You know, it is always the same with you. We go on a great first date and afterwards my phone is practically mocking me with its silence
. As soon as I have written you off as a "man mirage" and have resorted to pretending that you don't exist, you text me something completely non-nonsensical like "What's up?" or "How are you?", like you could really give a shit five days later. Maybe you've been busy. I will pretend to sympathize because I understand how hard it is to take five seconds out of your day to send an SMS message from a device that has more contact with your hand in one day than your genitals have seen all year.
I used to think that once we finally had sex that would change. But you are dedicated to your silence except when you are moaning commands in my ear. I wait twenty-four hours after I walk out your door and then I bad mouth you to my friends. They tell me that I am better than you and that I can do way better. And the truth is that I can, but I don't want to.
Because you aren't a complete disappointment. I have had men never call me back and more often than not I was secretly glad. But you are reliable only as bad luck
. You ask me how my week is going four days later on a Thursday night, too late to set up a date for the weekend, but you let me know that you are free "later" Saturday night.
My personal favorite comes after we confess our feelings for each other. We have been having casual sex for months and you drunkenly tell me that you want a relationship. And this is the moment that I think that I can finally call you to tell you about something funny that happened during the day or text you about a dream that I had about you the night before. But we haven't changed at all. We will play the game to our graves.
In the event that I am in your bed, you whisper nice things to me, like you care about me and that you only want me. But talking to you outside the bedroom is like pulling teeth. I text you about a guy my friend is trying to hook up with at a bar and there is an hour between each of your replies
. I tell myself you are on the train, but I know better than that. The next night I end up making out with some bass player who doesn't know my name. And I don't feel bad, and neither do you.
PS: Men, why does it take you so damn long to text back?