It’s True: They Always Come Back
Like clockwork.
Like the sun sets in the evening or how Coldplay sucks, there’s one thing I know is true: they always come back.
Today was one of those days.
Dammit.
A few Medium moons ago, I wrote an article about how I don’t fuck around if a guy isn’t meeting my communication needs. I don’t chat on the phone like a teenage girl with loads of time on her hand. I’m a texter and while the average guy may not text as often as I do with my friends, I think hearing at least once a day from a guy I’m seeing is a good expectation.
I formally ended things with Marc this month. He’s a wonderful guy who is very easy on the eyes but his ineffective messaging drove me nuts.
I wrote off Sean because it reached a point where I was the one initiating every conversation. He started a new job that required much travel but it was a little ridiculous how much it felt like pulling teeth to try and make plans. Despite that he was the last one to text me (only in response to my initial message), I took it as a passive form of ghosting and simply stopped. Plus, with a dick that got limp every few seconds, I wasn’t missing the sex.
In all this, I met Thomas. He’s amazing. He’s sweet. He adores me. He bends over backward to accommodate me. His cock is ready for another round as quick as a teenager’s. I’ve had to push back on his eagerness to commit; I know we have a great connection, but I made a vow to not settle down until I’ve moved out. It’s sexy to me when he says, “you will be mine.” It’s a lot less misogynistic when he says it and more like, “you’re my end game and I’ll do whatever you need so that it happens.”
What annoys me is that he earns much less than I do. I’m in Divorce Mode; I’m walking away with barely anything and I’m not even buying lip balm to save money to buy a house in a shitty real estate market. I can’t be paying for every date. While he’s fine throwing down his credit card a small majority of the time, I feel bad enough that I make sure to pay occasionally too. When dating guys who are wealthier or even in my income bracket, they practically laugh when I bring out my credit card to pay.
I don’t need a sugar daddy. I just need someone who isn’t as broke as I am right now. I’ll make up for it later when I have my own place.
Thomas also has his daughter full-time, which means his house is off-limits. And since I live with my soon-to-be ex-husband, my house is off-limits too. That makes intimate time pretty difficult, like we’re teenagers. The last time we fucked in his Jeep, I destroyed my back. I told him that I’m too old for that crap.
Aside from the financial part and our weird housing situations, Thomas is wonderful. He texts me constantly and is genuinely interested in getting to know me. He’s walking the fine line between adoring and becoming obsessive but so far, he’s doing okay.
So where’s the problem?
Sean.
Sean is the problem.
There is much drama at my work that has made the news and I’ve had friends from all over reach out to me. This includes every guy I’ve dated this year.
Sean messages me out of the blue to see if I was alright. We exchange pleasant texts back and forth but I don’t ask him about his life. When he asks a question or makes a comment, I give a funny but short reply, and that’s it. He asks what I’ve been up to, I tell him I’ve been hanging out a lot with my friends that I haven’t seen in 17 months due to Covid.
Finally, he tells me that despite his insane flight schedule for work, he’d love to take me out again.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” I yell at my phone.
Here is our conversation by text.
Sean writes, “LMK if you want to have a drink sometime. My schedule’s a mess for a while (home solo tonight, but then the boys come, we go on vacay, followed by back to back conference weeks where I’m gone 4–5 nights and with them the other two), but things chill out a bit after that. Let me know if you’re ever interested/available.”
After much pause, I reply, “I’m kind of surprised to hear from you to be honest…I kind of figured that you ghosted me (I’ve never been ghosted before so it took me a while to clue in).”
I wait for a bullshit excuse about being too busy with travel.
Instead, Sean writes, “That’s almost funny — I thought the same (and also had neither ghosted nor been ghosted). Looks like we just stopped texted each other when I started traveling, then I assumed you lost interest. Failure to communicate I guess (literally, actually).”
He then continues, “Anyways, I know that ‘travels a lot, spends most of the rest of his time with kids’ make me quite the catch, but if you’re ever in the mood for a glass with someone other than your long lost pre-covid friends, let me know. Smiley face emoticon.”
Argh. Sean’s right. Technically he was the one who messaged me last which somewhat means that I ghosted him. But he sucked at not following up because I was always the one initiating things and he never made an interest to do anything other than hang out at his place.
I reply why I assumed he had ghosted me based on his behavior and then…I agree to go on a date.
Why? Because my brain is telling me that he’s not wrong in how we both failed to text. My brain is also reminding me that he’s 6'3, a former college football player, has biceps that can lift a tank, and has a fancy kitchen with a Viking stove that I secretly want to fuck like a weird freak. My mind will deal with telling Sean later that he needs to take Viagra because I’m not in the business of reviving limp dicks anymore.
My brain also says that I’m not settling down with anyone. I’m not marrying either of them. No one is my boyfriend. If I want Sean to work at impressing me again with a nice dinner out so that I can get dressed up, who am I to stop that?
Jason is my male confidant and dating advisor. He knows more about my dating history than anyone (it’s all kosher, I’m also friends with his wife and he ends up telling her everything anyway). He’s not a fan of Thomas because he insists he’s too clingy.
He’s on Team Sean, as long as homeboy fixes his dick issues. I send Jason screenshots of my conversation with Sean and he validates his alliance.
Meanwhile, Thomas texts me random things like, “Can’t wait to call you ‘my girl’ ” and other overly complimentary statements.
I send them to Jason, who replies, “Jesus come on! You gotta cut this clingy dude loose. That’s a red flag!”
A while back, I thought about manifestations. I pictured my ideal guy: a silver fox who communicates the way I do, shares my sense of humor, accepts my sarcastic nature, adores me, and can bone me like an Olympic athlete. I must have missed the “makes above the poverty level for Southern California” request and relied too much on the adoring part.
Which is the final part of They always come back: it always happens when you’re becoming emotionally invested in someone else. Never when you’re already heavily involved. They always come back right when there’s still a window of opportunity.
What am I going to do? As usual, I’m just going to ride it out and have fun while I can. My intentions are clear and I don’t think I’m leading anyone on. I’m sticking by my rule to not settle down until I move out which assigns a speed limit to either relationship.
They always come back. It’s a blessing and a curse.
