Whats a girl to do?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Basically its an up and down account of a girls feelings for a guy.

Submitted: October 18, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 18, 2009

A A A

A A A


He did not use me. He did not use me. He did not use me.
He couldn’t have, it was impossible for him to use me. If anything, I used him.
 
We had decided that we needed to ‘discuss things’ and decided to meet up. I knew full well we’d never discuss anything.
My morning shower took twice as long that morning; I had to exfoliate and shave my legs, the big shave, of course and then took ages washing and styling my hair and applying inches of make-up whilst trying to make it look ‘I naturally look like this and have just rolled out of bed’.

When he turned up on my doorstop at the exact time we’d arranged (also suspiciously clean and groomed looking) my heart was pumping so hard I felt like it might beat right out of my bra (which obviously matched my pants).
I opened the door and he shuffled into my house, his eyes on the (freshly hoovered) carpet.
We sat awkwardly on the edge of my sofa looking at everything but each other. I kept thinking that if we locked eyes for just a second we’d get that ‘spark’ that people talk about, and he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to have wild, animal sex with me right there on the carpet.
However, he wouldn’t look me in the eye so the carpet remained unchristened.
 
Lame attempts at conversation drifted around but died quickly.
LOOK ME IN THE EYE DAMMIT!
He wouldn’t though.
I needed to make the first move otherwise all my efforts would be wasted. I took some deep breaths, my bra dug into my ribs as I did. I had purposely bought it a size smaller than it should be as it made my chest look bigger. The only downside was the vile back-fat I gained from wearing it so tight but I decided that I probably wouldn’t wear it for long enough for anyone to notice.
 
I slid back on my sofa and tucked myself into its massive arms. I pulled my legs onto the sofa and carefully poised them infront of me.
It worked, he looked up.
At that point I swallowed all my inhibitions and seductively (I hope) gestured him towards me, trying to copy the slow finger wiggle I’d seen work in countless films. He slowly answered my gesture by approaching me, he seemed unsure what to do with himself as he stood millimetres away from me. He was so close to me I could smell him. Warm, manly, familiar and I instantly wanted him closer.
I tugged at the front of his t-shirt and pulled him onto me, that was it, I felt the ‘spark’ and suddenly we were a tangle of limbs all over the floor.
My carpet got christened after all.
 
Once dressed, he got up and left like nothing had happened. As soon as he was out the gate I calmly entered my kitchen and looked at my reflection in the kettle.
I only spoke to myself when I couldn’t quite believe something to be true.
‘Well Nic, you’ve finally got what you wanted out of him, three months you put up with his bullcrap about wanting to show he respected you. He showed that blonde slut he hooked up with after how much he respected her after a mere week and a half. Three months you waited you silly cow!’
Our history was a long one. We’d been friends for a while, and one day he randomly asked me out. It wasn’t until that very second I realised the attraction I felt for him.
 
The first month flew by blissfully but as the days crept into the second month I began to wonder why he’d never spent a night.
I decided to take action rather than make conversation, but my advances were rejected and he sat down like a child, looked me straight in the eye and said ‘I want to show you how much I respect you.’ Looking back it was the oldest line in the book of rejection (probably between ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and ‘I don’t want to damage our friendship’) but I almost felt ashamed of myself. So the second month drifted by just as blissfully. As other girls whined about being used, the smug smile of ‘my boyfriend respects me’ wouldn’t leave my face.
More weeks passed. Once the third month was closing in on me I decided I didn’t want to be respected anymore, I wanted to be loved.
 
It didn’t happen. My advances were knocked down each time until I cracked and ended my respectful relationship in a screaming fit.
Our friendship was over and we didn’t speak for months, there was no need.
He had the blonde and I had…..whoever was drunk enough to ignore my drink induced vomit down the front of my dress at the weekend. This suited me fine. If I’m honest with myself I don’t really like being in a relationship but sometimes drop myself into one so society doesn’t think I’m just a sex-mad hussy. I’m not a sex-mad hussy but I have my needs like anyone else, and I don’t feel the need to fart around with numerous phone-calls and whether I ring him or he ring me. I find having my hand held an inconvenience, and the thought of telling someone that they’ve made the sky bluer for me over a tiny meal in an expensive restaurant turns my stomach. I much prefer to get to the point of things.
 
I went shopping for some new weekend dresses on my free day from work. I dawdled past shops and bumped into him. Literally. Smacked right into him as I kept my eyes fixed on a beautiful dress that I knew I couldn’t afford.
‘Oh god I’m sorry, oh, erm, hi’
We got coffee. Well, I actually had a hot chocolate and he had a coffee but it doesn’t have such a good ring to it.
Despite ending on such bad terms it felt good to catch up. He’d broken up with the blonde, my heart jolted. Strange.
We swapped numbers though I knew I wouldn’t text him. Until he text me, then it seemed rude not to reply.
Within weeks I was hopelessly gone, head over heels for him and pining for the respect again. For some reason my hand suddenly felt empty, I found myself needing a hug, I’d wake up in the morning alone and wishing I was in the arms of a man, or more specifically, him. My heart jolted when I got a text and I felt myself light up when I read his name across the display.  This was unlike me and I needed to do something about it.
So I told him. I told him I liked him, I told him I wanted to be with him and I told him that I wanted to sleep with him. Over the phone of course, I’m not one of those people who enjoys sharing my feelings and I knew my face would be bright red. He said we needed to discuss things and arranged for him to come over to mine in the morning.
 
The next afternoon, after my kettle chat to myself I decided that actually what I had said was now a lie, I didn’t like him, I didn’t want to be with him and I no longer wanted to sleep with him.
So I told him. Well, I didn’t technically. I sent him a text with a lot of hints. ‘Was nice seeing you today, hope we can try be friends again’
No kisses, no smiley faces, only wanting to be ‘friends’ again and it being ‘nice’ seeing him. It was a text I should have sent after out coffee gathering, not after having sex on my floor. (I don’t know why I even bothered changing my bed sheets) Perhaps it was harsh of me.
 
A week flew by, I didn’t feel guilty, infact I didn’t even think of him but I merrily skipped round, after all, I’d got mine.
I met Heather for lunch one day. Four years we’ve been friends yet she still struggles to understand my desire to not settle down yet.
We sat in the same café I’d been in a few weeks before with a hot chocolate in my clutches.
Heather was gushing about her new boyfriend, I drifted off as she was talking, I had a flashback of my morning on the floor. I didn’t usually replay memories that often but this one had been sweeping round my head and increasing amount recently. I didn’t mind it either, I quite enjoyed replaying it. I sat smiling to myself, in a world of my own when she brought me crashing back to Earth.
‘When did he get back with the blonde?’
 
My head snapped up.
I saw the back of a blonde head (with very prominent roots may I add) and her body wrapped around a dark haired male.
 
The bottom fell out of my stomach.
He was back with the blonde!
HE WAS BACK WITH THE BLONDE!!
Why? Why would he do this to me?
I turned to Heather, suddenly furious.
‘Whys he back with her? She’s not even a natural blonde, I don’t get what he sees in her!’
‘Nic, what do you care?’
‘I don’t care, especially not about him, what an idiot’
‘Oh my god Nicole, you like him again’
 
It’s not that I like him again, I don’t like him. I don’t want him or anything like that.
I just don’t want anyone else to have him either, I wish I could brand him in some way. (‘Not mine but not yours either’ stamped across his head would suffice)
So even though I had no interest in him now, and didn’t want to be in a relationship and have even told him that (in text) I felt used.

But he didn’t use me. He couldn’t have. It was impossible for him to use me.


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