I struggle with the idea of when to let go.
Do I cut a dude off the first time he lies?
Snip: after the third time he can’t call to say he’ll be late?
Hack: at the first sign he’s entertaining people after we’ve clearly and vocally expressed we are serious? Of course the men that committed those infractions against me say, “No”.
Saturday, (well a Saturday in August) I finally did it; what I haven’t been able to do with most guys that I think commit disingenuous infractions: I cut that bitch off.
Back in June I met, David, things moved rather fast; I basically saw him every day. Though, I did hold out from having any sexual intercourse with him. With his king size mattress on the floor (his frame was on backorder), I sat up to put my wine glass in the kitchen. My abdomen and neck twisted to look at him; he’s looking at his Jack’d. I went about normal business: wine glass on kitchen counter, back in bed, cuddled feel asleep to Bruce Leroy a film produced by Motown’s Barry Gordy.
Of course, I brought it up later. Not in spite, or to be malicious, or to hang it over his head. In fact, I said it in jest. During a playful situation of tickle monster and jokes, I mentioned it; he stopped in his tracks unaware that I had seen him.
Side note: I’ve very ticklish. I’m snort like a hog, buck like a bull, watch out I’ll hit my head against your nose and bloody it ticklish. But I’ll never admit it half naked with armpits exposed. (End note).
He apologized as if I was upset; I was not. He stated how upset he would be if he was in my position. I assured him we were okay, and that nothing had changed.
A month later, in August, with my head on his chest and that same king size mattress on the floor, we watched some movie on HBO. This Sunday morning, I was texting my best friend, while I was still resting on David’s chest. We were deciding on where to eat breakfast: a cute double date in the city of Atlanta. We decided on Roasters off Lenox rd. David and I both got up from the bed, he placed his phone on the window sill. I wanted to wash the bed crumbs, dust, and night sweats off of me, so I headed for the shower; my phone still in my hand. While getting undressed, I noticed what everyone hates: battery percent below 20 percent. I went back into the room to place my phone on the charger. Like a scene from a movie, his charger was by his phone and as I hooked my phone up an income text, two, lit his phone up. They spoke of who was picking up the condoms and if it was going to be a threesome with David, the texter and the texter’s boyfriend.
After giving him hell, I forgave him and we still went to brunch.
More than a year before this, something similar happened with my boyfriend of two years. Three months into our relationship I saw a text (I did not go through his phone) regarding people coming to visit him at his place of work and home. I moved him into my apartment after that.
I think I’ve learned my lesson.