Quickly, I’m going to define fuckboy first because it’s simple in my mind: younger Millennials decided to take the word “player” and make it their own. Call it neediness, attention seeking behavior, lack of imagination, immaturity and what have you from those born from 1990 and on. The fuckboy is a tool, literally, seeking only one thing from another person: sex. Sporting the latest hairstyle for men, snazzy threads, intense/charismatic demeanor and mastery of flattering words, this guy is easy to spot (not only just because his Type A personality has drawn a crowd around himself and his entourage) at nightclubs, bars and coffeehouses. There’s no deeper ulterior motive behind his actions and he’s screwed the day he fathers a daughter (or son) because “sins of the father visiting on his children” and all that. The fuckboy will use you to satisfy his sexual needs and ego but he’ll leave your heart alone. In every major women’s magazine touting to cover fashion, make up tips and dating advice there will be at least one quiz a publication year to help someone figure out if indeed, they have slept with a fuckboy (i.e. confirming players gonna play in the summary evaluating your score 😉 ).
Let’s start with this: when it comes to ruthlessness and being tactless, I can be one of the worst. I might be more blunt with a loved one (I consider my friends as loved ones) than a stranger or acquaintance because I fear for them and whatever situation they may be tangled up in. Even as I write, I’m chuckling at myself because speaking in euphemisms is not an ability I have and beating around the bush just makes whatever message I have more convoluted. Therefore, when you read the conversation between me and my friends, I hope I don’t lose you when I sound like a bitch.
A little background: I’ve stated before I grew up as a tomboy and I’ve always felt more comfortable around guys than the girls (who could be really catty and fake). I know their body language and am privy to more gossip than my few female friends will muster up. The latter is probably because I’ve never tolerated gossip and liars and am more than happy to call someone out on their b.s. Running with the guys from elementary school up to and through college meant a lot of pressure standing up against rumors that I might be slutty and that’s why the guys followed me around (the guys stayed with me because they enjoyed my friendship and because where my brother went, so did I, my sister and girlfriends). I made it a point to date outside the district to avoid discussions about my love life and worked extra hard to either be with someone or not: there was no hazy middle ground. I sure as hell did not break up other couples and a friend was a friend and no more. Still, the gossip suggesting I was a player was impossible to put out, and partly, because I am very sociable and I’m always willing to include others than ice them out of my social circle. That can send mixed signals when you’re a hormonal teen and not me, but my codes remain unbroken: a friend is a friend and no more. If I wanted it to be more, you would get the memo first 😉
Come college, I did run with a group of “players” because I didn’t get shit from them for being friendly and warm. My early childhood as an outcast due to my ethnicity in white suburbia stayed with me for a very long time and I know what it’s like looking in and being kept out. It’s why I don’t exclude anyone if I don’t have to (I will not associate with bigots, haters, gossipers, violence seekers, etc) and that’s all the explanation you will ever get from me. Enter XY who, along with my college ex, did have the agenda of bedding and dating as many girls as he could. To this day, he has no idea what his count is and I lost track around 20-30. Recently, he experienced a life changing event and had to re-evaluate his modus operandi of dating someone and sleeping around behind her back every time they got in a fight or shit wasn’t panning out. He got a kick out of stealing a girl away from another guy if he just “couldn’t help himself.” None of my warnings about karma were taken seriously before this monumental moment of inner reflection. A common conversation on FB or via texts and phone call:
NOT always a cheater. If you have been deceived by a lover in the worst way, that is to say your belief and trust in love was violated, then, I’m sure you find some comfort that Karma will be a bitch and your ex lover will fall. We do unto others as we would do unto ourselves and we get what’s coming to us. Perhaps, telling yourself, as your friends and family have told you, a cheater can’t change and is destined for loneliness brings some solace; I know that to be untrue from personal experience on both sides.
How is it already March of 2017! Class is kicking my butt and today is midterms. Next week is Spring Break! I had planned on going to Hong Kong with my buddy but too short of notice for him (plus, the Dept. of State denied him a pass to go).
I’m beginning to see my ex in the same light as my loved ones (friends, too) do since our break-up. If they see me weakening, they firmly remind me that he still hasn’t apologized, hasn’t “manned up” and isn’t worth my love, my time. Six months is up (a deadline they set up) and I’m still standing, he’s still hiding. I know if I willed it so, he and I would cross paths but I haven’t wanted it on an unconscious level. It’s been a difficult task to do in staying away from his parents and pug on a conscious level; be proud of me, though, for having not seen them in over two months and having no contact for four weeks. There is no place for me in the lives which revolve around my ex: it’s been taken by another. The knowledge isn’t crippling anymore and I know that the time when they’ll all be strangers is coming along more quickly. About three or four nights ago, I dreamed of him all night and I woke up without heartache, without deep longing. I’m forging ahead, firmly and alone.
They’ve been chiding me for a good month
Everyone in my circle pushing her to date
Pushing her ex from her thoughts and heart
They don’t want a very good woman wasted
So, I took her and dolled her all up
Her long, red hair and flawless skin
Required nothing more than touches
Her dress hugged the right features
Suede boots, stylish and classic
Thigh highs held in place by garters
Enhancing the turquoise lingerie set
I chaperone her date with a Wall St. broker
This is their third and like the last one,
Goes on for three hours over drinks and food
I watch his eyes linger on her lips and curves
As they walk towards the transportation home
His hand does not leave the small of her back
She lets him guide her, aware he wants her
The rhythmic sway of her hips into his side
attracts attention and I watch his eyes and mouth
set in a manner to dissuade his competition
Mostly, I see her internal struggle to stay than flee
She enjoys this man’s company, his stories
but her heart is still locked away: far from light
Far from pain, far from the half she won’t name
I whisper words of encouragement she can’t hear
The strength, the resolve she needs to trust again
Seems so far away for her: it’s easier to be numb
Cowardice was never her forte, she knows that
What’s unknown is if she can love and build again
After all, she gave him everything she could, save
The infrastructure that contained her personhood
As the financial analyst/investor tries to read her
I’m holding her, a hug from behind for the last time
He’s wrapped his arms around her waist as the A
comes in to whisk her away, leaving the ghost behind
His tender kiss has no price and yields a tear anyway
She gracefully returns it, softly and breaks away soon
The heartache is too much, the tears barely concealed
Her “goodbye muscle” is weak and in need of training
When she faces me, I look over her clear, youthful skin
A battle well won after weeks of stress, tears and anger
The body is rebounding much more slowly but with time
Anything is possible, anything can happen: love for her
I press her to charge ahead, to leave me behind to wait
We both know I’ll be waiting a long time: “love always”
That’s why I stay and she goes to find her next soulmate
She doesn’t need me in the way I needed her power of will
Her hourglass figure the perfect image of who we are
Together and apart but all contained in one glass piece
Existing in the same space: the Past and Present
Fragile, tiny particles Creating like jigsaw puzzle pieces
do for a larger, incomprehensible love story for the ages
She’s worthy of love; she just needs to work up the
Patience, Time, Resolve and Trust to go again
People like her aren’t meant to be used and abused
Rather, she’s to be inspirational and loved wholly.
I’ll be her past
A seeker might never finish his journey because then, he would be a Finder.
Let’s start with Valentine’s Day and the debacle of letting someone down gently. The teacher/musician-songwriter actually got on my case about my plans (just staying low key and being with friends) when we had a planned date for Thursday. I’m going to transcribe his litany of words and my texts back. For what it’s worth, I can’t read tone in texts and emails. A handwritten letter or phone call is so much more do-able.
LOL, it’s the Chinese New Year of the Rooster ^_^ But a year of cock just sounds more… devious and delightful 😉
The doctor is NOT a head doc/shrink 😛
Doc: We’re on schedule to seeing you off the CII by Oct or Nov of this year, barring anymore accidents/falls and we can always go with a nerve block if we see any regression with the CRPS. What has your GI said about your Crohn’s?
Me: He put me on prednisone back in Dec. and though the symptoms have scaled back on severity, they’re still present.
Doc: Are they going to give you a stronger dose or planning for something other than pharmaceuticals?
Me: I won’t go on a stronger dose of prednisone right now. I know from my asthma attacks and bouts of pneumonia that more and more prednisone is required each time my body tolerates a new level of it. I also don’t like the insane energy/lack of sleep I get while on it. So, I’m fasting for now and drinking ginger ale. It’s worked before though it can take 3 months to calm down the Crohn’s flare up.
Doc: You have to take better care of yourself! How else are you getting through med school?
Me: With an arsenal of doctors to keep me sane and my body functioning 😉
Doc: You, youngsters, take everything for granted like there’s all the time in the world. Like when are you getting married already?
Me (being a little sassy): When I finish med school and have a suitable partner?
Doc: Aren’t you still dating the Texan financial analyst/advisor? Wasn’t he the good one?
Me (laughing that my dr. recalls anything about my love life): The Texan and the financial analyst/advisor are two different people. But no, no longer exclusive.
Update (12/7/2016): Forgive this very lazy addendum to the last night (how “last” remains to be seen – I enjoy being in the cross hairs of his scope and being pursued 😉 ) I spent with my cowboy. For now, I have to write him off since my Crohn’s hit me with a double whammy: I got sick over Thanksgiving due to overly rich food, Chinese style, and was rolling downhill kinda slow until the acceleration at his place. I pride myself on being self sufficient, having a pretty frigging high pain tolerance and needing no one’s assistance when I succumb to any/all of my chronic illnesses, all the while keeping a picture of managed health. I forget how bad my situation was back in 2006 when my health has been stabilized these past 3-4 years but holy hell, my cowboy had to drive me in my car home (instead of the ER he was adamant on) and the entire time I’m doing my best not to scream with every bump, pot hole, hard brake or pumped gas pedal but some escape anyway. The cold sweat beading on my head, constant swearing (I’d been watching my potty mouth cause I could see him wince when I was a bit too happily raging about whatever topic) and agony in every breath scared him. I talk to myself in a berating manner to get myself calm and to get through every crashing wave of pain but I’m sure most of his fear came from the image of blood left on his bed and my shrunken state…
The lights are dimmed and the music in the background is some nondescript trance/instrumental type that she enjoys. I’m massaging her drained body and hoping I can release the sexual charge running just under a cloak of doubt, fear and pain. She has a way of twisting her muscles under my hands when I hit those sensitive spots and it’s difficult to ignore the way she groans with pleasurable release. There’s palatable emotion in the air as the highly electric current that is her mind is sorting through the last few months of 2016. She murmurs, “Am I making a mistake? Is it so large as to be un-doable? I hate hurting people.”
Me: “No, you’re following sound advice from all your peers and elders by moving away from Beck. Above all, you’re not hurting your cowboy by enjoying his company and obviously vice versa.”