The Grabber: Hope you got your fill, buddy
I agreed to meet The Grabber for the first time at his house one Friday night several months ago. We were to watch Pulp Fiction. When I got there, he poured us some wine, and we settled in to watch the director’s cut. Since we’d both seen the film quite a few times, we talked throughout about various things.
It didn’t take long for me to realize this guy was too self-important for me to have any romantic interest whatsoever in him. His actions indicated he was on about the same page in his feelings toward me. We sat pretty much at opposite ends of his couch, and he kept answering his phone and responding to text messages throughout the evening.
During one of these conversations, he actually reached across the couch and grabbed one of my boobs. He kind of squeezed it and let go. I told him I hoped he’d enjoyed it because that was the only time he’d ever get to touch me. Ever.
At one point during the night he’d picked up his guitar and played a DMB song. He stopped mid-strum to tell me I was lucky. “Usually I make the girls take their shirts off before I’ll play for them.” I rolled my eyes and reminded him that I didn’t request any damn song from him and honestly couldn’t care less whether he played or not.
Yeah, I never saw this guy again. Turns out the creep had slept with The New Yorker’s Pretend Girlfriend anyway. Gross. (I will post about her one of these days. Perhaps even soon. In the mean time, just know: Gross.)
And, on a wholly unrelated note, (I’m “hiding” this next little bit in this post because I don’t think SWB has/will read anything on here that isn’t obviously related to him*). He told me last week that his friends offered him money** to stop speaking to me after our last date. He told me he hasn’t told them about the blog, which I might actually consider a justifiable reason to dislike me if they knew about it. From what I gathered, they thought it unacceptable that I didn’t put out after date 4 or 5 or whatever it was. They told him I was bad for his self esteem.
I must stop here to say (again) that I’m fully in favor of friends helping friends out in the insert-penis-in-vagina department whenever is needed/necessary (for the most part I’m talking figuratively. If your friends literally help you with this, I probably don’t want to know about it). But it isn’t like I was a tease or anything. And just because his (and his friends’) agenda was to get him laid as quickly as possible didn’t mean I had to comply. Fuck. He went to
Bad for his self esteem? Try finding out that the friends of someone you thought you were friends with offered to pay that person to never speak to you again. I think I’m most upset because I feel like this means he was just placating me when he said we would be friends. And because I really did want to try to be friends with this guy (although now I’m having trouble remembering why, exactly). If his friends despise me that much, I don’t see a way the two of us can be friends in the real world.
I even dreamed about all this last night. In the dream, SWB and I were at his place watching a movie, and I asked about his last date. The girl had spent the night and actually managed to sleep, despite his tendency to cut down forests in his sleep. He mentioned that the new bedding (yes, he got new bedding! In real life) was a good idea, and I asked to see it. While we were in his room, his roommate came in and began yelling at both of us for my very presence in their place. I got my things together and left.
The whole thing is insulting and upsetting. Of course, as usual, I’ve said nothing to him about being upset (save sharing the dream, to which I got a rather dismissive, “awww…. Who knew you cared so much?” in response). I don’t know if it’s worth mentioning to him at all. I should probably just count him as an entertaining person to talk to while I’m at work and forget I ever met him in real life or something. Or maybe when I actually do see him next (to return the books), I’ll bring this up. Nah. That probably won’t happen. At the rate I’m reading this book, I’ll have forgotten all about this before I finish it.
* And, of course, because part of me secretly hopes he will “stumble” upon it, thereby saving my sometimes-cowardly self from deciding whether to bring it up.
** The money was to replace his favorite book of all time, which I borrowed and which is still in my possession. But, still, it’s money exchanging hands to keep me out of someone’s life.
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