One January Evening

The new message window flashed on my AOL Instant Messenger (AIM) client one January evening. I got up from my desk and walked over to my computer to read it.

“i think its best if we stop seeing each other,” it read.

I expected a flash of anger, but got a cold and calculated intellect instead. I should’ve been angry. This was before the “free” texting and smartphone days. On the dumping scale, doing so by IM was pretty bad and disrespectful, if not the worst way to do it.

I wasn’t angry though.

Deep down I knew this girl was a rebound. Me trying to fill the hole FirstGF dug out of me when we broke up. A replacement of lower quality, if you did an honest side-by-side comparison. I know that I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the mental state I was in, but I did anyways because I was weak.

She had a lot of red flags that I ignored. Was my age yet wasn’t in college. Was sleeping on the couch at her sister’s. Had the “popular in the small town but a non-person everywhere else” complex. No drive. No plan for the future. Divorced parents. These rationalized away by me, the fool looking for love.

I stared at the window for a good while, thinking of some sort of reply. I wasn’t pissed or angry. The analytical side of my mind reminded me of a few ignored signs that a breakup was coming. The conclusion “she never was that into you anyways” rang with finality in my inner monologue.

“Shit,” I said to my CRT monitor.

Typing back, I said I agreed with her and this was for the best.

She was heading back home to her small town. I was full up with coursework and my part-time job work schedule (one of her complaints, actually).

In a hidden recess of my heart, I was glad it happened. That small mote of my psyche chastising me for being such a selfish chickenshit.

You deserved this! What did you expect?” the mote exclaimed.

It wasn’t wrong.

After I finished typing, I hit “enter” to send the message. Unsurprising to me, I watched her icon change. It went from “online” to disappearing with the door slamming sound accompanying a log off. I clicked over to my buddy list and removed her from it. I knew it was better to do this instead of seeing her everyday like I did with FirstGF. I was learning.

I logged off of AIM and stepped over to my open Chemistry book at my other desk and got back to doing my homework.

One Year (Part 3)

Read Part 1 and Part 2

The End

The summer came to a close.  CommGirl went back to school early to do something for her sorority and I went under the knife to have a growth on the inside of one of my ribs removed (which I’m still recovering from, as of this writing).

Before she left, CommGirl was telling me of all the stuff she was going to do since it was her Senior year.  A good portion of which involved going to various college bars in her college’s town, multiple times in one week.  Ah, the life of an easy degree major in the Liberal Arts!

As I recovered from surgery at my parents’ house in Buffalo, and since I was bedridden for almost a week, I had a lot of time to think about the past few months.  CommGirl had a few positive qualities that I liked.  She was fun, low-maintenance, easy-going, laid back, she was attractive (to me), was very sexual and she basically let me do whatever I wanted to her in bed (she loved that I was very dominant).  Probably a decent choice for a more serious relationship, if she was sticking around Columbus after she graduated.

However, my gut told me that I would regret that decision, if I ever made it.

In all my prior experience with girls, eventually they start to intentionally or unintentionally include you into their lives.  You’re introduced to her friends, hang out with her and her close friends, and then meet the family.  Pretty much a normal progression in a relationship.  This wasn’t the case with CommGirl.

I couldn’t tell what was up with her.  It seemed like she was keeping me at arms distance, but wanting to stay close at the same time.  I met a couple of her friends, but it was nothing more than drinks while I was politely excluded from their conversation.  The few times when she asked if it was okay to bring a friend along when we went out, I just assumed that I wasn’t getting laid that night.

She also heavily stressed the “not serious” part of our relationship, but seemed to backtrack that statement, for instance, by inviting me over for Thanksgiving at her parents’ house (!!!!) and asking me to go to a friends of the family Christmas party.  I politely declined both, and began to move the pointer of the “Relationship Spectrum” from the grey area between “Friends with Benefits” and “Girlfriend” to just below “Friends with Benefits.”

I moved it as a result of the night of the aforementioned Christmas party.

———-

Location:  CommGirl’s Street, near Powell, OH

Time: Early December 2011, 01.30

I stopped my car, turned off the ignition and looked over at CommGirl.  She was wasted, near blackout drunk.  I had picked her up, at her earlier insistence, since she wanted to hang out (read:  have sex) and spend the night.  We had just went back to where the Christmas party was for some reason, and I was debating on whether to take her back home or not.  I knew from experience that she was minutes from either puking or passing out.

CommGirl (slurring):  “Why didn’t you wanna come to the party?  I wanned you to meet my friends.”

Beppo:  “I would have liked to, but it didn’t seem proper.”

CommGirl:  “Why are you readin’ into this sahmuch?  You’re thinkin’ we’re more serious than we really are.  I wanned you to meet my friends, they’re cool!  Why didn’ you wanna meet them?”

It then dawned on me.  CommGirl really, really wanted me to go to the party with her.  Her hamster however, spun the initial invitation as “it’s okay if you come or not, no big deal” but her drunken self spilled out what she really thought.  It was actually an “I really, really, really want you to come and meet my friends and family” invitation.

Beppo (with realization):  “You really wanted me to come…why didn’t you just say so?”

CommGirl:  “Whaadya mean, I invited you didn’t I?  You’re thinking we’re more serious than we really are.  YOU think too much intah it”

I kept looking at CommGirl as I gathered my thoughts.  Arguing with a drunk (and a drunk girl at that), would be a waste of time.  Even the possibility of me pounding the shit out of her vagina couldn’t get rid of the distaste I felt for her at that moment.  Her sloppy drunkenness, the fact I was stone cold sober, and the thought that I could be asleep right now instead of dealing with this crap pissed be off.

Beppo:  “Are you sure you still want to hang out?  It’s not a big deal, I can take you home.”

CommGirl:  “No, I still wanna hang out.  Commeere.”

She leaned over the center console and kissed me, biting my lower lip as she pulled back.  The biting thing was new to me.

Beppo:  “Alright.”

I started my car and we drove back to my place in silence.  Every few minutes, CommGirl would look at me and give some sort of giggle with a smile on her face.  Maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought.

We got back to my condo and made our way to my bedroom.  I had the feeling that CommGirl was going to pass out, but I wasn’t sure when it was going to happen.  We stripped each other down to our underwear whilst making out.  I unclasped her bra and tossed it aside.  Moving my hand down her breasts and stomach, I went under her thong to play with her pussy.  She always loved when I gave her an orgasm standing up (and she usually got really wet in the process).  My fingers touched her folds, I felt that she was as dry as a bone.  No sooner than my hand got down there, she pulled it away!  I was taken aback.

She giggled and drew me to my bed.  Laying down, I tried again and was rebuffed in the same way.  We made out for a bit more, until I noticed that she wasn’t responding to my kisses or moving.

She passed out diagonally across the middle of my bed.

Beppo (softy):  “Cazzo di merda!”

Since I had lost about 15 pounds of muscle in the hospital due to my surgery, I didn’t have the strength to move her dead weight to the other side of the bed (plus it would have made my side hurt like a bitch).  I killed my lamp and spent an uncomfortable, almost sleepless night of contemplation next to a passed out, snoring CommGirl.

I woke up the next morning exhausted with a crick in my neck.  CommGirl was still dead to the world.  So I walked out to my kitchen to make coffee, shutting my bedroom door in the process.  CommGirl got up an hour later.  I was sitting on my couch playing my Gretsch acoustic guitar.

CommGirl:  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Beppo:  “You looked like you needed it.”

CommGirl:  “Did I pass out?”

Beppo:  “Yes.  By any chance, do you remember anything you said last night?”

CommGirl (sheepishly):  “No, I was pretty drunk.  Did I say something embarrassing?”

Beppo (lying):  “No you didn’t, I was just curious.”

CommGirl:  “Ugh!  I’m still partially drunk!”

We went back to the bedroom and had sex.  I’m not going to lie, it was pretty bad.  CommGirl was still drunk and dry as a bone.  I had her get on top and ride me until I came.  We then got dressed and I drove her home.  A few hours later while doing my laundry, my phone chirped with a text.

CommGirl (13.33):  “Thank you for taking care of me last night.”

I sighed and went back to folding my socks.

———-

This was the beginning of the end.  A week later, before I was leaving town for Christmas with my family, she flat-out flaked on me via text for a “hang out” that she set up.  She forgot that it was “her mother’s work’s Christmas party” that she had to go to.  I felt nothing at this and didn’t respond.  Her loss.

I essentially gave up.  That slap of disrespect diminished her again in my eyes.

Over the next few months, I’d send out a few texts around the major holidays to see if she wanted to hang out.  Sometimes she’d be around town and we’d hang out, and other times she feign a full schedule or would have to head back to school “early” (she never had trouble fitting me in before).

Which brings me to the last day.

———-

Location La casa di Venerdì, Columbus, OH

Time: 9 May 2012, 21.30

CommGirl wrapped her arms around me and brought her leg up as we laid post-coital on my bed.  It was the capping of what I’d call a good date.  CommGirl arrived early for a change, we caught up on stuff that happened in the last month, worked up an “appetite”, went out for sushi (she paid) where she told me about her new job in Texas and a “To Do” list including me and a bunch of food places, hit up a local park with a waterfall, got ice cream (I paid), and finally came back to my place for a much longer round two.

CommGirl was finishing telling me a story from when she recently was at a bar.

CommGirl:  “And then he told me, ‘Twenty-five pounds?  Pssh!  If you lost that, you’d blow away!’, I felt good after he said that.”

Beppo (not thinking):  “Yeah, twenty-five pounds may be too much, but you could stand to lose, say, ten pounds.  And also grow your hair out longer to mid-back.”

CommGirl (rising):  “What?!?  I like my body!”

At that moment I felt her go cold.

Oops!  The post-coital stupor didn’t let my brain stop me from saying what I really thought about her weight.  She probably knew that I felt that way though, due to my regular weightlifting.  CommGirl untangled herself from me, got up, put on her bra and went to fix her hair in the bathroom mirror.  I put on a pair of soccer shorts and my t-shirt and went out of the bedroom.  I didn’t want to dig myself into an argument, so I shut up.

I didn’t backtrack or try to apologize for what I said (because it was true).  However, I knew that me saying that just ended it for good.  Even if she was staying in Columbus, it probably would have fizzled out on its own.  I had no intention of taking our relationship further than it already was.  Although it might be considered beta, I hypothetically asked her while we were laying in bed what our relationship would have been had she stayed in Columbus.

She balked.  Then dodged the question with a “Well, that will have to remain a ‘what if’.”

I expected an answer along those lines.  She would have been a terrible girlfriend.

She finished dressing and joined me by my couch.  After she picked up her purse, I walked her to the front door.  Following a cold half-hug and an almost chaste peck on the lips, I bade her good luck in her job and good night.  That was it.  She left the following Monday and I haven’t heard from her since.

Although, interestingly, I got a text that night after she left.

CommGirl (23.35):  “I’m probably going to forget it by tomorrow, but I can’t get over the things you said to me.  I mean, who says things like that?”