Get the Look: Shirt; Jeans; Vintage Sweater; Shoes
Catch up on Part 1 of this story here
The next part of this story haunts me to this day. I still stand by the fact that I should have left when I first heard he made out with a girl immediately after kissing me in the hallway. But his pheromones took control of every situation and shot me into an obsessed girl following him around like I was the groupie to his
‘80s rock star status.
Because of our strong attraction to each other, we have made it a point to have sex in inappropriate places, a bathroom at a party, in someone's bed during a kegger and one night in his car outside my building (after he ended things the first time), but on this particular night we had taken it upon ourselves to "out do" well, each other.
When I had attempted to escape his grasp one last time, he decided to pretend to be a Southern Charmer by walking me out. As we began to say goodbye using our tongues, I felt his hand start to make its way down my shirt. Without divulging too much detail, as this is not Fifty Shades of Grey, one thing led to a slutty 'nother and we were now around the corner having sex in his friends apartment building hallway. I'd be lying if I didn't say it was hot. He had me pinned against the wall with my new favorite leather shorts around one ankle. As I start to come out of my full-blown alcoholic daze, I heard a loud screech from what sounded like a woman's voice. In the heat of this moment…we continued. I had then realized that the alcohol had officially set in and my inhibitions had completely gone out the window.
By this point we had made it to the ground and my shorts were now in my hand, along with my black lace underwear, but heels still intact. I had never even thought of doing something like this before, let alone ever had in my head that I would partake in such an outlandish experience. But every time I looked up into his eyes, I wanted to rip further into him, if it was possible.
As things were about to come to, well completion, we heard voices coming down the hall. This time, it sounded like men, so I figured I would pull myself together as I did not need the whole world to see my lady parts. He helped me up and I bounced around trying to get my foot through my leather shorts, but it did not seem to want to happen. As you would have it, we had been rolling around on top of each other so at this point, I was well, sweaty. If anyone knows anything about the combination of water and leather, it doesn't work. Before I had the chance to now even get my underwear back on, there they were, two brooding men, staring at me holding my underwear in one hand… and my leather shorts in the other.
Mortified isn't really the word to describe how I felt. Humiliated isn't either. It was by far the lowest moment of my life (that I can remember). You can get arrested for public indecency, and I can't imagine what that phone call would have been like. Eventually they decided to walk away and said Southern Charmer helped hold me up as I put my clothes back on and we headed around the corner as if nothing happened.
You would think this would have stopped us for continuing our sexcapade, but alas, we had not pushed the envelope far enough. We headed down the stairwell to finish the journey. I bent over holding my ankles against the wall, thinking to myself, “when will I learn?” Though fun, it seemed as though I was too old to be literally opening myself up to such risk as security guards calling the police on me, this all being caught on camera and somehow getting out…or getting my heart broken yet again.
When we finished, we sat down at the bottom of the steps and I leaned on his shoulder trying to grasp one slightly genuine moment of intimacy from the night.
"I wish I could lay with you right now and hold you all night," he said.
I was surprised he had something not completely douchey to say. So of course it reeled me in and I fell for it.
"Why don't you just come back to my place tonight?," I said, assuming that was where he was going with that comment.
"Hmm, maybe tomorrow you can come over."
With that, I threw in the how pathetic can I get towel.
On the way home I texted him all the things he had done so when he came out of his black out he would possibly find some remorse in the way he acted. Spoiler alert: he felt no remorse. I spend the following day metaphorically beating an apology out of him and once I got what I wanted, it didn't feel any better. I self loathed for weeks and in between spent time with him to somehow make an attempt of overshadowing that night. It never works, though. If they like you, they like you. If they don't, they don't.
He did not.
And as much as I didn't want to admit it to myself, that was the truth. I was just a pawn in his attention seeking scheme, and was as easy to toss aside as was his budding friendship with which was ruined because he needed to prove he could steal me away from him.
It took me a while to come to this conclusion, but the finality was confirmed when he referred to our hooking up as "ancient history" and said sorry the way a creepy old man sociopath does to a little girl he just molested. There was no emotion behind any words that came out of his mouth, so I finally got it. Even though he assured me that there were feelings there, I knew it was a lie. Everything unraveled before my very eyes and I saw him for who he really was, and I finally realized how much better I deserved.
He never cared. Not one bit.