It probably won’t shock you to know that if you put me in a room with 99 good guys and one bad guy, my instinct is to make a beeline to the bad guy every time. And vice verse.
It’s ingrained in my nature.
With age came self-awareness. I fight it because—well–I’m just too old and tired. I had my last Hoo-rah almost three years ago. I like to believe I'm reformed.
I was just realizing this phenomena when I met Jay. I was in my early 30's and wanted off the crazy train. This would be just the first of many times I would attempt to make myself fit into the round hole of a “normal, healthy" vanilla relationship.
An ex-Coast Guard, Jay was blonde, blue-eyed, and held a good IT job. He did amateur boxing at the local ring downtown to deal with anger issues. He was sweet and a bit broken, being that he was raised by a clinically depressed mother. I saw this all as a good combination; he was just fucked up enough that we could share some common ground.
It was going well, or so I thought. We’d been dating exclusively for two months. I was enjoying the stability of the relationship when one night he stopped in the middle of fucking me, looked down with sweat dripping off his forehead and onto mine, and said, “You don’t feel anything, do you?”
That took me off guard. No one had ever called me on it before. I thought I had disassociation down to a science. Or maybe it was just that most of the men I had been with were so self-absorbed they didn’t care or notice. But Jay was just broken enough to be able to sense it.
I denied, telling him I didn’t know what he was talking about. This was before the notion of BDSM was even a gleam in my eye.
Sometime not long after, we went to a party so he could introduce me to his friends. The whole soiree had a hip and cool feel to it. It was at a funky apartment with spiral staircases and lots of candles and incense burning. Mellow alternative music played in the background. Jay kept his arm around me as he introduced me to each of his friends. Everyone was friendly, welcoming, and laid back.
Except one.
I felt him before I saw him. I was standing in the small galley kitchen when the hairs on back of my neck started to itch. When I turned around, he was staring at me.
He had the darkest eyes.
I ignored him. Went out of my way to be on the opposite side of the room when he got too close. When he forced an introduction, he looked deep into my eyes and held them and my hand too long. Not oblivious, Jay stayed glued to my side the entire night.
As the night wore on, the dark-eyed one stared and steadily drank more and more. I was always aware of him. We were sitting in a circle on the floor with some others when I felt the movement of him put his drink down and stalk over. When he got to where I was sitting, he leaned down, held me by the head, and kissed me hard on the lips.
I pushed him away, and Jay yelled, “What the FUCK, man?!” They got in each other’s face. Words were exchanged. We left soon after.
He apologized for his “friend” all the way home, saying he’d never seen him act that aggressively before. Even though I knew, technically, I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt guilty because the attraction was– of course–mutual. I wanted that guy bad from the moment I saw him.
The Damaged always recognize the Damaged.
A couple of weeks later, a bunch of Jay’s friends were hanging at his place, which was an apartment above a bar.
He showed up.
I ran out of smokes and said I was going down to the bar to buy some more. I’d like to say I had no clue I’d be followed, but that would be a lie.
I was walking out of the bar to make my way back upstairs when I saw him. He was leaned up against a car with his arms crossed. He looked at me unsmiling, and I went to him.
Before long, I was pushed up against the car. We were kissing hard, our breathing ragged. He had my hair wrapped in his fist and was moaning, “I'm going to rape you.”
When his hand went up my skirt and found the barrier of panty hose, he ripped them at the crotch and stuck his fingers hard inside of me. I rode them for quite a while before I came to my senses.
I pushed him off me, pulled off the teared panty hose from my legs and tossed them past his shoulder to the ground on the parking lot.
It took all of my self-control, but I said, “I’m not doing this with you.” And went back upstairs.
He didn’t follow me. But the next day, Jay knew and broke up with me.
I never saw the dark-eyed one again. Though I’d run into him in other incarnations.
A week and half after the break up, I went to Jay’s apartment with the idea of attempting a reconciliation. As I pulled into the parking lot, he was walking to his car. With a blonde much prettier than me.
Our eyes met and held. He gave me a sad smile before opening the passenger door for her and then driving away.
He was such a good guy.
So, the answer is yes:
I notice you.
I’m avoiding you.
After all, we’ve already met, haven’t we?
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/38ws3e/true_story_of_real_life_not_mine_just_sharing