Oh, no. No, no no. This cannot be happening. I was a magnet for disaster, but never have I imagined myself hurling into a toilet bowl after finding out the man I just had sex with was married with children. That is exactly what you get when you try to meet someone in the comment section of YouTube. Yes, that is right - YouTube comments. No, I am not insane, I promise.
I saw a music video with military men in their uniforms strutting about and saving a damsel in distress. Well, what is the harm of posting a comment that probably no one will read?, I thought to myself. A comment asking for information on where to meet the men who do this for a living in real life. Sounds really stupid in retrospect. I nearly forgot I’d posted anything and went on with my life, since there was a pretty good chance my question would be lost among all the comments by various experts pointing out how the weapons in the video didn’t look real, or how the acting was poor. But then, he replied. And gave me his phone number. And we texted, oh so regularly. And then we met. At a bar, in the city centre, with lots of people around. I was afraid to go alone, so I invited my friend to keep me company. I was adventurous but not downright stupid. As a young woman aware of the world we live in, I knew the possible consequences of meeting a strange man in a bar. At first, I didn’t like him that much, but my bucket list clearly stated that I needed to sleep with a man who would fulfill my fantasy role play in a military uniform. So he did. And, yes, it was amazing.
However, in hindsight, I should’ve assumed it was too good to be true. We had so much fun drinking beer and getting to know each other for days on end. It was liberating to have a casual chat with someone I deemed inferior intellectually, not having to fear saying something stupid. The conversations we had were about movies, favorite songs, his work, my experiences as a college student and the possibility of us becoming more than drinking buddies. So, after a night of bar hopping he walked me home and asked if I wanted him to get a hotel room for us. Drunk with the thought that my one and only sexual fantasy was about to come true, I casually agreed as if I agreed to go over to his house and study for the next exam. I didn’t want a relationship with him, that much I knew. However, I did ponder the idea of having a purely sexual relationship with him for a longer period than one night. However, finding out after rolling off him in a poorly lit hotel room that he was in fact, married, really felt like someone punched me in the stomach. The fact that he said it so casually infuriated me further. The formulation of his confession was appalling.
“So, you know I’m married, right? I keep looking and the TV, and the game show that is on right now, well, you know, reminded me of my family. We always watch it together, great fun.”
No, sir. I had no idea, I screamed in my head. Maybe I was naive to believe that you could be 35 and single, but, hey, that’s on me. As well as the fact you had no wedding ring on, and never told me you were married, yup, that is also on me. I should’ve read your mind, I guess. My bad.
I was speechless, couldn’t move. When I finally got up, I wrapped my naked body in a sheet, and went to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw the confused and terrified expression on my face. It was good to know at that moment, that at least my face wasn’t paralyzed, because my mind and soul certainly were. I took a deep breath, and felt that I was going to be sick. I knelt beside the toilet bowl, on the bathroom tiles, my knees hurting from the cold, hard surface. My collar bones sore from leaning over the bowl waiting to see my lunch in reverse. And then it happened. Liberation in the form of sour vomit. I got up, washed my face, brushed my teeth, completely forgetting for a split second that he was still in the next room waiting for me to lay down beside him and cuddle, I suppose. I took a few deep breaths, and got out of the bathroom.
Totally composed, I explained to him that I cannot see him anymore and asked him to leave. He didn’t put up much of a fight, I can imagine how many times this happened to him. But I started wondering how many times it didn’t. How many times had a woman looked him dead in the eyes and said: “Oh, don’t worry, me too.” Or: “Oh, I don’t have a problem with that, let’s open another condom with our teeth and go at it again, we have all night.” Because, the thing is, if he felt comfortable telling me this after we had sex, chances are he had already played this game a few times before. A couple of more times than me, that is for sure. I was only 21, a freaking fetus in the world of adults. But, no, I thought I knew it all, I was confident to meet men online, have meaningless sex with them, and then casually chat about the taxes - I was a grownup. I was so proud to have evolved past the clinginess and the wondering if he was going to call me back the next day, bitching to my friends how all guys were the same. I was cool, composed, I was a goddamn player. But this game I lost, and it was hilarious and tragic at the same time. As I locked the door behind him, I picked up my phone to call my best friend who was eagerly awaiting explicit details from my rendez vous. As I was waiting for her to answer, I went to the bathroom and flushed my reaction to his confession along with the dreadfulness that was that evening.
Bio:
I am a 28 year old writing amateur from Serbia, actually this is the first story I've ever written, and I would like to receive some feedback on my work and potentially be published if what I write has an audience. English is not my native language, so I feel that is something that is interesting about me, that I feel more comfortable expressing myself in English, rather than in Serbian. Everything I write is based on a true story.