Guy #96 was the love of my life.
Well, maybe not so much the love of my life as that I wanted to do him at least once and be done with it. Sadly, Guy #96 stalled at dry humping every single time. He simply refused to cheat on his boyfriend. If he got caught, he could always claim we were just humping as friends.
Adding to my misery was the fact Guy #96 got insecure when he knew I’d be going out. So not only did I have to feel miserable the clothes were coming off for another Guy, I also had to carry guilt for trying to move on.
Needless to say Guy #96 was starting to piss me off at this point.
My previous efforts at finding someone to make me forget about Guy #96 had been as successful as the North Korean space program. Every attempt had been a failure, each one filling me up with more and more rage.
Then came Guy #100. Guy #100 was one of those Guys I could immediately tell was into me. He gave me the kind of vague but nonetheless revealing smile that let me know he was mine for the taking if I wanted him. The great thing was I wanted him.
Even greater was the fact Guy #100 was witty, smart and opinionated. Even greatest, he could make me laugh. In short, he was a cake in an ocean of icing, as I would have taken him home on account of his looks alone.
Even greater than greatest, most of my friends I was with were totally into Guy #100 as well. Filled with anger and sadness over Guy #96, it was nothing short of awesome to hook up with the Guy that was generally considered to be our collective dance floor’s best catch. In between our conversations Guy #100 and I went at each other in full view of Guys #5, #7, #10, #11, #14, #89, #93, #98 and #99. Finally my sad, sad ego was given the boost it had been aching for a long, long time.
Even greater than greater than greatest, I was living out Guy #96’s worst fear! Finally I was the one doing the hurting. No longer was I bound by the shackles of our failed relationshipwreck. Instead, I met another Guy and celebrated this joyous occasion by having him hump the anger out of me in full view of my social life. Life doesn’t get much better than that.
When I drove home early the next morning I felt jubilant, victorious and gay as in happy. As I sat in my car, alone, I literally screamed my guts out: “Fuck you, Guy #96!” (Okay, I didn’t actually call him by his number. That would have been sad.)
While Guy #100 had to go home the night we met, we did end up dating for a short while. He was an intern, scheduled to fly back to his home country in a matter of weeks. In those weeks leading up to his departure he became part of my inner circle. It was a relationship with a rapidly approaching expiry date, but a relationship nonetheless. It soothed me to be wanted by someone I wanted, to be with someone who wanted to be with me and to wake up next to someone I wanted to wake up with.
Naturally, Guy #100 and I became Facebook friends so that we could keep in touch, which we then of course didn’t.
Revenge is like chewing gum. It quickly loses its minty freshness and you inevitably want to spit it out at some point.
Likewise, Guy #100 met me when he was in tourist-mode. Things were fun because they weren’t meant to last.
Whenever two people have sex it means they want the same thing. It doesn’t mean they’re on the same path, that they want it for the same reason or that Facebook friends have meaning.
Guy #100 gave me my revenge. I gave him his vacation.