details on the night are obviously weak, with that fact, and the fact that it’s been months since this all happened. All I do know is that I woke up at his place, not wearing clothes, remembering that we definitely had sex but my body felt like it might not have happened. After 5 months of no sex with your husband, you’d think you might feel SOMETHING after a night like this, but, nope. I still felt like a virgin. Tight as a Chinese finger trap over here. All of my friends were quite disappointed upon hearing the news, and I was too. All the build-up. All these months of no affection. All this flirtation with my friend. The next day felt like nothing happened.
I told myself that it was because I was drunk, and it couldn’t possibly have to do with the fact that he was hiding a dick the size of a baby carrot in his jeans. My friend was widely known as a player in our friend group. He had a new girl every week but all of our friends swore he wouldn’t dispose of me the same way he disposed of these other girls. We had a real connection and strong friendship and we all believed he couldn’t possibly jeopardize or ruin that. I was wrong. We were all wrong.
The next weekend I tried again. The cheers and encouragement from friends for my potential Saturday sexing were loud and proud. I prepped myself as any girl would and made sure to pace myself with drinks and eat at least 400 calories of food that day so I could fully remember the main event but also look skinny enough that I would still look good naked. Here we go. Again. When we were sufficiently buzzed, we headed back to his place. His friend was staying over too. He lived in what was basically a large studio apartment. No walls. No doors. His friend, Dusty, was sleeping 5 feet away from us but that was NOT going to stop me from reaching my goal for the night.
The night went exactly how it went the week before. I finally realized I felt nothing because there was…nothing. He was packing as much as a male chihuahua puppy down there. HUGE disappointment. Still, if I could endure a sexless marriage for a long period of time, I could work with baby wiener and show him how to work it. I was confident. I was sure. I was motivated. He was over it.
Despite everyone we knew thinking that we had such a strong connection and friendship that nothing could shake it, he immediately became weird and distant. Daily messages ceased and things became awkward between us. I felt that I was irritating him by talking to him the same way I had for the past couple years. Normally he would joke with me back and forth but now I’d barely get replies. Not being afraid of confrontation or initiating communication, I called him out on his strange behavior.
I was basically told that he wanted to be friends and he did want to sleep with me but that was it. He did not see himself dating me in any way, so that was that. It was done. Here I am, willing to work with a baby carrot penis but he’s not willing to date me. Was he really pinkie-sized in the penile department or did I have a gigantic, cavernous vagina? Hmmm….
Now, I must admit, I was more emotionally fucked in the head over this than I was over the physical abuse and separation from my husband. I was emotionally detached from that situation before it even started I think. This relationship though, was one I was emotionally very invested in. I immediately knew this would change the dynamic of our friendship with his best friend and my best friend. We would never hang out the way we had before. He would go from being a big part of my life to nothing. It’s usually surprisingly easy for me to eliminate people from my life. Although, in the two weeks prior, my life had already turned upside down, this was a whole new level.
Looking back on all this now, I clearly see that I was absolutely not “dateable” as a good friend put it. I laughed at her and said she was insane because I swore I was in my right mind. I know now that at that time I probably needed constant psychological therapy, as I was most positively out of my mother fucking mind with the stress of everything I was going through. Throughout my life though, it’s been a roller coaster with the most insane situations so trauma and drama and chaos are things I feel comfortable in, whether they are healthy or not. Something is wrong though, with a grown man who knowingly takes advantage of a woman who just experienced the most traumatic incident of her life. He knew I was in a bad marriage and was nearly murdered by my husband. He knew acting on his physical desires would destroy friendships. He knew how he felt and what he was doing to me were wrong and he did it all anyway.
Throughout the few weeks and months afterward, I had gotten over my baby carrot penis “best” friend. We stopped talking and spending time together immediately. I started going on dates with every loser on Tinder and Bumble. When you want to get over someone, just get under someone else, right? I have seen him on occasion with our mutual friends and things are fine. It’s likely they won’t be so fine after I post this but these days, I have zero fucks to give. The truth and only the truth forever. Welcome to 2018.
Swiping My Life Away 