Friday, September 02, 2005
A Not So Smart Decision
Holy shit. I am a stupid girl.
Last night. Birthday party gathering for a friend- Michelle and I are the only females and the only white people there. Awesome. Mr. Wrong was there, but relations have been strained between us. It may be because I have been calling him an asshole and telling him that he's a worthless excuse for a human being. But I'm not sure. Despite how much I hate him, I still love him. And I want to say no to him, but don't know if I really can. So Michelle and I leave, to go bar-hopping in the West Village. 5 minutes after we leave, I get a text message. It says, 'I'm sorry I'm an asshole'.
Long story short, him and few others come to meet up with us. But, it always takes a long time for them to get anywhere and in the interim, a man has joined us and has his hand running up and down my thigh under the table. Interesting. I see Mr. Wrong. I call his name, he doesn't hear us because the music is loud. Michelle goes to get him because I am trapped in the table with Mr. Hands, who is realizing that there are other men here to see us and decides to make his exit. We exchange phone numbers and as Mr. Hands is getting up, Mr. Wrong comes over, takes the seat next to me and stakes his claim. One arm draped around me and another on my thigh, he couldn't have made his presence any more felt. It felt kind of nice. To be wanted. And staked.
I ended up in someone else's apartment. Having fantastic sex with Mr. Wrong. I loved every second of it. I loved sleeping in his arms. I loved fighting with him over the covers. I loved the jokes about my unshaved legs (I had purposely not shaved to reinforce my determination to not go home with anybody. Clearly, that works well). I loved his arms and the way he looked into my eyes and the way he kissed me.
How am I ever going to get over this man?
Last night. Birthday party gathering for a friend- Michelle and I are the only females and the only white people there. Awesome. Mr. Wrong was there, but relations have been strained between us. It may be because I have been calling him an asshole and telling him that he's a worthless excuse for a human being. But I'm not sure. Despite how much I hate him, I still love him. And I want to say no to him, but don't know if I really can. So Michelle and I leave, to go bar-hopping in the West Village. 5 minutes after we leave, I get a text message. It says, 'I'm sorry I'm an asshole'.
Long story short, him and few others come to meet up with us. But, it always takes a long time for them to get anywhere and in the interim, a man has joined us and has his hand running up and down my thigh under the table. Interesting. I see Mr. Wrong. I call his name, he doesn't hear us because the music is loud. Michelle goes to get him because I am trapped in the table with Mr. Hands, who is realizing that there are other men here to see us and decides to make his exit. We exchange phone numbers and as Mr. Hands is getting up, Mr. Wrong comes over, takes the seat next to me and stakes his claim. One arm draped around me and another on my thigh, he couldn't have made his presence any more felt. It felt kind of nice. To be wanted. And staked.
I ended up in someone else's apartment. Having fantastic sex with Mr. Wrong. I loved every second of it. I loved sleeping in his arms. I loved fighting with him over the covers. I loved the jokes about my unshaved legs (I had purposely not shaved to reinforce my determination to not go home with anybody. Clearly, that works well). I loved his arms and the way he looked into my eyes and the way he kissed me.
How am I ever going to get over this man?
Labels: Mr. Wrong
