I’ve written this post a hundred times in my head and deleted it just as many. I even imagined speaking the words to you over the phone so I could hear your voice one last time, but I knew I’d cry. I’m a fool in a lot of ways, and I see my mistakes like a neon yellow brick road stretching behind us. Hindsight being so fucking clear and all. My heart is bruised and my ego in tatters, but at least the anger is gone. Now I can sit down and put these words to paper. This is what I wish to say to you while staring into your gorgeous blue eyes, my hand cupped against the scruff of your cheek.
Twitter was still new to me when you sent me a Direct Message. We had a few back and forth jokes to boast about on our Time Lines and some light flirting, but I was still surprised by your message. You’re a witty man. You think fast on your feet, and our conversations were playful and fun. Our banter was a beacon in the dark days of my disintegrating marriage.
We swapped war stories about our exes, and I called you more than once in tears over some new hurt and the worries for my child. The uncanny part was our mental connection. You filled my thoughts, and my phone would vibrate moments later with a text from you. We were tender, raunchy, funny and generous with each other, and it took no time at all for my Twitter crush to shift into overdrive before I could find the safety brake.
You were one of the first people I told about M. I was a nervous mess before I revealed this secret part of me and held my breath as I waited for you to return with a verdict. You hinted that we needed to have a serious talk. As the days stretched into weeks, your silence spoke volumes. I watched my phone obsessively, waiting for the text or call when you would finally communicate with me about it. About us.
There’s no point in dredging up every moment, every step where I knew something wasn’t right but didn’t want to look too closely. Despite my disappointment, you continued to make me laugh. I soaked up your attention like basking in sunshine, a glimpse of light peeking through the clouds. You felt right in my heart, and I leaped into the feeling without a glance at the rocks below me. I can’t apologize for that part. I loved you. In fact, as I’m typing this, I still feel love for you.
The promises you gave me that I was the “only one” were unnecessary. Freeing myself from the cage of my marriage meant that I wasn’t about to plunge into another commitment. I didn’t care if you were dating or fucking other women. What I asked for was honesty. So when I found out that your trip to see me also included fucking two other women, I was…
I was standing in my kitchen, staring out the window without seeing a thing. I was crying, but it was in relief. Relief that I could let go of your judgment of me. Finally we were on equal footing.
Then the anger arrived like the hot blast from a furnace. I called Nikki at midnight and left her a twenty minute message about what I had learned about your other relationships. Let me be very clear about this. I wasn’t pissed that you sandwiched my visit between two others, I was pissed because we didn’t use a condom. My only partner had been my husband, and you swore that you didn’t have any others. I was too excited about oral sex and an impending orgasm of epic proportions to insist. THAT is inexcusable. I’m at fault too, and I’m still kicking myself that I jeopardized the people I love the most with something so careless. When there are multiple partners, my dear, you use a fucking condom or show me the goddamn test results that you’re clean. I’ll gladly show you mine.
Even after the emotion had washed away, I didn’t want to let you go. I think it was the vision of our potential that kept pulling me back to you, and the fact that you appreciated aspects of me that had gone unnoticed for years. Never mind that we could set a bed on fire by orgasms alone. So I stalked your TL like an obsessed detective, trying to piece together subtweets and imagined context. I combed through your mentions to scrutinize the avatars, remembering a time when you used to respond to my comments. I was unable to let go, so I made myself suffer the connection in true masochistic fashion. Until now.
Nikki’s advice was to punch you in the nuts, and at one point, I would have delivered it with ninja-like accuracy and maniacal glee. Luckily for everyone involved (especially your future lovers) I’m not in that place any more. Instead, I wish you the best. I see you for the amazing man you are, and at the same time, see that I can’t afford to be entangled in your lies. I hope you find whatever it is that you’re looking for on your TL and the women that flock to it. Since I know for certain that you’re not looking for an STD, use a condom next time. The next vagina thanks you.