Category "Story of an obsession"
I'm leaving London in a month for my big trip. A month ago, I decided to send messages to some people, because I'll never see them again and it's the occasion to tell them things that they'll like, I think.
- I started with a message telling Mr Really BIG all the good things I think about him. Yeah, maybe our last time was terrible, but I still think he's a good person. He liked the message but oddly enough, he engaged in some dirty talk.
- I, of course, sent a message to the object of my obsession, which sounded a bit like a message to forgive each other. He's the one who reacted in the most surprising way: he answered nearly straight away and told me he shivered when he read my message. It made me glad. (Hee!)
- I sent a message to BFBF, for all the favours he will have done to me.
- I also contacted people with whom I didn't sleep! I sent a message to Vicky to tell her about my departure, that we should meet up for dinner...
- At last, I texted the first guy with whom I slept here...
That's it, I've contacted all the people that I will have found special here.
I wouldn't have believed it but actually, it's going to be more difficult to leave London than I thought.
Two days after the dreadful pleasure (I use this event like a time mark, like Jesus Christ's birth!), I told you I had seen a fuck buddy. However, I didn't tell you the little conversation that followed our partie de plaisir, after I told him that story:
- Him. So, what are you gonna do now?
- Me. Well, I'm gonna meet guys, until I find one with whom it works.
- Him. Oh, you mean, being a whore.
No, again, not a "whore", a "liberated gay man"!
It's funny how people can hurt each other.
The thing is, to move on, you need to want to. Indeed, why would I have wanted to move on? Only thinking about him, seeing his face again, imagining myself with him again, dreaming the day he would come back, was enough to please me. But as frustration grew stronger and every pleasure was nothing but a chimera, reason was taking over and pushing me to move on.
This is the end of this obsession. I think about it less and less everyday. I still have some reflexes pushing me to check a few things, but I don't have the passion going along it anymore, this adrenalin rush that was taking me every time something about him was coming up, like a slow anesthesia.
However, I'm not over him yet.
I realised when I came back from the hospital that , even though I sleep without pillow, I used to keep one on the left-hand side of my bed. It was, indeed, the side where he used to sleep, and I was leaving this pillow here, just in case he came back. I'm so fucking stupid! Likewise, I had saved all of his text messages. I erased them all since then, by accident. I still dream about him from time to time, but even in my dreams now, he doesn't want to be with me.
To find some motivation, I repeatedly play the song Overpowered by Roisin Murphy. In this song, she talks about the feeling of liberation she has by getting over her ex, especially since it was long overdue, but she also wonders about the attraction she felt for this guy and wonders if it wasn't just chemical. At least, that's how I interpret it!
Some tell me: "Anyway, you were different!". Thank God! I don't expect my man to be a blueprint of myself! Some people, even very different, can, I think, live a beautiful story together, just like... er... Carla Bruni who calls herself left-wing but who shags Nicolas Sarkozy, man of the hard right and President of the Republic! Or even... Pocahontas and Captain Smith!
Writing this story is not modest at all from me, but I have the feeling it enables me to say I've thought about it through and that it is part of the past.
In the end, I think I've been lucky. Even if this story will have been very pathetic, I still have lived emotions that took me over and made me feel an irresistible wave to go to the other... Etc. Otherwise, I have learnt something. Even if I didn't fall in love with him, I now know that I can feel love. Apart from him, I had only one significant relationship, 6 years ago, it was very different, and even that time, I didn't feel what I felt with him. Looking forward to the next one!
Life plays real games on you sometimes.
The day I was AT LAST accepting and deciding to move on (and being on a diet and going to the gym as well!) I had an internal bleeding and I have been taken to the A&E.
I received the phone calls and the visits from several people that day, it was good. But to be honest, all I had in mind as this time was the phone call I had to give him. The accident had changed my mind. As soon as I could, I sent him a message to let him know about the situation. And he called back straight away! I was so glad he called me so suddenly, it meant that cared about me. At least a bit!
After beating around the bush on the phone for half-an-hour, I just talked frankly. First I apologised for using my intensive care patient status (hey, that hemorrhage had to be useful in some way, for fuck's sake!), and then I told him I wanted to see him.
Saying these words was liberating. I didn't wonder anymore whether I was annoying him or not, whether I was pathetic or not, whether it would work or not, I was just honest, clear and open. (Without dramatising, I think it was the first time I actually opened myself to another man this way.) But this is only after that I realised I was asking for something impossible. There was a few heavy seconds of silence and he explained to me it was not possible. I then immediately closed myself back, I withdrew on my reflexes, I thought I shouldn't annoy him more than I already had and I simulated indifference.
At the hospital, all night long, I couldn't stop thinking of him. Anyway, with all these fucking needles and electrodes, it was impossible to sleep! I didn't have a choice anymore. I had to resign and to submit to what imposed itself to me. I had to stop any contact with him because only seeing his name on a webpage was driving me crawy, and there was no reason to hope anymore.
I knew it would be his voicemail. I must have had annoyed him so much, he preferred not to answer! It was better for me. I ordered myself to be concise and honest. First, I wished him good luck. Then I told him I wanted to stop contact with him because I couldn't stop thinking of him even though I had to move on.
Ah... There is a thousand things I would have liked to say. But there was no point. So all I couldn't tell him, I'm saying it here.
I stuttered a bit, I got confused a bit as well, I wanted to be fast in order to avoid annoying him but I was only getting more confused. When I ended the call, I felt very stupid, but most of all, very frustrated. He sent me a text message a few minutes later to tell me he understood. I found it nice from him. I looked so good, on my hospital bed, among old people, ending a relationship that had only existed on my side.
Several weeks after the dreadful pleasure, I saw Darren again, my best fuck buddy. Sexually, we're in perfect harmony. Shame that he's older than me (less than the double of my age, don't worry!) We saw each other quite a lot at some point but we stopped because he had feelings for me. However, he invited me to havet a drink with his friends that night at the bar where he works and lives, and when they closed, he suggested me to wait for him in his room. I was drunk, I took a little shower and I fell asleep on his bed, on my stomach. I was completely gone, completely elsewhere.
When Darren arrived, he jumped on him. I woke up with the conviction that it was the object of my obsession! For a few seconds, I was shocked, with a sentence in my head that was repeating like an alarm sound: "He came back!". And then I managed to turn around and... disappointment. It brought me down for the whole night. Worse, I realised my desires had evolved and that we were not on the same wavelength anymore.
The day after, I behaved, as usual, in a inhumanely cold honesty and I told Darren I was thinking a lot of someone else and that at the moment I realised it was him, I had been disappointed. Once again, I proved myself I'm really incapable of lying and really capable of a ruthless selfishness.
I am interrupting my narration for two appendices. Three days after feeling the dreadful pleasure and the day after a partie de plaisir with a fuck buddy, I went to a club. I was completely drunk and I hit on a few guys. At the end of the night, I saw this big Australian guy again, and I didn't waste too much time with words, I grabbed him by the collar and I kissed him. We went to my place. I was proud :)
We arrived home very tired. We started getting a bit of action and then we fell asleep. The morning after, we got into it for real. It was nice. But not explosive. In a crucial moment, I got sleepy and I imagined myself with the object of my obsession. Suddenly, it was better! And then I woke up.
We hung around Camden Market because he had never visited it. He was, really, very handsome, without a doubt one of the most handsome men I will have had sex with. But when we had to get into a conversation or exchange opinions... Oh la la... I was struggling! HE wanted to go back home. Okay. But we had nothing to do or say. As a result, we watched FOUR EPISODES OF QUEER AS FOLK. FOUR! And then we went back into the action and then he simply went home.
Like what, beauty really isn't a determining factor for me.
Two days after that, I saw a former fuck buddy. And the day after, I pulled a guy in a club. Three different guys in the same week, it's my all time record. I had understood it was over, that it had not even started for him, and I wanted to move on. But it wasn't possible and it was all the more pathetic: when I was with these other guys, I was thinking of him.
His behaviour was getting more and more distant. He wasn't well at some point, I tried to comfort him - while trying not to be too annoying - but my attempts failed. Being unable to cheer him up was driving me mad. By the way, it was a very bad idea to have a David Lynch cycle at this moment.
My obsession was so tough that even though I had understood it would never be serious, I still couldn't accept it. I could still imagine a thousand scripts in which he would come back. Oddly enough, I was convinced we would see each other again. And then one day I stopped being delirious and I admitted the obvious: he would not come back. (Yes, it took me some time!) This idea was driving me mad, frustrated, jealous and stuff.
I thought it was the best moment to stop smoking, get back to the gym and to start a diet. I also decided to avoid him for some time, just the time to see whether my obsession would last and what I would decide then. I had three choices:
- Doing nothing and letting things go the same way. I would of course not even consider this.
- Doing everything to make him come back and seduce him. It seemed odd and I didn't know how to do that at all.
- Giving up, moving on and, as a result, stopping every contact every him.
Ironically, he started to talk me again the first. I had the feeling his messages were ambiguous. Maybe they really were, maybe, once again, I was wrong. I was stumbling into this spiral of absurd questions again... until I understood it would never go beyong these few messages. That day, I took my decision: I would try everything to move on and stop every contact with him. I would call him the day after to let him know.
After a few days without seeing him, I wrote him a message to tell him to come over. He didn't seem to understand how much I wanted to see him so I told him I missed him. It may seem usual, but it certainly wasn't for me, it meant something to me. And he answered that "more seriously", he missed me too. And, some time later, that he would come over. I was ecstatic!
When we settled on the new bedsheets I had bought for the occasion (red, soft, bright like satin except that it's not satin!), he talked about the text message in which I had insulted him and reminded me that we were not a couple. And then he made me understand that it would never be serious between us. It was honest from him, to come and see me to tell me this, I appreciated. (The sentence I have just written is just my rational side expressing itself. In reality, I was gutted he told me that and inside, I felt like I had just been euthanized.) I decided to be honest with him too and I made him understand, in my trashy style, that I had not stopped thinking of him lately. He had a rather negative reaction, like a rejection, like he didn't want to have to deal with this, something like that. We decided to have dinner.
It was a strange prelude to make love. He had just told me it would never be serious, I was upset. But I would definitely enjoy his presence. We got into the action. I perfectly remember this moment when he was lying on his back, in his little boxers, on my bed, his eyes shut. This passive attitude should have made me understand that he wasn't really motivated. But it didn't matter, I had motivation for both of us!
Ah, it was so good... We were getting closer to the climax when he said my name. He was kissing me all over and he was saying my name. I was suddenly very happy because I thought that if he was saying my name right in the action, it was that my name meant something to him. But at the same time, I realised that, no, my name didn't mean anything to him, and it was the very reason why he would allow himself to say it. For a few seconds, a thousand sensations and a thousand thoughts battled each other, right in my pituitary gland. It resulted in an explosion of hormons and feelings: the song of the sirens, a great pleasure but a very strong disappointment as well. It was so good and so frustrating at the same time, the saddest ejaculation of my whole life. I didn't even think it was possible. The light was low enough not to let him see my face at that very moment.
The time for sweet romance was already over. Problems were already starting. I talked about this story with several people and I had basically had two opinions. The first one was that he didn't give a fuck about me. The second one was that he was "playing a game". I don't understand the notion of "game" when it comes to love. Sorry if I state the obvious but I loathe drama in love, problems, queeny stuff, all this kind of bullshit... But I was so much in the irrational that I'd rather accept the second theory than the idea that he didn't feel anything for me.
I went travelling, I kissed another guy over there... And then he recontacted me, told me he was surprised that I wasn't giving any news, which made me feel more confident about him. I thought I could have misunderstood. He told me he would call me back when I get back from my holidays.
And guess what? He he he! Ha ha ha! Well yeah, he did it a second time!!! He didn't call me. It was bad timing because my plane had been really late and I came back completely exhausted to work but most of all, I have learnt bad news in my family. I felt very frustrated and I sent a message to my flatmate in which I was referring to him in unflattering terms. But I was so tired that instead of sending it to my flatmate, I sent it to him! When there is something stupid to be done, I'm always here!
He didn't take it very well...! I called him, I apologised and apologised and apologised, I explained why I was upset. He told me he had been very busy, that it was nothing, that this message was nothing, he knew how to reassure me and I thought I had avoided the unavoidable. When you're into someone, you do everything to show you're someone strong that the person can rely on. Well, it was fucked, I was now looking like the annoying and freaky guy.
I was already completely obsessed with him. I was seeing us, both of us, together, at home, at his place. I was imagining us in a quotidian routine. I was projecting us in the future or in imaginary lands. Safari Beach, Safari Beach, Safari Beach.
He had warned me. He had clearly told me that we were not a couple. But, 1, I had already stumbled into the irrational. 2, I thought it was simply the english concept of the boyfriend. 3, we were contacting each other a lot. And 4, he wrote in a text message something I had never been told before and that touched me:
miss you naughty
That time, I was at his place, and at the time to go, I perceived a change of behaviour in him. I wondered whether I had done something wrong. Did he take my cynical humour the wrong way? Did the new desires he was causing in me and I was eager to explore (see the Theory of Sexual Relativity) frustrate him? Did I, in a moment of inattention, put my teeth???
He had told me he would call the day after. I waited all day long but nothing, even not a message. The day after, I scrutinised his web pages just like a real stalker, and I saw... (suspens) that the day before... (super suspens!) instead of contacting me... (big fat crazy suspens!) he had had a rather hot conversation with another guy on the net. It was like a big slap in the face.
miss you naughty
Yeah, right. Do words have a different meaning if you think them in english or in french? Maybe he had really thought these words. Maybe his feelings had already changed so fast. Or maybe these words didn't have the same meaning for him and for me. The worst thing was that he probably knew I could access these pages. A sequency of questions repeating in an obsessional way in a spiral without sense.
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