An Open Letter to the Jerk Who Played My Friend Then Dumped Her Only Hours After Having Sex

Hey loser, my friend doesn't normally open her heart to many guys -- and then you dumped her after getting exactly what you wanted. I HATE YOU.

Sep 17, 2012 at 11:00am | Leave a comment

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I don't hate the game. I hate the player.

Dear Jerk,

Guess what I did today? I hung out with my friend Pretty. (NOT HER REAL NAME.) She doesn't want me to tell you this, but she was really beginning to feel hesitantly excited about you. Know why? Because you told her all sorts of sweet things about how much you totally liked her and about how amazing she is and literally the two of you had just had great sex -- again -- the night before. She still had the glow. A glow from what you said and what you did and who you pretended to be.

That's right: Pretended.

We were walking around New York today, and Pretty was grinning. Couldn't stop smiling, really. She is reluctant to be like this about guys usually. My friend Pretty is very untrusting of men. A lot of times they want to use her. But not you. She told me that you were really different. Special even. I told her I wasn't convinced, and she defended you. She said that you woke her up in the morning with a "Hey gorgeous." To say nothing of the fact that you two had the most mind-blowing sex ever. Whips. Chains. Full-on fireworks. The works. Honestly, you guys were having so much fun --- I said that you were perhaps the luckiest man alive. There's Pretty. And then there's you. Lucky.

Then that awesome new infatuation-fun-phone-thing happened while the two of us were hanging, Pretty and I. That wonderful thing. Where the phone rings? And you can see it's the guy you're so excited about? Pretty covered the phone. "Hold up, it's him," she said. Pretty was smiling in spite of herself. She walked ahead of me. I gave her some space.

But she stopped dead in her tracks. Shortest phone call. Ever.

I caught up to her. Pretty's face looked ashen. "He said that he can't see me anymore," she said, obviously reeling from the double-whammy of not just the hurt of your dumping (only hours after sex, mind you) but the embarrassment of having just been telling me how different and wonderful you were when I bugged her for all the details. Then she told me what you said on the phone: "There was another girl -- and he wants to see her more seriously."

"And?" I asked.

"And I need to smoke like five cigarettes in a row right now. That's what," she said.

Here's the thing. My friend Pretty knew your relationship was mostly just about sex, dude. But when you told her that you really liked her not to mention all the other sweet things you said, you were -- let me see if I can come up with the correct clinical term for it -- oh yeah: COMPLETELY FULL OF SHIT.

That's right. You were full of shit, jerk. And your full-of-shit-ness has ruinous heart-shutting-down consequences. That's what.

Do you know what matters in life? Actions, dude. Not words. Not full-of-shit words to get pussy when it's convenient for you.

You played her -- and you know it. She had told me about all the plans you two had in the works (not to mention the upcoming date during the week) and everything you talked about in the future. That's what that phone call was supposed to be about. Not that you couldn't see her anymore.

"What else did he say?" I asked. "Nothing," Pretty said, chain-smoking. "Because I shut it down. I said I had to go. I'm done. He's deleted. Next."

Ah yes. You see the walls are back up already with Pretty. She feels like an idiot for trusting you, and this is how she makes herself feel safe in the future. You've changed her forever. Was it really worth it? Just for sex? Really?

Can I tell you how hard it is to see friends when their defenses come down, and they let someone in a little bit, only to see their trust stomped on by losers like you?

That's what you are, man. A loser. You were a very lucky loser who was very lucky to have my friend for the minute that you had her. I hope you know that. I mean obviously if your vision is okay then you know that. You may be asking yourself, "Come on, Mandy. Why am I a loser? That seems harsh. It was mostly just sex. We both knew that."

Here's why.

Because you pretended to really like her. You fed her lines and lines and lines. I heard the lines. There is casual sex -- and then there is casual sociopathic predatory mind-twisting manipulative bullshit. Do you see the difference now? 

Instead of being honest with her that you are just a USER, you seduced her to trust you, and then you showed her exactly where that gets her. It makes her feel like a fool.

Don't worry, though, buddy. I made her realize very quickly exactly who the lying pathetic fool is in this situation. Because any man who gives affection upon affection in order to just get sex until he decides the woman involved is disposable -- is an embarrassment to men everywhere. Hard to call you a man, really. A child, sure. But a man? No. That title would not be correct.

Because real men don't subject women to that wonderful brand of Girl Humiliation where the guy who you've been building up to your friends and defending and saying is a great person just reveals himself to be the weasely little player that he actually is. Right after sex.

Then again, I suppose you do have the worst punishment of all. Seeing as how: You are forced to live with yourself. Sure, you are probably the kind of creep who believes his own bullshit. That's a good brand to be. It can lead to a lot of success even. Definitely a lot of success with women. Just give them exactly what they want. Feed them lines like candy.

But do you know what will happen when you are sitting there in the darkness forced to suffer with only yourself? Oh it is not pretty. Not cute at all. Because you will see inside the blackness of your empty pathological heart and you will realize that the reason you can't ever seem to feel good about yourself or to find peace in life is because you know what a fraud you are. You know that all of the lies that you feed -- those words that seem so harmless when you use them to seduce and pry open the trust of a beautiful young woman like Pretty -- are just that. Lies. Just like you are a lie. Liars are broken. They are to be pitied, I suppose. They are smoke and mirrors and inconsequential pathetic sad falsehood-riddled embarrassments to real men who have real integrity and resist the cheapness of simply playing hearts and minds to get sex. 

The good news? It's not too late. There is something you can do. Simply stop being such a lying piece of shit jerk who says whatever lines he has to say to fuck women -- until he dumps them only hours after having just been inside of them.

Be a real person, rather than just an embarrassment.

I do want to thank you, though. Because you did end up providing one very bright spot to my day.

Pretty showed me the final text message you sent her after your sad flaccid little joke of a phone call. It definitely stood out. You fully admitted just how crappy you had been to her beautiful trusting heart. "I'm sorry to play you like that," your text read. And then: "Your incredible."

Pretty wrote back just one word.

"*You're."

I have never been so proud.

Love and kisses,

Mandy

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