On bad days, days where the fairy tale is clearly nonexistent, I always find myself thinking about the same people, the same gradient of men who could have LOVED ME but they failed.
Recently my mom told me a story, about a time when a boy from her high school trapped her in a car until she fought her way out. His intentions were violent.
I told her, “that happened to me but I was inside the guy’s apartment.”
This isn’t a sex post. It’s just a post about expectations.
For tonight’s ten minutes, here’s a lesson in being OK.
My first sex experience was a gong show. I was in my early twenties, I met some guy at a party he poured me multiple glasses of wine from his 1.5L bottle, and that night we had the mildest anal sex in the world. Still, I couldn’t walk the next day which helped me laugh with my friends about how I would never see him again.
A few days later, he found me on Facebook.
From there, he roped me into some polyamory bullshit and when I say bullshit I mean, it wasn’t polyamory. He just used that term to negotiate my willingness to fuck him despite his girlfriend.
It worked. For years, I wanted him badly. I thought he was the one because he was the first one and I sunk into him hard. But his relationship to me was “here today, gone tomorrow,” on his terms.
Years after meeting him, I moved to Montreal and made a pact with myself: Say goodbye to my “polyamorous” idiot and start “meeting new people”.
I “met” a lot of new people. And these are the people I think about on a bad day like today:
-Guy who was really after my friend but I stayed at the party so I’m the one he got with
-Girl who came over to watch a horror film and then, like porn I would pay to watch, she turned to me and said “sometimes my girlfriends and I kiss but it’s just for fun,” and five minutes later I was face-to-face with her groin
-Guy who jumped in my cab on the way home from a comedy show and then in the alley beside my building we did this and that
-Guy in my class who bullied me for months before getting with me for three weeks
-Comedian who told me he had a three-time-only limit per sex partner and then later blamed for giving him warts and then later apologized because I didn’t give him warts
You get it.
I want to promise you something: After all of that, I learned, sex is only special when it’s giving. When you’re satisfied and he’s satisfied or at least you both tried to get there. When both people got into it and out of it with a look in their eye and a heart-thumping feeling and decency that guarantees everyone’s feelings will be handled with care.
I recommend calibrating your expectations: Sex doesn’t always come from love. It can come from anger, hurt, sadness, power, fear…whatever.
On a bad day, I remember all my bad days. And, I thank them for their time, I guess. “Thank you for your accident.”
The final drop was a guy I met on Tinder. We drank a ton and he kept drinking even after I stopped. I agreed to the date because I wanted to go out with someone, just for the evening. My only expectation was safety. And then, just outside the bar as he was smoking, I said I was leaving and he gripped me around my waist, fingers digging, pressing me downwards, he said “no you don’t. You’re not leaving.”
I looked at the bouncer. He was watching us.
I said, “ok, I’ll be right back.”
I went inside. Counted to five. Exited the bar, kept walking and didn’t look back.
He called me continuously on my way home. I blocked his number as soon as I could.
From there, I gave up.
I sent Tinder an email, telling them that they’re enabling rapists even though I know I’m accountable for drinking with a stranger and staying on the date as long as I did. But, I was angry.
I dropped expectations. All these men are the same. All this sex is the same. Is that true? No.
A month later, a guy I had been crushing on for a year contacted me. We took my dog to park three times. We’ve been together ever since. I love him in a way I could not have expected.
But, not everyone can be fated.
Most of the time, you aren’t meeting him because he’s the one.
You’re meeting him because you’re meeting him.
Time is your best friend. It really is.
Tonight, I’m drinking tequila and wondering about the pain in my shoulder and the sun is down and maybe I’m down too.
If you make your way to the back of the room, you might notice everyone is watching you. Go. Talk to everyone. But, remember. Some of them are sketchy af.
Rachel Ganz 