The loneliness I’ve sporadically felt over the past few years has clouded my judgments. Often, I’ve approached experiences with the attitude of, ‘that’ll make a good chapter for the book!’ and so I do it anyway. Of course, this is why I kept seeing The Bar Man. Until recently, I’ve been using sex as a cure for loneliness; tending to ignore the comedown I’d inevitably feel the next day. With The Bar Man and other men I’d chat to online, I knew I’d always find someone who wants sex – even if I can’t find love.
Love was not a prerequisite for me to feel wanted.
Yet this all came to a head last weekend. Casually chatting to guys online meant I had a few options for meetups over drinks, so I messaged a few guys, but this was to no avail. A nice Italian man I’d been speaking with for a while sent a text later in the evening saying he’d just got back from London. A few bottles down, I decided sex was the only thing for it. So, like an idiot, I told him the area I live in.
Naturally, I didn’t expect him to turn up. WHO TURNS UP TO THE HOUSE OF SOMEONE THEY DON’T KNOW?!
‘Murderers and rapists,’ said my housemate the next day.
Hmm…clearly a bad judgment call on my part.
The Italian called my phone multiple times, just as I was in the cab to another part of the city to see a South African guy I had met early in the summer. He was pissed off, of course, and I metaphorically held my hands up and apologised – I honestly didn’t think he would turn up.
A flirty night with The South African and his friend ensued. In my drunken state, I muddled lust with romantic intrigue. I thought The South African liked me, what he liked was to ‘fool around’. Fortunately, I worked out a quick shag wasn’t going to fix my loneliness, so I headed back home – alone – in the early hours of the morning.
The next day, The South African asked if I was okay. He claimed he was going to take me back to his whilst I thought he was more interested in hanging out with his friend. I suggested a meet up this week – he said he’d rather just fuck.
Because I’m a nice girl, not a bitch, I sent an apology text to The Italian. He still seemed angry, though I don’t feel beholden to him for anything. I presume he’s just after sex. So I deleted his number.
Plot twist: in the past 20 minutes it’s taken for me to write this post, The Italian has called. I’ve ignored it – would he shout abusive comments down the phone? Would he suggest a casual hook-up? Or would he just like to go for a drink? I guess I’ll find out if he texts again.
I’ve always thought I was a girl who could separate sex and emotions. Turns out, I can’t.
