Okay, let me tell you about the biggest asshole I've ever dealt with in my whole life.
Like many assholes, he didn't start out that way (unlike my first boyfriend who was born that way and never changed). The Consummate Asshole actually started out as a very nice guy and a good friend of mine. He had a crush on me, and I could have been interested in him if I wasn't stuck in the vicious cycle, on-again off-again relationship I had with boyfriend number one. See...I was desperately codependent. I thought that I could save boyfriend number one and make things all better for him. So, naturally, the nice guy I could have had with a snap of my fingers got pushed to the back burner. That is my bad, and I am perfectly willing to admit that a lot of the things that went wrong between us were my fault. However, lines were crossed on his part that should never have been touched.
Fast-forward to the end of my relationship with boyfriend number one. There I was, finally making room in my life for the right people and the nice guy that was has been off at college and has fallen in love with someone else. I kind of expected it, to be honest, and I encouraged him to go for it (God only knows why). I think maybe it had to do with the fact that I never thought I was good enough for him. I was damaged, and self-aware enough to know it, and I wanted better for him. So, I helped him win over the girl he wanted. I gave him tips and pointers, and before I knew it they were engaged.
I did my best to be happy for him, honest to God. I sincerely swear. However, after I met her I knew that their relationship was going to crash and burn. They were so far beyond wrong for each other that it wasn't even funny. Everyone tried to tell them. It wasn't just me. All of our mutual friends were waving giant red flags screaming, "Don't do it, man! Bad call! You're going to regret this!" Would he listen? Nope.
One day we were studying together and I just had to open my big mouth. I could have kicked myself afterward. What did I say? "Hey...don't invite me to your wedding. When the preacher asks if there is any reason why you two should not be joined in holy matrimony, I might have something to say." He blinked, nodded, and I left. That was the only time we discussed the matter before I experienced my nervous breakdown. He got married while I was in the hospital. I guess that was a great way to make sure I wouldn't show and gum up the works for them.
Ironically enough, he was the one who picked me up from the hospital after I was released. I should have known shit was going to to VERY badly between us from then on when he said, "Boy, you sure know how to take a vacation when you want one, don't you?"
See, he thinks that mental illness is a choice, a preference problem, and that you should just be able to "choose" not to be Type II Bipolar, or whatever else. He doesn't think people should take medication for mental illness because we can just think our way out of it, right? That's a whole other schpiel that I should probably leave alone for now. Let's get back to the point, here.
He made sure to make me angry enough that I wouldn't want to talk to him for ages. He took me out to lunch with a friend of his, whom I didn't know, and started making wiseass remarks about my relationship with boyfriend number one--his love of rough anal sex in particular (which I honestly hated, it was so incredibly painful...I can't even describe it properly). Now, call me an old-fashioned kind of girl, but I didn't feel like taking me out to lunch and making fun of things in my past relationship that I was ashamed of in front of a total stranger was a very nice thing to do. I was very upset. I didn't speak to him for months.
Fast forward again. I medically withdrew from the university and went home. A few weeks later my parents and I got an invitation to a brunch at his parents' house to celebrate his marriage. I did not want to go. It was not on my to-do list. Still, my mother insisted that we go because he'd been such a good friend to me in the past. When she insisted, something popped out of my mouth against my will that I regret to this day. "I can't go, mamma! I love him too much!"
Well, shit. Let me reiterate that I regret saying that more than almost anything else in my life. Mom was very understanding. I was doing a fantastic impression of Scarlett O'Hara, crying hysterically and trying not to think about anything. So, after my chat with mom I spruced up, put on my brave, detached face, and we went to the shindig his parents were throwing. I cannot tell you how much champagne I drank at that brunch. Still, I was rather proud of myself. I was polite and supportive and sociable. I was also secretly enjoying the fact that he didn't speak a single word to his wife the whole time I was there. Shame on me. I knew it was bad then, and I know it now. I felt terrible about it, and still did until very recently.
We pretty much quit speaking to each other after he got married. I was busy trying to put my life back together, and he was busy trying to build a new one. Almost a year later we happen to chat with each other on Facebook, just to check in, and I find out that they're getting divorced. I even refrained from telling him "I told you so." You have no idea how hard that was for me. I like to be right.
Anyway, we start talking and rebuilding our friendship and, roll your eyes if you will, I started getting a little hopeful that we might be able to make a go of things as more than friends. (So fucking sue me.)
One thing lead to another, and he swung back into the town where we went to college. I was back in school and doing very well at this point. Between the two of us, we decided that I should meet him at his hotel and we ended up having sex. A lot of sex. In the back of my mind, I knew it was a terrible idea, but we did it. Too damn bad now. After the sex, we decided that I should take the train up to where he was living at that point and visit him over summer break. I thought it was a great idea. I even ignored the sting that came with him suggesting that I should lose weight before I came up to meet him. Bad idea.
We continued long-distance flirting (sexting, etc.), but he stayed on my ass about losing weight, and I finally got so pissed that I bailed on the trip. I got my money refunded and went to Universal Studios in Orlando with my best friend, instead. (MUCH BETTER IDEA. I had a blast.) The excuse I gave him in my bailout email was that I was feeling a little too attached to him, and I thought it would be better for both of us if we backed off. Bad idea. We didn't speak for ages, again. I should have just told him the comments about my weight were pissing me off. I would just like to point out here that I weigh the least out of my entire inner circle of girlfriends. I did not look bad at all. Poor Mr. One-Night-Stand called me several times wanting to go out, but I was too busy being a jackass to give him another shot. Besides, I wouldn't have anyway. Not even an entire bottle of tequila could make sex with Mr. One-Night-Stand interesting.
We didn't speak to each other for what had to be about a year while he was overseas, and then he decided to pop back on the grid after I sent him an email apologizing for abandoning my trip to see him. We started flirting again. Bad fucking idea. I graduated college, and we were still flirting when he came home from overseas. We went out a few times, and it was nice. He always paid for everything, which technically made those dates. After a few "dates," we ended up sleeping with each other again. No relationship status was mentioned, so I assumed we were friends with benefits. Fine by me. I was getting laid by a guy that I could stand to be around most of the time. Then he'd get drunk and obnoxious. All he ever wants to do is drink, and he becomes a MASSIVE asshole when he does. It's not a good situation.
Still, I'm getting laid so I go along with his drinking and try not to complain even though he's treating me like a pile of dog shit. One night we were driving around with a friend of his after hitting a bar (ironically enough, it was the same friend with whom we'd had lunch when the Asshole embarrassed me so badly). Note: I was sober, and I was the one doing the driving. In the car that night, Asshole actually admitted that he knew he treated me like shit. The three of us ended up going back to a vacant house that my family owns. His friend gave him shit about the way he treated me all night, and at some point during the night before the friend passed out, I became the Asshole's "girlfriend." It was officially said aloud, agreed upon, and witnessed.
I thought things might be looking up a little. Asshole and I had sex, passed out, and the next day we were kind of on the chilly side of civil with each other. I'm pretty sure that he was mad that Drunk Asshole had decided that I was his girlfriend without Sober Asshole's permission. Whatever. I could feel that he was freaking out, so I told him it was fine with me if he just called us fuck buddies. Bad call on my part. Shit all went downhill from there. He started treating me worse and worse, especially when we were in front of other people.
Fast forward a little. We ended up having to help one of my best friends move cross-country between Christmas and New Year's. So, we get her settled in 1,433 miles away from my home, and we stay a few days because we want to hang with my best friend and her husband for New Year's. (Asshole and Bestie's Husband have been friends since childhood.)
He treats me like shit in front of our friends for the ENTIRE trip, but wants to have sex with me every single night after everyone else has gone to sleep. Ironic, right? Well, I went along with it hoping that the asshole bit was just some kind of wild streak thing he was trying to work out. Boy, what an idiot I am. Two days before we left, I told him that my bestie and I were going shopping at a sex shop that night, and that I was going to pick up some fun stuff for us to play with. You'd think that'd be enough to get a guy's attention. Well...Bestie and I split off from the guys to go and do our shopping, then we get home. Hours pass, and Bestie's Husband and their roommate come in. Asshole does not.
So, I'm sitting there with a brand new corset and crotchless panties on under my clothes waiting for him to come in. Everyone trickles off to bed and I'm left waiting in the living room. He finally staggers in at 3:00, drunk as a skunk, and crawls under the covers with me. He feels that I've got the corset on and decides that we should probably have sex. So, we start having sex. I thought he was just out drinking this whole time. NOPE. WRONG!
While we are in the middle of having sex , he decides to tell me that he paid a hooker to fuck him while he was gone. Lying there, humping me like some kind of impotent chihuahua, he tells me to my face that he went out and FUCKED A HOOKER while I was here waiting on his ass. You know what else that motherfucker said to me? "She was fantastic, but you're doing a great job on cleanup." And then his stupid ass noticed the horrified look on my face and proceeds to tell me, "I wore a rubber, so you should be fine."
Now...wait just a minute. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! Is anyone else freaking the fuck out here? I am. Who does that shit? The worst part was that I could tell he enjoyed the hurt look on my face.
This jerkoff used to be such a nice guy, and he still pretends to be one. He acts like he's got a sense of honor and decency and is always spouting shit about doing the right thing. Blah motherfucking blah. It doesn't mean shit if you don't live up to it. Goddamn hypocrite. Then, on top of all this shit, I had to make that 1,433 mile trip back with him in a small car, and we had to make stops in three different cities in Texas on the way back. Let's draw out the misery, shall we? He was a douche all the way back.
How much of a douche was he? Well, even his male friends from college were horrified at the way he was acting. Random Texan guys that I didn't know from Adam's housecat kept asking me if I was okay. (Side note: You Texan men are awesome. Thank you.)
At one of the stops in Texas, we were staying with a friend from college. He is engaged and lives with his fiancee. This so-called friend of ours wouldn't stop flirting with me the whole time we were there, even though I made it clear that I absolutely DO NOT FLIRT WITH GUYS WHO ARE INVOLVED WITH OTHER WOMEN. I just don't. I have rules about that shit. If you are involved with another woman, do NOT try to flirt with me. That is not okay. Well, at one point before we left, the guy "friend" we were staying with sent me a picture of his dick. I was pretty goddamn upset about it. So, I told Asshole. Know what his drunk ass did? He called me a liar. I sincerely hope that he felt like a piece of dog shit the next day when I showed him the texts and the pictures.
And STILL, he continued treating me like crap as we moved on to the next city. He was so rude to me there that one guy actually offered to buy me a plane ticket home if I wanted one. I almost took him up on the offer, but I didn't want to take his money. So, Texan man who offered to buy me a plane ticket, God bless you. I hope lots of good things happen in your life because you are truly kind.
The douchebaggery continued until the final day of our drive. Asshole tried to talk to me about how "being a nice guy never really worked out for him," and "being an asshole was so much safer and better." Safer and better for who, you sorry fuck? Seriously? Who the fuck do you think you're kidding. You're just making excuses because you don't want to feel bad about hurting me. Fuck you seven ways from Sunday, jerkoff. Real men don't treat women the way you've treated me.
The chapter in my life where we interact on any level is at an end. Bye. I hope the door does smack you in your bony ass on your way out.
I never thought I would say this, EVER, but at least Boyfriend Number One was honest. He never pretended to be anything besides an asshole. The guy discussed in this chapter is officially worse, and that's saying something.