IT HAPPENED TO ME: A Guy I Was Dating Hurt Himself Masturbating and Accused Me of Giving Him An STD

We had never done anything that could have made his penis issue into my penis issue.
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Publish date:
March 31, 2015
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Tags:
breakups, masturbation, stds, lube, Sex,

Charm is the worst. It makes good guys into perfect guys and douchebags into irresistible guys. It has, historically, made me into jelly.

Ted* was charming. He was charming throughout our first three dates. He was also hilarious, grown up, and employed, all things that had been lacking in the other guys I’d been dating that fall. He was even taking night classes for a graduate degree.

But there were always "catches" to the things I liked about him. He was fun to talk to, but it took him hours, sometimes more than a day to respond to a text. He could only squeeze me into his schedule once a week. He was generally more sexual than I was, and after our first date, he started redirecting every conversation until it was about sex.

When we went to see Don John, he didn’t even ask me my opinion on it, just made me nod through a dissertation on what sort of porn he liked best for the whole drive home. Looking back, he was obviously testing the waters. How weird a fetish could he bring up before I tried to change the topic?

He turned a mild make-out session into a series of demands about not wearing condoms, when I’d explicitly told him that we wouldn’t have sex for at least a few more dates and that condoms were non-negotiable at that juncture.

On our last date, he told me that he was really hurt by the fact that I didn’t trust him enough to have sex with him, got very mopey and passive aggressively demanded sex from me until I started to cry and left.

Looking back, it’s ludicrously obvious that I should not have wasted a month of my life on such a upturned douche canoe, and I haven’t wasted much extra time trying to justify my thought process. I’m young. I made a mistake. He made such a great first impression that it let him coast through a lot of missteps, and he was charming in the way that people describe serial killers as being charming, where you know something is off, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is until you see the shadow against the shower curtain and the violins start to play.

So when he called me out of the blue on a Sunday morning three weeks after I’d sobbed myself out of his apartment, I was cautious and annoyed. I let the call go to voicemail, and waited until I had a cup of coffee to check the message.

He needed to talk to me.

I replied with a text, demanding to know what exactly we needed to talk about. He had two things he needed to say, one positive, and one, “not so much.” I told him that he didn’t need to tell me a negative thing three weeks after we’d broken up. He asked if he could call me later, and I didn’t reply.

I was in line at the grocery store when he called to say that he realized that he had been a jerk, he was sorry, and he missed me.

But also, he’d been having painful penis feelings.

I never had sex with Ted. He’d broken up with me because I’d never had sex with him. We had never done anything that could have made his penis issue into my penis issue. (And for the record, I have never had an STD)

He wanted to make sure that I really was clean, because he hadn’t been physical with anyone but me in the last two months, and this penis issue had just recently creeped up on him.

He also wanted to know if I was free for dinner on Friday.

There were a million reasons to say no. He was a manipulative jerk. He was probably lying about not being physical with other people. He was creepy. He had just told me that he might have an STD.

I said yes.

Maybe it was horrified fascination and I just needed to know what would happen if I went. Maybe I really thought that he meant what he was saying. Maybe I just wanted to make him buy me pie while I got the last word in.

Whatever it was, we made plans for Friday evening. He told me to pick a restaurant and text him later. He promised to keep me apprised of the outcome of his exam (for his penis problem. The problem with his penis. That penis problem).

I spent Monday and Tuesday trying to justify this decision to myself and to my friends. They are all reasonable supportive people, who realized how stupid I was being. Wednesday afternoon, he texted me with his results. He did not have an STD. Then he texted me a three paragraph explanation of what had actually happened.

It seems that in the three weeks since we had broken up, he had gone through all of the Vaseline in his apartment. For masturbating. He had then gone through the last of his lotion (for masturbating) and then through most of a grody old bottle of lotion he had found under his bathroom sink (this was for dry skin. Not! Also for masturbating). Somehow he had gotten enough of the lotion far enough down his urethra to cause an extended period of intense pain and several days of irritation, which was only now starting to resolve itself, because he’d finally thrown the lotion away.

I read this unbelievable text three times. I evaluated where I wanted to be in my life. Then I forwarded the entire message to everyone I knew, and followed it with a promise that I had finally come to my senses.

I still felt like I needed to reply to Ted so that he knew I had received this deeply personal penis text.

So I sent him several links to places where he could buy water-based lube.

The text he sent back: “Ahh, I’m flattered by your concern for my penis” was the only prompt reply I had ever gotten from him, and my reply of “It’s not concern it’s shock. You’re a grown ass man, by some lube,” was the last thing I ever said to him.

So I didn’t get my cake, but I did get the last word, and I’ll willing to bet that some other girl got Ted’s lotion poisoned dick before the week was even up. Thank God for that.