THG III

I still think about you from time to time, though I did delete your number from my phone to remove the temptation to text you. Which sucks, but there's Facebook that helps me keep in contact with you. I still think about our last time hanging out sometimes. Last time was the 2nd time I ran to you when I was in trouble emotionally and also mentally. Which, both times that ended poorly.

Let's review shall we? Since the beginning, you've told me countless times that "this" was just sex and we weren't dating. It hurt when you told me that, especially when you told me multiple times. You kept reminding me like I was a little kid who just didn't get it or kept forgetting. But I wasn't. And I didn't.

My father treated me like I was still a little kid and I hated it. You were similar to my father multiple times. I've found something similar to my father in pretty much every guy I had a crush on/dated, and none of those relationships lasted for long. So maybe I need to stop doing that: Stop subconsciously finding things in common with guys I may potentially sleep with and the man who was half responsible for creating me.

What have I done to you? Deleted your number from my phone, which is worse than blocking you. If I had simply blocked you, I could still get to your number and unblock you then text you, but I didn't. I have no trace of your number in my phone. Doesn't matter though. Like I said, I can still message you on Facebook.

Anyways, back to how you'd emphasize that "we" were basically nothing. Did you know I told myself that more than you did? Every time you did something that made me want, no ache, to fall in love with you, I couldn't. Did you know you didn't have to cruelly point out what I didn't have to me? Especially when you did it after sex?

I guess I can understand why you reminded me of what we didn't have. Let's be real: I think we both know how much of a roller coaster ride of emotions I am. But I can't help it. Trust me, I wish I could but that's another story. This isn't about me. It's about YOU.

About T. You, T, you were my first. I lost my virginity to you on the one holiday that just fits me so well. Father's day. I think that's the biggest and best "Fuck You" to my Dad ever.

Losing your virginity can be a huge thing for some people and make them think they have a future with that person. But it's not to me. And I didn't think I had a future with you. Hence, I didn't need any words of caution, but I still got them. So, that one day when we met one of your friends and I was dressed up and he said "Damn, how'd you get this?" Or something along those lines, I said "Oh no, we're not dating."

But, you didn't look very happy when I said that, which I found weird. You were the one who said it first, so why couldn't I say it to your friends? It made me think maybe you wanted more than just sex, and I was surprised to find that wasn't the only time you put that thought in my head. But, back to why leaning on you when I was mentally and emotionally in trouble was worse than just going home, locking myself in my dark room and crying myself to sleep. At the time, we were working together and there was this guy that came in to the office once and I helped him.

Later on, I saw him at CFA in the food court. Of course, me being me, I approached WCG (White Car Guy). He was such a nerdy sweetheart with beautiful blue eyes. You know I love blue eyes. But he was sickeningly sweet, like eating an entire box of Swiss Rolls at once. I told him about You though, and I had spent the night at your place and my stuff was still there.

But he had a car and being the "gentleman" he was, he drove me to your place to grab my things. At the time, your shoulder was fucked up. I came in and asked how going to the doctor was, hugged you goodbye and said I was going home. And for some reason, I felt bad for not telling you about WCG. But, according to you, we were nothing so I didn't have to tell you shit, right?

WRONG! I left with him and we stopped at Target. Then he offered to drive me home after showing me his "hang-out spot", which was very sketchy. Long story short, he freaked the shit out of me and is the reason why I started carrying around a pocket knife. I was at the bus stop at the mall and I called you, panicking inside, asking if I could come back, talk to you and spend the night. You let me come back.

But you were getting drunk. Alcohol and you have never ended well for us. That night, I told you what happened with WCG and we fought. We fought like we fucking had something besides hickey-painted necks and whiskey dick. That night, I cried my eyes out and screamed until I was out of breath. I hated crying in front of you and I thought I wouldn't since I was on Testosterone , but I did.

Apparently, you were upset that I was "so quick to leave you" but I asked to come back. Which only made me more upset because I couldn't understand why you were upset. Once again, we're not dating. Am I wrong? That night I barely got any sleep and then had work at 11 that next morning.

That day, I had bags under my eyes and felt like a zombie. After that, you found basically any way to bring up WCG, even though I repeatedly apologized when I shouldn't have. I tried to stay away from you but that was nearly impossible while working at the mall with you a short walk through the woods away. I was doing good though. I had managed to stay away from you when all I wanted to do was keep giving you chances to be the Good Guy.

To be the type of guy that I wouldn't regret losing my virginity to. I was doing good, like I was fresh out of rehab. But then something caused me to relapse. That guy at the mall (TW: Non-consensual touching mentions following). It was my first time being touched sexually without consent, and at the time it happened I wasn't sexually active or even intimately active.

So that terrible, horrible, traumatizing experience was the only sexual contact I had in weeks and it wasn't even consensual!! That night was a very dark one for me as well as the days following. My brain was just stuck on repeat and I couldn't stop seeing Him touch me. At the time, A was dating this guy she liked since high school so I couldn't do anything with her. I felt I needed a good, acceptable sexual experience with someone that I felt cared about me.

And besides A, you were the only person I felt I could turn to, so I did. Once again, I trusted you to be there for me on an emotional level. But this time I didn't tell you what had happened and that came back to bite me on the ass. You were sitting on the bed and I was standing in front of you and you did something you'd done before: Reach your hand out and grab me between the legs. Which is 100% fine.

At least it would be if the CREEP who assaulted me at the mall hadn't done the same to me. But he did. And even though I knew it was you that was touching me with my consent and even though I desperately needed your touch, I still slightly panicked when you reached out your hand to touch me. And I mean slightly panicked. So much so that you didn't even notice.

Or did you? Did you notice how I slightly flinched? Did you assume it was just because I'm sensitive in that area? I'm sure you did. If, of course, you even noticed my reaction. Because, let's be real, you had no reason to think that there was anything seriously wrong with me at the time.

Why? Because I didn't tell you. Because I hid it from you and because, by some amazing miracle, I was able to lie about my emotions for once in my life. And it was a damn good lie about a damn strong emotion. And I masked that shit. I let my silly, boisterous personality shine through after keeping it buried deep inside the darkest part of me.

And you? You fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. So we had sex and thankfully, it was really good. But then, well you must've had a few drinks. I can't really remember if I saw you drinking that night and soon you ended up pissing me off quickly.

Then I tried to go to bed. The keyword here is "tried". I always sleep on the inside of the bed since you like the outside and it's your bed. That night, you basically laid on top of me and I thought you were just joking/being a dick as usual when you're drunk. So I asked you why you were on top of me.

Because, the way your room is set up, the bed is against 2 walls and me sleeping on the inside meant I was facing one of those walls. And with you being on top of me, crushing me and pressing me into the wall, I was uncomfortable. At the time, you had a job and I didn't and well you're an asshole, so you asked me: "Is this your bed? Do you have a job to go to tomorrow?"

I didn't but I told you I wasn't comfortable. Unfortunately, you're a toolbag so you asked me if I'd rather sleep on the floor and that's when I realized that I made the same mistake once again. The mistake of me leaning on you when I was in trouble mentally and emotionally, which is worse than isolation. I would've left right then and gone home, but I didn't have the money for an Uber and it was midnight so the busses had stopped running. I couldn't text someone to come pick me up and take me home, so I pushed myself into that wall as much as I could to distance myself from you.

If I had been a bit more stubborn I would've slept on the floor, but I didn't cause I don't deserve that kind of treatment. Eventually I ended up being able to fall asleep that night. The next morning I wanted to leave the way I did the last time I slept over but I didn't because, somehow, I felt bad for you. I felt bad for you because when we were texting before I even came over, I apologized to you for not being completely honest with you, and I still hadn't done that the last time I saw you. So, I'm doing it now.

I hope I'm able to read this to you one day soon and you'll let me read it's entirety without interrupting me to disagree with something I said. I don't really think this will change anything between us for the better and honestly, I don't think I want it to. I don't wanna fall in love with you because, when it comes to love, I won't let myself settle for less than I know I deserve. Because you can't and you don't respect my gender identity. Because you've called me a girl in bed multiple times.

Because you've called me 'Kitten' in bed multiple times and although I love it, it hurts being called that the entire time because I know that you don't want to offend me by calling me a girl in bed. But you can't bring yourself to call me a guy in bed. Because when it comes down to sex, I'm still a female to you. And I knew you were straight before I slept with you but I still did. Which was a fucking mistake.

So, this, all of this is why me running to you when I need someone to be there for me mentally and emotionally, ends poorly. And all of this is me trying to convince myself NOT to do it again.

THE END.