Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 5

My therapist thinks Freddy is married. She also told me, when I said I was going to start making better choices, that she hoped I wouldn't, because she is living vicariously through me. I have only been seeing her for a month after lingering on a pandemic wait list. Once my week of speed-dating hit the denouemont, I decided to start telling her the juicy stuff she actually needs to know if I am going to get better. Because after my week, even I could see that I needed to change.

Now I think Freddy is married, has 2 Baby Mamas, 3 girlfriends, plus an ever-expanding list of chicks he just fucks, like me. A few days after the God sex, my "dating" frenzy settled. I haven't even told you (or my therapist) yet about my 36 hour online "date" ordeal with Doc, because that will require energy and courage I don't yet have. But Bobby, who I also still need to fill you in on, thinks Doc is "51/50." I talk to Bobby about most of the other dudes. Which probably means he's my dark horse favorite.

After narrowly surviving Doc, I decided to go back to doing normal things like taking Daisy for a walk. But my walking shoes were not in their spot. I have to put things in a spot because ADHD. I searched every possible place in the house 3 times. Then I remembered that the first night Freddy came over, he was wearing slides or slippahs, those shoes dudes pair with athletic lounge wear. Easy on, easy off. Those must be his "fuckin" shoes.

But when he left my house, Freddy was carrying shoes. Not slip-ons. Athletic shoes. MY SHOES. I didn't put 2 and 2 together in my just-had-the-sexy-times brain fog. Which meant when he came over the 2nd time, he had already stolen my shoes and musta been thinking "this dumb bitch..."

Once I decided Freddy was not just a liar but also a thief, still in the walking outfit I never got to use, I literally ran to the car and sped to the closest urgent care to see if I was carrying Freddy's unborn child and perhaps the disease that killed Al Capone. I learned immediately I would not be bringing Freddy's criminal spawn into the world. Which made me half sad, but at least my life stayed simple outside of the dating thing. I had to come back again mid-week. They couldn't explain why my urine test for lets say chlamydia, gonnorhea, and herpes did not take. I decided a hungover Medical Assistant drank my sample on accident. By week's end, after making them check the records twice because they thought I already had the results but that was just for HIV, they said I was all clear. My box was tops.

I was still under his sex spell at this point, so I decided I wasn't ready to close the door on Freddy. I had unmatched him in the dating app and deleted him from my phone after he said he might have to reschedule our Tuesday date sandwiched between 2 other online dating no-shows. I was in "I will cut a bitch" mode. He had been feeding me this gripping story all night with updates, stringing my hopes along that the date would happen. The story would likely reveal his identity so I will spare you the details because protecting narcissists from exposure is my lifelong hobby.

He texted me first thing in the morning. He must have noticed I unmatched him and liked sticking it in me enough that I merited a sentence of inquiry. He said we would get together. When he reached out I was cold and pouting. I thought the show he was watching was dumb. I'm like, "So you want me to invite you over now?" He's like, "I figured you would invite me over whenever you wanted to." He reaches out to me, but I have to ask him. It's gross, Freddy. It's fucking gross. But after Cy didn't cum through, Freddy did in a big way (see Part 4).

Still reeling from our Close Encounter, the next day I texted some extremely filthy suggestions to Freddy. He was compelled. Apparently I was offering some shit the other 65 weren't having. And at this point, he also knew I could deliver the goods. With a soundtrack that makes dog's ears bleed (sorry Daisy). So even noncommittal Freddy didn't want to lose me. Or I him. So I didn't put him on blast about the shoes. Instead I sent this:

"Hi Frederic. Why did you take my shoes? It's not a dealbreaker. Everyone makes mistakes. Just bring them back during daylight hours and help me understand why."

I was super proud of myself. I felt I was being extremely mature about the whole situation. Doc was telling me Freddy took them as a trophy for his wife or girlfriend to wear to remind him of his misdeeds. Others thought he had a foot fetish. I invented more wholesome reasons I again won't reveal to protect his identity. A friend suggested I just buy a bunch of cheap shoes to leave around for him to take since the sex was so good. 

"What?" was Freddy's response. Which triggered the fuck out of me after 21 years of gaslighting. So I blocked him.

On Sunday afternoon, finally on the other side of my first week of online dating Hades, (Doc had just broken up with me via text) I went to the car to get groceries and opened the trunk. And there were my shoes.

I would love to have you again so we might clear up this whole unfortunate shoe misunderstanding with Freddy and see what happens when he asks for a bathtub pic.

Until next time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness