Bitch

Femcel pt. 11

Pt.1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Previously in this Femcel series; I matched with an academic in his late thirties. Let’s call him Philip. hahahahah. No let’s call him George. hahahahahaha. Ok stop let’s call him Nick. Nick pick flick dick. Nick tick kick shtick. Stick Nick Flip lick.

Nick licked me. Liked me sorry. He really did. For the first time in my life, at age 25, I got to experience a man being really interested in me, attracted to me. It happened really fast, and I noticed it immediately. He didn’t want nudes. He just wanted facetimes and normal pictures. I got scared. He was older, he told me about his life, his divorce, his kids, the terrible things he had been through, his desires for the future, his regrets. I regretted getting him to open up this much. It’s not as easy nor as usual for a 40 year old man to do that as it is for me gen-z-online-lexapro-tumblr-we’re-all-insane-girl.

But all of it was too much for me. He started calling me babe, and introducing me to his friends via Facetime. We had not met yet. He was a very handsome guy, and he knew it. He told me once about girls in his classes trying to seduce him, and how once, a student looked at him and mimicked a blow job, as a joke her girlfriends were in on, and as a tease. (yes it’s sexual harassment, yes girls can do it to, yes it’s just as bad and should be dealt with accordingly, if any of you male readers were expecting me to brush over it, because of women and feminism’s double standards, well no, I didn’t. Ok ? Are we good ? Ok. Sit back down.) Anyway.

I didn’t find him as attractive as he seemed to be to many women, probably because I was too preoccupied, too anxious about his attraction to me. And the genuineness of it, the too much of it, the kids, which he did at some point ask me if that was a problem, and I couldn’t even say that yes, it was. He told me that I was so interesting and smart, and that most women he meets are so not, he didn’t like the fact that I had sent my nudes to random men in the past, and he said he would marry me, so that I can become a British cit*zen, with all the dignifying rights and freedoms conferred, and of course the duties, part of which are to love and stay with him and his kids.

Major red flag ? Yes, I thought about the Union Jack, and the presence of red in it. St. George’s cross. Did you guys know that St. George was M*ddle East*rn, and died at the hands of the Romans who persecuted him. He became an emblem of the English nation despite his “foreign blood”. He’s even considered as a m*rtyr in Isl*m because he got tortured for refusing to pay tribute to Roman gods, as Emperor Diocletian ordered him to. And now that flag means fore*gners out. And the Roman empire is presented by r*ghtwingers as peak w*stern civil*zation and stuff. Fate and her irony.

Anyways. The symbolism, my foreigness, the (red) flag, him coming right after the guy I first tried to have sex with, and who told me the next morning that he thinks it’s a shame to not live in the country you were born and raised in.

One night we were on facetime, he was chilling with his best friend who he had introduced me to, they were having drinks, I was chilling too. I negged him a little, and a couple of hours into the conversation, I could tell he had drunk a bit too much. I don’t know much about the stages of drunkenness and all that, but I could tell he got a bit tired, sluggish, slower. He replied to something I had said to him which I don’t remember because what followed froze me. He said “ gngngngn [erased from my memory] … bitch.” and then.. silence. His friend kept silent too. His gaze got darker, , the silence heavier and heart started pounding in my chest. I then acted like had not heard it and kept talking, and said “alright I think you guys are getting tired, I’m gonna go have dinner” and his friend took the phone to say bye, as Nick was actually too sluggishly drunk to say anything.

I hung up and an hour or so later, blocked him. Out of fear. I then realised something about me and men. When there’s a fight in the street, or a guy is yelling at customer service or something, I space out, and I want to runaway and I avoid looking at the guy’s face. Almost like I knew there would be something demonic on it. It happened many times before, but I never thought even an insult would put me in that state. It did.

By the way it’s funny how it took him such a little time to start calling me babe when we hadn’t even met yet, and then an even shorter time after that, to call me a bitch. Lunacy. Handsome men aren’t better at handling rejection than everyone else. Can be quite the opposite as we can see here.

The next few days, he tried reaching out to me via text message. A month later he found my telegram and sent me “why did you block me” on there. Another month after that he sent another text message asking the same question. Everytime he did that I’d get an intense bout of fear. Men don’t act like this towards me. Why did he. Somehow he sincerely liked me, so I felt guilty for ghosting him like this. I felt guilty for having spent too much time talking to him, just because I was too scared or felt too bad about rejecting him. I felt evil for refusing his affection and interest knowing it was sincere, especially after all the rejection I had been subjected to. How dare I say no, after all the languishing I indulged in about my undesirability.

But then I thought, what’s the point if I’m not attracted. Why am I not attracted. Shallow reasons, compared to the sincerity of the love he was probably going to give me. I mean he did call me a bitch. Out of four guys I had interacted with, half had called me that. (the first being the lazy attempt at dirty talk Mr. Long toenails and hiking sandals had performed for me). Now he was drunk, and it was probably something he was going to apologize for, bla bla bla but… fuck that shit lol. Raise your voice, insult me ONCE, I’m gone. Forever. Not even because I’m such a strong independent dignified girl boss. But because it will make me scared of you in a way you won’t be able to compensate for. I will lose all my attraction to you. Because now you’re just like my dad. One of the few ways my fear is protective rather than restrictive and life-limiting.

But then I still interrogate myself; had you been attracted to him, or had he been a bit less attracted to you, if you were in a dynamic like the ones you’ve been in up to that point, where you're chasing him and he’s being "nonchalant”, would you have let that “bitch” slip ? Would you have minded that he had kids? Would you have, at the end of the day, allowed yourself to turn out just like your mother ? I’m scared of letting myself turn out just like my mother. I’m scared of letting myself choose a guy who’s just like my dad. Anyway I blocked him, that’s the most important. I’m out of there. I’m out of there. I’m out of there.

After having ghosted him, my mood had started to improve. My libido went back to being too much again. I don’t even understand how men and women get pleasure or ego gratification out of talking to someone they aren’t really attracted to. It made me miserable. It didn’t even last that long, but it drained me, made me sad, anxious and insomniac, and I had lost even more weight.

And like I had not learned my lesson, I matched with another guy. Again a 40 year old. My preferred age bracket was smaller and closer to my age, but since I had not found a suitable choice in it, I had decided to widen it, which was probably a stupid mistake. This guy though was very handsome. My type handsome. But out of my league as the highschoolers say. But he matched so maybe not. Maybe these things don’t matter as much and beauty is in the eye of the beholder and he did find me to be as beautiful as I did for him. Just the two of us ! We can make it if we try, just the two of us.

I mean did want to spend some time with him (wink wink. hehehe anyway).

He asked me the dreaded “where are you from ?”. I started teasing him and avoiding answering that question because I didn’t want him to start dropping ignorant or condescending stuff that I would have to rationalise and/or ask myself whether or not I had just compromised my dignity (I think about dignity a lot right ?) because I didn’t say anything about this or that assumption he just made, because to preserve the hygge was easier. Just like what happened with the first and second guy I dealt with.

I didn’t want him to assume the quality of my French was less than because I’m not French, I didn’t want him to assume I’m a virgin (well not so much now but anyway) because I’m religious, I didn’t want him to assume I’m “new to the developped world of civiliz*ed people” and start explaining things about sex, love or freedom that I must not know, I didn’t want him to assume I must be the daughter of some rich old man with a black mustache and a shady business, I didn’t want him to look at things in the news and ask me “why are [redacted]s destroying France ?” (the Californian guy asked me this once, about imm*grant hooligans who had caused trouble in Parisian streets during the World Cup), I didn’t want him to assume I was dumb, or tell me in some type of way that I was smarter than he thought, which being a younger woman was enough of a reason for him to preemptively believe that. (one of my university professors told me that verbatim once, he saw me playing the piano and said “wow ! I didn’t know you were that smart !” lol)

Unfortunately Mr. Hot6figuresdaddy got frustrated at my attempts to hide my nationality from him and he told me about how he’s a public figure, and that, if I wanted to hide basic info from him, then he doesn’t care and he’s done. It scared me. Like ? Are you ok ? Ok, sorry Mr. Public Figure, no need to be abrasive like this. I ended up telling him, and he asked me why I had wanted to keep it a secret, and told him about my concerns. I told him I just wanted to be a woman. I spontaneously pulled a Julia Roberts in Coup de coeur à Notting Hill. Instead of giving a reassuring, affectionate and romantic answer he got sexual. Well I was on Dexedrine, so whatever - I’m horny all day/all night, so sure, hop in the Sextus, and let me drive baby, I’m juiced up, I know the way.

Femcel pt. 12