The One-Night Stand That Left Me Feeling Empty. Part 2: The Lead Up

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The boy was going away for five months.

I knew this trip was going to happen, he had been planning it for a while. I actually even helped him choose his courses and look for accommodation. I feel like a fool for doing that now. What came from this San Diego experience still torments me and is something which will take a long time to process and get over, but I'm beginning to accept it. It happened. I can't go back and change things, and that's that.

I chose to believe that things wouldn't change between us; that he would respect me and I could trust him whilst he was away, but actually he had no intention of doing that; in the end, the very opposite became my reality. There were other girls, lots of other girls, cheating, some serious disrespect, lying to both myself and lying to others about my existence, no communication, and some really fucked up photos of him licking (among other acts) other girls whilst on Spring Break in Mexico.

Needless to say, I was angry. Oh so very angry. I cried myself to sleep many nights, especially when I couldn't get hold of him, and when I couldn't sleep I took on a bad habit of taking 20+ sleeping pills (nightly) just to feel some numbness. I also became very ill; a bad chest infection. I didn't know about the mental issues back then; I assumed I was being dramatic. HAH!

The medication I was given to cope with this chest infection gave me some odd hallucinations and also lead to me having NO appetite. This kick started a crash diet, where I basically had one or two bowls of Kellogg's K cereals a day, and a sausage roll here and there. I also somehow managed to exercise every day. I ended up losing A LOT of weight. I looked fabulous, or so I thought. I even lost my bum, which for those who know my ass, is kind of an achievement. I started wearing tighter and shorter dresses and getting really really drunk, regularly.

After the photos of my boyfriend licking and rubbing himself all over other girls hit Facebook and my eyes, something shifted in me. I went from being very defensive and rude to guys, to wanting to jump into bed with the next guy that showed interest in me.

When I was younger and single in Leeds, I did take guys back to mine, but I would never let it get too far; we would kiss and then just end up talking until we fell asleep next to each other. I could never go "all the way". Not until the San Diego daze. And even though I felt different, I still only managed to go "all the way" with two guys. By the way, I say "only" because from my experience, people have one-night stands as often as they drink water nowadays. It's that easy, it appears to me anyway. I also need to clarify that I am in no way judging, I strongly believe in "each to their own" and do whatever works for you.


I might even go as far as to say that, y'know, I think that a small part of the reason these one-night stands happened was because others seemed to be all over each other and I thought I should do that too. Also I found a "shag list" that my boyfriend had put together and well, it made me feel stupid for not doing that too. I felt like "hey, is this something I should be doing even though I don't want to?" "Is something wrong with me for not wanting to sleep with people I don't know?"

I've spent years pushing men away; men tend to get me twisted and think that I want sex, simply because I love to dance and I learned to dance in Brazil; I was raised doing the samba and shaking my hips, and from my experience, men think that's an invitation for groping and sex. Actually, I'm really all about the dancing. Dancing used to be like mindfulness to me, nowadays I'm a tad too depressed to dance much. But anyway, my point is: I can't do meaningless sex. That's my experience thus far. I've had meaningless sex and sex with someone I love, and for me meaningless just doesn't compare to that intimate, passionate, craziness you get with someone you have a connection with. But I won't say that's how I will always feel, because well I have learned that nothing is guaranteed in life, but so far, this is my experience.

Moving on...

My first full one-night stand was with (I think his name was) Steve, we met in a bar/club called Tiger Tiger, in Leeds. He caught my eye because well, he was cute and a little, but not too muscly. We ended up talking for ages; he seemed like a cool guy and different to the other bratty pervy students running around trying to get laid. In the end though, we ended up going our separate ways. I moved on to another club with friends.

When I got home, I noticed that I had a text message: "Hey, it's Steve. Where are you? Can I come meet you?"

It was only then I remembered that I did give him my number when we met earlier that night. I was drunk. I was drunk a lot during these five months. Actually, I was drunk a lot for a few years but there was good, fun, innocent drunk and bad, self-medicating, drunk - those five months were mostly self-medication.

Usually I would say no or turn guys down, or not respond; anything that would not result in a guy ending up in my bed. But during this San Diego period, I became someone else. I replied to Steve "Yes sure, I'm at home now - want to come over?" I received a quick response "Yes, what's your address?"

Within fifteen minutes, Steve was walking in my front door. I had taken my heels off by this point but I was still wearing the same gorgeous, strapless, short, tight dress, teamed up with a sexy black lace thong and no bra (I has small boobs and was wearing a tight strapless dress, there was no need for a bra then). I felt gorgeous.

We went up to my room and pretended to actually want to talk, but I'm so glad that didn't last long; I am actually an introvert and I hate small talk.

Steve was soon unzipping my dress and taking off my thong. I had him naked pretty quickly too, I'm assuming, because all I remember is him going from dressed to naked; no in-between act of actually taking his clothes off. Just "Oh hello" (I actually said that out loud whilst writing this, in a Chelsea Handler kinda "Oh hello" way. I love Chelsea).

We had rough, passionate, no-strings-attached sex. He was very attentive too, which is probably why I remember his name. And I enjoyed the fact that this was all on my, now ex-boyfriend's, black bed-sheets. He left the sheets behind along with other possessions when he fucked off to cheat on me in San Diego. I don't feel sorry for getting good use out of them.

I was hurt. I was angry. I still am actually. He fucked up bad and he was nowhere near for me to even yell at him and let him know how much his actions were hurting me.

He forced himself into my world, left a mark, asked me to move in with him (I actually spent the first month of his absence searching for an apartment for us to move into and live together during our final year at university. I found a lovely one too and signed a contract. SPOILER: WE DID MOVE IN TOGETHER! But that's a story for another time; book or blog post), after all this he disappeared on me, and had the cheek to make me feel like I was too needy for wanting to talk to my boyfriend who was away for five fucking months.

I don't regret this night.

The morning after was a little awkward, yes, but I had Steve out of the house quick enough. I remember waking up and opening my eyes to this perky naked bum grazing against my left thigh. I felt guilt at first, I did, but once the alcohol had worn off and I could feel the pain from my one-sided relationship again, then that guilt disappeared. I just wanted Steve gone so I could shower, get dressed, talk to my best friends and find some new way to self-medicate.

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