Personal Stories | Relationships
To Every Man Who’s Ever Used Me
I hope I was of good service to you.
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It started with hands.
He laid his hands out on the table with his palms facing upward, indicating that I should lay my own on top. I was hesitant, an eczema flare-up had left dark scaly marks where there had once been smooth skin on mine, and I was insecure.
I yielded. He rubbed the marks and told me they didn’t bother him. It was music to my ears.
Then he wanted to touch my face. No one hardly ever touched my face, not even my own mother. He sat adjacent to me, and a table sat between us. It was the first time we had seen each other in person in over a year. Later, he would call our outing a “date.”
As he reached for my cheek, my body stiffened. I must have not hidden it well because his disposition made him look as if he had reached out to pet a snake. As out of place as the gesture was, it felt warm, so I yielded. And I continued to yield.
Before our date, he told me that he wanted to make us work, that if we both put in the effort, we could start a relationship. I agreed, but not after some trepidation because I did not think that I was ready to date. And I think I remember telling him that every guy I talk to loses interest in me — I was being humorous, but it was true. He still wanted to pursue creating an us. I’ve never been good at intimacy — I mean real intimacy, the kind that keeps couples together for decades. You might as well try to explain quantum theory to me. I’m sure I’d understand that faster than the underworking of a properly intimate relationship. Regardless, I yielded. And I continued to yield.
After the date, some weeks passed, and we had talked practically every day. I was honeymooning. And I began to unravel for him. When I like someone, my affection knows no bounds, and I think that’s the way it should be. So, I showered him in affection, built up his ego even.
But eventually, as my heart began to swell for him, his began to shrink for me. And I felt it. It burned.
He disappeared.
It was abrupt, like ripping off a band-aid, only in this case, the band-aid did not help heal the wound but caused it. He stopped making an effort to text me. On Instagram, he stopped liking my posts, but always was among the first to watch my stories. To a Gen Z-er, this is a big deal. Something more than his feelings for me had changed.
On the day of me writing this article, I saw what the change was. In truth, I had been looking for it, any hint or sign that there was someone else. I wanted closure, and that’s what I got. He rarely posts, so when he does, it’s always interesting to see what it is. I scrolled through the phots of the post and was stopped dead in my tracks by one particular image. He was standing in what looked like a mirror illusion, with multiple mirrors surrounding him, you know the kind you would see at funhouses. And placed on his thighs, near his crotch (possibly even on it) were hands.
And so, it ends with hands.
You couldn’t see her face, but you could see her back in the mirrors. She had her arms wrapped around him. I got my closure.
I guess this is the part where I say that he didn’t deserve me anyways and that none of it matters, you know the whole “tough girl” act. In the grand scheme of things, this may be true, but it sure does not feel like it.
I feel as if I’ve been slighted. I feel embarrassed. Every gesture he made, verbal and physical feels tainted, as if it were tinged with grime. What his actual intentions were, I’ll never know, and quite frankly, I don’t want to know. The closure did enough damage.
In truth, I’m not special, neither is he. People have been screwing people over and have been getting screwed over for millennia. It didn’t start with us, and it won’t end with us.
He wasn’t the first to use me and my affection.
….every guy I talk to loses interest in me…
I won’t apologize for having a soft heart; I think the world needs more of those. So, to every man who’s ever used me,
I hope I was of good service to you.
I hope you sleep well having never known how much you hurt me.
I hope you’re satisfied.
I hope the service was so good that you never want the same from another — that you never do to them what you did to me.
