There was a boy.

There was a boy – isn’t there always? I mean there kind of IS a boy – but the IS is purely a delusion of my own mind. This boy, he’s not into me, well he likes me enough to be IN me, but he’s not ‘into’ me. Make sense? Good, let’s continue.

I’m not sure why I am even giving this boy air space – when I really really shouldn’t – but this boy, he fascinates me.

Why does he fascinate me? Because he wants to have sex with me but doesn’t want to have an actual conversation with me in the world that exits outside of his bedroom? Well we’ve all been there – AMIRIGHT? I mean come on girl, really? Just leave this sorry cad in the trash can where he belongs. Yeah yeah I know….BUT the thing about this one is – he’s strange, so very strange – infuriating and rude – but so endearingly strange.

Ok so let’s take it back – this boy was/is a distraction. A distraction from the real black hole of unrequited love and emotional torture that I am currently in (see previous posts for the low down on that sorry tale). I walked into said distraction with my eyes wide open and I was under no illusions of romance, white knights and fairytales. It is what it is – a no strings attached, unhealthy and unsustainable way of boosting ones confidence and probable mutual feelings of loneliness.

A fools errand I am quite aware.

So here’s the catch – the more I started looking beyond the outward exterior of this caddish, rugby lout with fabulous hair that I’d written off as a sexy buffoon – and trust me he is such a buffoon – the more I began to see the complexities and tell tale signs of an extremely socially anxious person with a possible personality disorder.

Yes I am aware that I’m at risk of sounding like I’m a bitter old shrew who played with fire and got her pantyhose burnt. And no, not even I can romanticise my life enough to pretend that he cares for me in any type of capacity outside of the moment before ejaculation. But alas, I can’t get this extraordinarily rude and weird dreamboat out of my mind.

So naturally I’m going to do what any self respecting and emotionally mature person would do. I’m going to list my key – completely unqualified, non-clinical and potentially damaging – observations about him:

• He’s so awkward in social situations – so much so he almost never makes direct eye contact with any other human beings
• He drinks an obscene amount on a night out – this is clearly to enable him to make it through any social situation where females are involved
• He’s terrified of female interaction – unless it’s initiated by him at circa 3.30am over a communal bottle of Hooch
• He says extremely rude things when drunk – these things clearly make him die of embarrassment in the cold hard light of day
• He has truly luscious locks – like his hair is a real asset to society, it is so full and bodied
• He looks like he’s carved of stone – and not in a juice-head gym way, as in a real life action man who plays rugby and chops down trees for a living
• He’s potentially pretty dumb – not gonna lie folks, he has one book in his home which is an unopened copy of Will Carling’s autobiography
• He has never asked for my number – not once, not ever, even though he’s had his tongue in my ass on multiple occasions
• He’s called me a cunt twice – once in his sleep and once he yelled it down the street whilst drunk
• He’s apologised for calling me a cunt – he even made the point of telling me that I am, in fact, the complete opposite of one
• He told me he loved me during intercourse once – this was the morning-after intercourse as well, I mean what a school boy error to make on an over-thinker like me
• He has a suspiciously smooth and clean ass-hole – just saying
• He once bought every other person in our small group a drink except me – he did this on purpose so that I understood that he didn’t want me hanging around him on that particular night
• He bruised my arm during a particularly passionate tryst – I was still bruised from this as I stood at aforementioned bar, being excluded from his round of drinks
• He always asks for consent before having sex – no matter how drunk he is and I have a lot of time for this particular character trait (there’s a strong possibility that he does this because I give off the vibe that I despise him – maybe I do?)
• He said he didn’t care that I’d got blood on his bed sheets – he said he’d probably still sleep in them for another week after I cried of embarrassment about it
• He’s still in love with his ex – she broke his heart 5 years ago and is getting married to someone else, but word on the street is she still frequents his bed
• He told me he thinks about dying a lot – this mostly happens whilst he’s driving his car, he imagines how easy it would be to crash his car and just cease to exist (he was sober when he told me this)
• He watches me whilst he chats up other women – he also puts a lot of effort into talking to any other woman who isn’t me
• He would like to live in Dante’s second circle of hell – upon learning who Dante was for the first time, he genuinely seemed OK with spending eternity caught in a violent storm filled with the worlds most infamous adulterers
• He makes me feel like I don’t exist – until the very moment when he makes me feel like I’m the only person who ever existed
• He distracts me from my real heartbreak – the turmoil of being in love with someone who genuinely has fucked around wth my heart

So what’s a girl to do? Carry on with this beautiful, yet emotionally volatile distraction who, like every other human man, uses me for disposable gratification and validation – or just jump the hell off this self destructive train ride that’s heading straight into the 9th circle?

Truth is folks – I just don’t know.