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LABELED: Friend of a Friend by Anonymous

I had briefly started dating the friend of someone I dated a few months earlier. By "dated earlier", I mean we were consistently sleeping together for a short period of time, but I’m trying to not sound too vulgar. I met this new "friend" at the previous suitor’s apartment one night after showing up a little tipsy. We ended up running into each other at a party shortly after that and there was what I thought an obvious connection between the two of us, so we ended up hanging a few times. I gained romantic feelings for him pretty quickly which I hadn't really let myself enjoy after having my heart shattered to pieces a few months earlier. So my instant comfort and ability to let my guard down around him was slightly surprising. However, it felt so easy I attempted to avoid my pessimistic nature and the thoughts it lead me to. As per usual, I should have went with my gut. Before we were even officially “seeing each other” he decided to break things off. I was confused as to what exactly he was breaking off; he stated that he wasn’t intending on sleeping with other girls, he still wanted to hang out with me and he still wanted to hook up with me, but just isn't looking for a relationship. Well, neither was I, but I thought that at least granted me over 3 months of dating bliss. Honesty would have been appreciated in this faux break up, and having some self-respect on my end would have too. Alas, I am a girl with needs, and going against everything I am generally against, we decided to see each other with "no strings attached," because, "don’t worry guys, I promise, I can handle it.” Famous last words. Our “friends with benefits” situation had a few more complications than I had anticipated. We were forced to be in the same social situations more often than I would have liked due to a slight overlap in our group of friends. Most of those nights involved me drinking enough to make it bearable to be around him. I'd either spend the entire night wondering if we were going to go home together, or watch him flirt with any girl he spoke to. Either way, it was a consistent torture I put upon myself and it quickly became far too clear that my masochist behavior needed an intervention.

Blah, blah blah… let's get to the good stuff, or bad stuff I should say: his birthday.

I spent my week pondering whether or not I should go. At the end of his Super Bowl party he was incredibly rude and super sketchy so I wasn't sure I was ready to take on another night like that. But, I thought to myself, "life is short, have some fun.” He did, in fact, invite me personally and not just via Facebook invite, so I felt as though he cared about my presence there, at least, maybe, the tiniest bit.

Let me take this time to note there is an age difference between him and I, me being an adult, him being....not an adult. He often urges me that the age difference doesn't matter, but it is undoubtly what lead me to have to endure a night like this. Yes, endure, as in, I had to endure every horrible aspect of college I thought I left behind. Much to my dismay, whore-loving frat boys still linger in the dark corners of parties, only now they're hidden by the shade of a faux “nice” personality.

So here we go.

The Scene: Night of the party, sometime in 2014

Location: Currently unavailable

People in my party: 0… my roommate would meet me later in the night

Outfit: Perfection. Leather shorts, pumps, white tee shirt and a flannel to downplay. I knew I would be the only girl there who dressed with style. Everyone else was wearing outfits as if they needed to avoid ruining their good clothes by stepping in spilled beer on the ground. I was slightly horrified.

Alcohol: Tequila, then vodka, then maybe some beer... woops.

Him: Cute as ever. Dammit.

And so it begins…

"Hey… happy birthday!," I said, with the feeling of the ocean tossing monstrous waves through my stomach.

He greeted me with a huge smile and a passionate hug, which lead me to believe that I may have over-analyzed how this night would go.

We chatted a bit until new people entered the room and his gaze left me pretty quickly. I walked into the kitchen to avoid frustration as the apartment was quickly filled with party music, sub-par looking girls and young good-looking guys.

I stood away from him to avoid seeming too eager, which hardly ever works. I attempted to get his attention from across the room, but was denied because his eyes were too busy following every other girl there. I knew it was an overreaction to get upset, annoyed, and infuriated all in one moment, but I couldn't help it. Aren't you supposed to get some sort of preferential treatment if you're sleeping with the person who's birthday it is? I started to notice him continuously crossing a personal space boundary with one particular girl for an extended amount of time. I had two options, and should have went with option 2: leaving. Instead, I decided to pull him aside and talk to him.

I went up to him, knowing full well this wasn't going to turn out how I wanted.

My expectation:

He puts his arm around me and assures me that she's nothing. He pulls me into a room and kisses me, tells me how much he likes me and pays no mind to any other girl the rest of the night. We go home together and have the best time laying in bed and laughing the following morning.

My (unfortunate) reality: (loosely translated)

"Hey, so I don't want to be weird, but can I just ask you something quickly?," I asked.

"Yeah, of course," he said, with no hesitation.

"I don't really want to like, go to a weird place right now, but are you dating that girl?"

"Oh she's my girlfriend, haha"

"Oh. Okay."

"No, I mean, in acting stuff. She's played my girlfriend in two things. We're just friends"

I guess that's what I wanted to hear. Sort of. The conversation continued reeking of desperation and pity on my end. I couldn't stop myself from talking.

"Okay, it's none of my business, but if you're going to be flirting with other girls all night I kind of just want to leave. You can do whatever you want, obviously, but I'd rather protect myself."

I thought it was a mature route, more so than usual at least.

"No, please stay," he continued, "I really want you here. If anything, you're considered my girlfriend here. You were seriously the only girl I wanted to show up. I am so excited to hang out with you and I really do want you to stay."

At this moment, I did not realize how intoxicated he was. I knew he was drunk, since he referred to me as 'the only girl here conisdered hisgirlfriend,' [eyeroll] but I didn't realize he had passed the point of no return. If it wasn't for his dreamy ocean blue eyes, I would have left, but they have a control over me. I put forth my best efforts to look away; I wanted to avoid getting entrapped in his gaze that controls my every affection for him. But tonight, I was weak and my eyes were locked to his. And because of that, I believed the bullshit that spilled ever so gracefully from his perfect beer-consuming lips.

As the night continued, so did the downward spiral I found myself stuck in.

Instead of giving a detailed account of this part, because I personally don't want to revisit this aspect of the pain-inducing experience, here is the play by play:

1. He said I was the only girl he wanted to be there, again. Then walked away to talk to someone in the middle of my sentence.

2. He pushed me against the wall and started making out with me.

3. He went onto the balcony and made out with another girl.

4. I confronted him. He said it wasn't true. I believed his lie; damn him, damn his eyes.

5. He sat next to a (very ugly) girl and they nearly kissed.

6. He tried to kiss me, again.

7. He took a girl’s number in front of me.

8. He persuaded me to go into to the bathroom. We had sex.

9. He went on for about 15 minutes about a girl he was in love with in college and how disappointed he was they weren't together.

10. He made out with another girl…who has a boyfriend.

I think that's enough.

I had finally decided to say something else. Again. I pulled him aside, again. I knew he was wasted, but he needed to know he was being the epitome of everything he claims not to be.

"You just made out with that girl."

"She has a boyfriend," he replied.

"So I've heard. That's why I don't get what you're doing right now."

"Well, I want to fuck her," he said, while looking me dead in the eyes.

I had yet to feel my heart sink that deep that evening, but this doozy sure dropped the anchor. It was that feeling that makes you feel faint because you are so astonished by the disrespect someone had swung your way for absolutely no apparent reason. I felt like an idiot, a slut and like the desperate girl I urge my friends not to be.

He tried to backtrack, but it was too late. Every positive thought I had about him crumbled in front of me. More than anything, I was ashamed of my naivety. I know better, I am better and I can do better. Unfortunately, his chemical make up and the fact that I am only human lead me here.

What followed was more than I can leave you with in this half. But, it actually gets worse. More humiliating. And more degrading.

To find out more, read Part 2 next month.

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