Here's your place to come talk about sex and love whenever you feel like it.
To say that I attract dirtbags is a huge understatement.
I attract men that are all wrong for me and I never see it.
When I was 16, I met the guy that I would lose my virginity to. He was hot, athletic, funny, and he even went to the rich kid high school nearby and drove a Porsche. I should have known then, right?
Well, after 6 months of dating and a lot of dry humping, he finally convinced me to do the deed. Of course it hurt like hell, but I was “in love,” so my pain was overshadowed by my heart that skipped to the beat of his name.
One week later, I got the phone call. He was “so sorry” that he had done “it”... the “it” being my best friend. Or should I say ex-best friend. Heartbreak soon followed and my legs locked up like Fort Knox until the end of high school when I met the next boyfriend.
This was another guy that was all wrong for me and I knew it because my mother hated him with an unbridled passion, as did all of my friends. But being 18 with the common sense of a box of rocks lead me right into his arms.
I stayed him with amidst the rumors that he was cheating on me with about anything that had a vagina and a beating pulse. Shortly before turning 19, I got a clue and sent him packing from of the apartment, throwing a Hello Kitty cordless phone after him.
Then there was the one I couldn't resist. One evening while making the rounds as a dancer at the strip club I worked at, I saw him. I'd made this personal manifesto to never date or socialize outside of the club with “customers” so I made sure that he didn't become one. He actually looked at my face even though my breasts were merely covered with some slutty mesh material, and I felt like we had some sort of connection.
Once we started dating, friends would ask how and where we met and he would lie so that people wouldn't know the truth and cast judgment. Still, the two of us couldn't stay away from one another, breaking up and getting back together until finally we ended up moving in together after 5 years of dating.
He'd promised me that he'd “changed” for the better, and like an idiot I fell for his lies. I was a little older now and should have seen the signs that I chose to ignore. Although finding long, dark hair in my bed was inexcusable behavior -- really, like where I slept was where he chose to screw her when I was gone? -- by anyone's standards.
The real kicker was that he wanted to marry me. Yes, despite cheating on me, he wanted to get engaged. He'd even asked my parents permission for 2 weeks before I broke up with him and immediately moved out.
The asshole married the girl he cheated on me with. And worst of it all? He still wasn't leaving me alone. He still contacted me, especially on drunken nights, to tell me how much he “missed me."
I would spend the next 6 months not dating a soul and piecing my life back together. But I couldn't help but start to wonder: Do all men cheat?
When I decided I was ready to date again, I took things really slow. I did not want another boyfriend. I was too jaded from all the cheaters.
I had never been one to turn friends into lovers, but there was a man that had been interested in me for quite some time and after about a year of him hinting heavily and encouragement from mutual friends, I decided to go on a date with friend guy.
He was sweet, extremely thoughtful, but still my heart was a bit broken from the asshole I'd wasted 6 years of my life on. Sweet guy was nice, and was clearly crazy about me, and a year after dating, we got engaged on a whim while on a cruise in Mexico.
Then in July of that year, I was sick with a horrible case of food poisoning and sweet guy was going out of town to hang with some friends for the weekend -- a friend of his that I'd actually never met.
I was, and still am, thoroughly convinced that if a person is going to cheat then there is nothing you can do to stop them so I didn't think much of it, and off he went.
In between running to the restroom and contemplating a slow and painful death on my couch, my phone started buzzing like crazy. It was the asshole who'd broken my heart into a million, billion pieces. God really must have a sense of humor, I thought in that moment. Of course he was rattling on about how he was unhappy and blah blah.
It must have been a sign, because the entire weekend went by and I didn't hear from sweet guy.
I would have to be an absolute moron not to know the obvious had happened. I listened to the bullshit excuses he told me, wanting to believe, but I just couldn't do it. A month later I ended it for good. After our split, his best friend confirmed the cheating incident to me, although I'd known it all along.
I couldn't marry someone who cheated on me, and again I could not understand why someone who had cheated on me would want to.
By this point I'd convinced myself that I was going to become asexual and reproduce by spores. Then I met the man who set everything right and changed the way I felt about men. Not only do I firmly believe he wouldn't cheat on me, he's fully aware that I would chop his damn dick off if he did. Sometimes it takes a special person to wash away all the pain the others put you through, and to get you see the good in things again.