He Told Me I Brought Out A Spontaneous Side

Code for he didn’t want to feel guilty

The morning after a night of wild, drunken sex Sam told me this: “You just brought out a spontaneous and impulsive side of me. You have that effect on people.”

And while normally I would take that as a compliment, he was not complimenting me. Far from it. He felt guilty about what we did and wanted to have a long conversation to debrief. I obliged because after all, I was there too but walked away from the conversation pretty pissed.

The message he was presenting was that I was at fault. Somehow I, the temptress, had persuaded him to seduce me and then to fuck me. And since I am such a competent siren, he had no choice but to make love to me all night long. Not an exaggeration. We had sex from 1 AM until the sun came up, at which point we were both too exhausted to continue.

The next morning, he felt guilty.

He was talking to someone else and unbeknownst to me, Sam was much more interested in this woman than he led on. Apparently, it was getting pretty serious. They weren’t exclusive or official but Sam still felt he betrayed her.

Or rather I betrayed her. And now he had to deal with the fall out of my harmful actions.

And to be transparent, I did know the woman. She and I were friendly but I didn’t feel as though I crossed a line. At the time, I was in better communication with him and trusted his word on the matter. He assured me both verbally and physically that no line was being crossed. I didn’t feel a need to shoot my friend a late-night text and double-check. After all, she and I have dated around pretty liberally and have healthy sex lives. If they weren’t serious, as he said, one lustful, booze-induced night wouldn’t be betraying her.

And I made sure to ask him.

“Are you sure this is cool? I don’t want to get in the way of anything serious?”

I asked several times. All met with a simple, “We are just casually talking, it’s nothing serious right now. Don’t worry about it.” And then his words followed with lips on my neck and hands tracing my lower back.

His behavior was far from innocent. It was my birthday and he invited some friends over to celebrate at his house. We played strip poker, at his urging. We danced in our underwear, at his request. And it was him who eventually picked me up on the kitchen counter and started kissing my breasts after our friends had passed out. He ushered me into the bedroom, into the shower, and back to the bed.

To be fair, I wasn’t being shy. I gave him the “you can have me” eyes all night long. I didn’t mind playing strip poker and dancing with him. I was drinking with him and our friends. With each shot, getting a little hornier. I wanted him, no doubt about it.

But I also could have gone to bed alone. I would have survived and been content with the night-long chase. That would have been hot enough, even though I was craving more. So when I double-checked with him and was assured there was no line to cross, I indulged in my desires.

And it wasn’t like this was the first time we had flirted with each other. For months, Sam pursued me and made his intentions very clear. I was dating someone else so at first, nothing physical happened and eventually he met this other woman. But even when Sam started talking to her, he didn’t stop flirting with me. And when I broke up with my boyfriend, he made it clear he was not over me.

There was a lot of built-up sexual tension, most of which he initiated. Sam was the first one who called after I broke up with my boyfriend. I got off on his forwardness and took some opportunities to send him sexy pictures or texts. Safe to say, there were weeks, if not months, of lead up to that night.

Yet somehow, the morning after the blame was put on me. Blame I wasn’t even aware needed to be placed.

I brought out an impulsive side of him! I was the harlot, he was just seduced. How could he have known that his persistent flirting and forwardness would lead to this! He would never do such a thing, I just coaxed it out of him. My spontaneity is contagious. It even transforms in to impulsiveness. Poor baby, sluts are such tricksters.

*rolls eyes*

Or at least that was the narrative being presented to me. As if I was not the other party and knew better.

There was nothing spontaneous about our exploits. It had been weeks and months in the making. All of our promiscuous Snapchats and his very explicit intentions laid out from day one. How excited he was when I finally broke up with my boyfriend. Nothing about that night came as a surprise. Perhaps the surprise anal, but no surprise that we finally did the deed.

Hell! Just two weeks before we had sex, he stuck his hand up my skirt and fingered me in a crowded room. I was finally single and he could not have expressed his eagerness any better.

This was a long time coming. At his beckoning, no less.

And it wasn’t a short affair. At any point in our 5-hour long engagement, he could have pulled away. Said he regretted initiating and retreated into another room. I would have understood, I wouldn’t have begged him to stay. But alas, he finished. And then finished again. And again. And again.

No guilt to be found.

Until he had his coffee the next morning and I suppose realized what he did. And then decided to frame it as what I made him do. With my magical vagina that transforms prudent men into lust-driven, impulse machines.

I mean I’d like to think I’m good in bed, but not that good. Seriously?

And for a second, I almost conceded to him. I wouldn’t be the first time someone said I brought out a spontaneous side of them. Maybe I do incite the impulsive sides of men and women alike.

But I snapped out of those thoughts pretty quickly. I am spontaneous and at times it borders on impulsive. I can inspire spontaneity in other people around me. But not once has anyone ever told me that was a bad thing. My friends love that I draw this side out of them.

I’m the girl that will last-minute rent a car and offer to drive a group of friends from Madrid to Amsterdam to see a concert. I’m the girl who will see a cliff over water, strip down and jump off it. I love making crazy memories and fantastic stories.

But that side of me is not why Sam and I hooked up that night. I didn’t force his hand. I didn’t spontaneously jump on his dick with no warning or lead up. I even asked if it was okay and he assured me we were perfectly fine. This wasn’t one drunken night either. Yes, we were both pretty drunk when everything finally went down. But you could have cut the sexual tension with a knife any other time we hung out beforehand.

I refuse to take the blame for him regretting a decision he consciously made. A decision Sam explicitly said he wanted to act on for weeks.

It takes two to tango, and I wasn’t even the one who asked you to dance. That was all you love, don’t forget it.