The day after my 6 months I got a message from a guy on POF. I reactivated my old account days after I was forced to stop doing yoga and my old sex drive came back. I decided that if I couldn’t have sex, I could at least entertain myself with a little harmless online searching and messaging. It made me feel not so hopeless.
Back to the point. It was the first honest, non-scumbag message I had received in awhile, and so we talked back and forth longer than any of the others and I ended up finally giving him my phone number. Something that had not happened in my online escapades in a long time.
The first message he sent me was a picture of him and beautiful dog that looked just like the dog I had with my ex. Ironically…or synchronistically, I had been missing her like crazy for the past several weeks and couldn’t get her out of my head. He wanted to meet for coffee the next day, and so I went. For the first time in a year, I went out on a trek to meet an online date. I was terrified again, I had forgot how it all worked and how every other time had ended in disaster. But I still went, holding onto the image of him with my dog.
I was late, as I usually am when I’m terrified. When I finally arrived, he was standing outside waiting for me and I let out a big sigh of relief as I walked up to him. He was definitely my type, beautifully Brazilian, and looked just like one of my exes from long ago that I never was able to get closure on.
We talked for hours in that coffee shop, and made plans to see eachother again the next day. It was a whirlwind happy weekend, and I was in la la land. I decided I did really like him, and that I should move forward with him.
He was perfect… For awhile. He texted me 3 times a day, asked how my day was, and responded promptly to all of my messages. He opened all the doors for me, payed for everything, and was interested in my life and who I was, and treated me like he respected me. And then, it was that dreaded day: February 14. I thought for sure I had a date with him lined up, and then all of the sudden he was gone.
He told me he had to leave last minute for a trip up north. Not a family emergency type of trip. It was a ‘my friend wanted me to visit’ type of trip. After this, the weirdness progressed. He then started asking me if I had a date for the next night (which was Valentines) and who my Valentine was. I was horribly confused. He was concerned enough to ask me about my plans for VDay, but not concerned enough to take me out. Or to even stay in town for that matter.
But he never gave up on contacting me 3+ times a day, even while he was gone. So I was just confused. And then he kept postponing his departure date. He was supposed to be back before the weekend, and then I found myself alone all weekend.
That Sunday I finally lost my cool. I took a date with another online guy that had been harassing me for a date…and I had sex with him that night. And then I left 5 minutes later. I was freaking out a little, because I realized the old me was back. No matter how hard I tried, even abstinence for 6 months, I couldn’t kick the old addiction. My first sex in 6 months was a Wham Bam Thank You Maam with a stranger. Flipping fantastic.
The next day, the Brazilian came back and he wanted to see me. I reluctantly went out with him, but I could barely force myself to even make out with him. I felt angry, hurt and guilty at the same time. I kept seeing him that week, forcing myself to feel something again, trying to convince myself I wasn’t just a sex addict that had my fill for the week.
Later in that week, I went out with friends and went home with another one stand. And again, I saw the Brazilian the next day. I understood I should have been having sex with him, but I couldn’t make myself do it even with all the time and effort he was putting in. I was over him, and I was acting out sexually.
The next time I saw him we got in a huge fight and then we stopped talking for a few days. Within those days, I regained control of myself and my dignity, followed my heart and fell back in love again with the One that mattered. My yoga instructor. And once I cleared the Brazilian out of my path, I walked right into my instructor’s arms.