I’ll be writing for the next month, the last month of my twenty-eighth year, to purge stories from my “romantic” history (inspired by recent abandonment).
In an effort to not be such a bitch, I’m going to protect the anonymity of my past lovers by calling them all Eddie. I have thereby entitled this series, “Eddie, I hate you”.
I have known Eddie for years.
He is best friends with someone who has been close to me my whole life, someone I do not see very often but who remains close enough in my life to inquire about what I am doing on weekends, to offer support or aid should I need it when my plans inevitably go wrong, to care about me.
It is Eddie’s birthday.
I am out with my friends at this little lounge no one knows about on Queen St. just west of Bathurst.
For a brief period in my life I was regularly attending this lounge to see a close friend of mine DJ. The evenings would invite completely out of character behaviour: Drink beyond limits, dance like a really confused slightly mentally incapable stripper and flirt disastrously with prematurely erectile young men.
On Eddie’s birthday, I am in touch throughout the night with my close relation because he and his friends are looking for celebratory activities. I have invited them to see my friend play.
My friend has finished his set.
This lounge is ordinarily pretty empty. It is a small venue meant for small parties. When Eddie arrives with my buddy, between myself and them two it is a pretty close dance floor.
My friend goes hunting for other women. Eddie and I are left together.
We must have been dancing because later on, once he is in my house, our bodies are already pretty well adhered to one another.
He is in my home.
My friend is living on my couch so, to save her an embarrassing evening, I avoid the living room and continue making out with Eddie until we reach my bed.
Eddie throws me on my back.
I feel nothing but absence for about a minute.
Where has Eddie gone?
I lie in suspense.
Eddie returns. He is on top of me and he is completely naked. He kisses me further.
It is the middle of the summer, I have no air conditioning and I have turned most of my apartment into a rehearsal studio so all of my furniture is in my bedroom. It is hot. We are sticky. Eddie takes my shorts off.
Everything is moving far too quickly for my participation.
I cannot process things quickly enough. There is no opportunity for me to accomplish “Sexy”.
I feel Eddie give up on my genitals.
I am still on my back.
It has been a rough three minutes into this encounter.
Suddenly hands are on my shoulders.
Knees are by my ears.
There is something in my mouth.
There is something in my throat.
There is nothing I can do.
I have never successfully given a blowjob. I have tried. I have failed. I still have not figured out how to exercise my tongue while covering my teeth and allowing my head to dance with a penis for long enough to satisfy practically anybody. Still, I have been determined in the past and I would have tried to satisfy Eddie if he would have only waited. Eddie could not wait.
Eddie fucks my mouth.
He gets up.
He leaves the room.
I sit up.
I am sitting in a pool of menstrual blood.
I completely forgot that I was menstruating.
The bed is covered.
Eddie must be covered.
I feel the shame of a guillotined thief. All the furniture, every speck of light, lint, deadened insect is pointing at me, open mouthed, incredulous.
Eddie re-arrives and gets dressed.
I clean off my legs in the shower.
My friend has left the apartment. I do not know where she has gone. It is four in the morning. She is missing. I worry.
Eddie and I sit on the balcony while I smoke. I ask him about his job. He tells me as little as possible. When I finish the cigarette, we sit in silence until he decides it is time to go.
I wish him a happy birthday at the door. He takes my number which feels laughable. He hugs me. He leaves.
I text my friend.
She is sitting in the Tim Horton’s around the corner watching Shrek. Do I need anything?
I need so many things.
I tell her no.
I tell her what happened.
She thinks it is funny and strange especially considering how long I have kind of known this person. I have sort of known him, a peripheral person in my life, close to someone I am close to, constantly hearing his name, I have kind have known him forever. Never once have I been attracted to him. Now, his dick has been in my mouth. And I did not even put it there.
I return to the balcony for another cigarette.
My chair is covered in blood.
I hate. I just hate. I sit in blood and I hate.
In the morning I find a watch.
I show my couch-based friend. She laughs. It must be Eddie’s.
She Googles the watch. It is a six hundred dollar watch.
I do not have Eddie’s phone number.
I leave it. I expect him to call me.
When he does not call me I feel bad. I feel maybe he has no idea where his watch is, he has been looking for it, he cannot find it, he might be a mess with personal concern for his expensive belonging.
Why on Earth he would take his watch off just to get a blow job, I will never know.
I text my friend, Eddie’s best friend.
“Hey, I know this is weird but Eddie was here the other night and I have his watch, he left it here. Maybe you could just let him know for me. I don’t have his number. Sorry, I wasn’t going to mention it but then he left his watch here…er…awkward…”
Minutes later I receive the message, “I know he told me. I can pick it up tomorrow.”
He told him.
Eddie told my friend that he left his watch here and asked him to pick it up.
Eddie who had his penis in my mouth could not just text me and ask to pick it up himself.
Eddie just could not bring himself to face me.
Eddie is a coward.
My friend picks up the watch when I am not there. He gets it from my couch-bound housemate.
I get a phone call when I am at work.
It is Eddie.
The “How Are Yous” go by and then he says “Ok, so, I know we had a thing the other night but I just feel like I should call you to let you know that it, I don’t think it should go any further like, maybe we’ll keep it to a one night thing.”
Fuck you, Eddie. As if I really wanted my face to be assaulted for another evening with a man I am sure I should not be getting naked with, sorry, correction, a man who got completely naked watch included just to force his dick through me. Excuse me while I crawl underneath my desk and cry, how will I ever get over you, go fuck yourself.
“Yeah that’s fine,” I say.
He hangs up.
I tell my boss what happened.
I should have kept the watch.
I see Eddie years later at a Bob Dylan concert.
I am there with a friend.
My shirt is half-on because I am too drunk to realize that I am a disaster at Rock ‘n Roll.
I hope he got to see my breasts that time because when he was in bed with me, he did not even bother.
Good concert. Terrible seeing him. (Insert Bob Dylan line to summarize entire story).