Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 12

That one dude before my ex-husband, the one I loved a bunch who moved away, insisted on us having a long distance relationship, then cheated on me the first week back in the Midwest with my childhood friend's little sister, told me he was moving back to Iowa just 3 months or so into our move together to the West. BUT, he wasn't gonna move back for ANOTHER 9 MONTHS. What the fuck is that? If you're gonna leave, leave now. If you want out, fucking say it. But we loved each other. And were terrible for each other. So I guess it wasn't that simple. I wonder if the dude was afraid I would not go to grad school and leave Iowa if he didn't move with me, codependent as I was? And he wasn't doing anything, so why wouldn't he come along? He was gonna settle me on the frontier like a gentleman, then run home and stick it in someone else almost exactly like me, but not me, and younger, and more like him.

Prior to this dude, I had been in a largely long-distance relationship for 6 years, starting at 15. Hence, I had no interest in another one. But I ruinously loved said dude. And after his week back in the middle, I really missed him and told him over the phone I wanted to make it work. Then he choked. Cuz he had just let my Dads Club coach's daughter choke his chicken with her kitty. Baaahhhkk! Meowww.

My future husband, whom I met at grad school, advanced on me while this dude was still around. He didn't care. And I advanced on him, once i knew dude was hitting the road. I mean, what was i gonna do, be alone? That sounded like some bullshit. I was 25. There was plenty of time to be alone whilst dead.

About 6 weeks before this dude was due to move back to Ioway, my heart packed in his knapsack, my future husband showed up at one of my workplaces on a day I was prone to crying, took my lunch break with me in the park, and witnessed my emotional vulnerability up close and personal. In half an hour's time, I gave him all the goods on me, plus most of my pizza. He asked me out. I said yes. Even though dude was still in my apartment. But dude had his walking shoes on and pointed east. 

I was so tortured and guilty during the date I couldn't eat. Or drink. I told my future husband why I was in such a state. He insisted we were not on a date. We were definitely on a date. Mexican restaurant. Margaritas. After, a sixer of Sierra Nevada, parked in one of his 3 (!) cars overlooking the city skyline, talking (this dude in my apartment didn't even have a bicycle. I provided a car and a moped for us both). We did not touch or kiss or anything, supporting my future husband's charade that we were not on a date. We were discussing relationships in his car while I didn't drink. I shared my disinterest in changing or working on myself. Fuck that. Apropos of something, I said to my future gaslighter, "There's a fine line between manipulation and just getting along." And he laughed hysterically. I thought because he thought I was funny. Joke turned out to be on me.

Some days after our not date, my future husband called and wanted me to meet him in the park after dark by my apartment. I would not. I was still in a relationship with this dude. He did his damnedest to get me in that park. So he could do stuff to me. I was chaste. I was devoted. I would not horse around with my future husband in the hospital park, Life Flight helicopter medics getting an eyeful, with this dude still in my apartment and heart. So my future husband wanted to come over to my place instead. To talk. I said that was fine after he pledged himself to a talking-only scenario. He came to my door. I let him in. We talked. This dude was away on the night shift at the work he was called to do. Work that--this is important--did not drug test him. This dude called from work. I'm not a liar. (I told this dude about the not date. Which the revelation of, in combination with the following, resulted in the best sex of our 3 and a half year relationship. After the good-good sex, I agreed to no more dates. Even though dude was leaving. Real soon.) So when this dude called from work, and asked who I was talking to in the background, I told him who was there. Dude was fixin' to wig out. I got off the phone. He kept calling. And calling. And calling. And even more calling. Did I mention I might have been disappointed this dude was leaving, and in the manner he was leaving? This was before cell phones. Dude called so much that further titillating chat with my future husband became impossible. A conversation cannot be had between unyielding rings. So I sighed and asked my future husband to leave. He left with trepidation, feigning concern for my safety.

I stayed true blue after that until this dude moved. And immediately cheated. I had just hung up from the call where this dude revealed his side-piece slip-in and was still looking at the phone receiver when my future husband called. No I could not see him. I could not talk. I needed to get off the phone. He sounded very concerned about me. Sounded.

I called my divorced girlfriend from grad school who lived up North. She was a musher and had too many dogs to live in town. I needed to run somewhere. I stayed that night in her house at the end of a gravel road with my sled dog soulmate Lars. Then I drove back to my hospital adjacent apartment downtown the next day. And began to devote myself in earnest to the man who would try to murder my spirit, if not ruin my life.

Until next time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness