But, But... I Want More

So, it'd been several days since my W.H.D.-filled* weekend.

Other than the occasional steamy scene flashing to mind at the more inappropriate times of the workday, I hadn't given him much thought.

I hadn't even cyber-stalked him. (Okay, there was that 5 seconds on Facebook confirming his name. But, then, zilch. Promise.)

Anyway, four days and change go by, and suddenly, there's a text from him. We exchange a few general pleasantries before I go about my evening plans.

Some time later, getting home from a couple hours of endorphin-enducing activity, I'm kind of high on life and thinking of my soon-to-arrive house guests. Wondering how long you can leave a singular encounter hanging before it permanently moves into the one-night-stand category.

Maybe the adrenaline is fucking with my head. Maybe it's the newly-free, unattached Belle remembering singledom can be seriously fun, given an equation with the right factors. Anyway, I send a thinly-veiled invite his way.

So... I just realized I have more free time than I'd anticipated... tomorrow night, the following morning...

Moments later, my phone is ringing.

W.H.D. is asking about my day, my week. And I'm asking about his. We're joking and carrying on like people who know each other. We are not talking like fuck buddies.

And the whole time, I'm thinking of LADirtyDisco's recent recitation of Samantha Jones' Hookup Rules, and wondering what she'll say about me engaging in such frivolous conversation.

Then, the tempo lags.

W.H.D.: So... I have to tell you something.
Belle: Okay. (I already know. Whatever form it's coming in, the result is the same. Our fling is officially a one-night stand. Goddammit. I want more hot, dirty sex with this guy!)
W.H.D.: There's no good way to say this, so I'm just going to say it... Ex-girlfriend, yadda, yadda, yadda...

He apologizes a lot, says he feels bad, tells me he likes me and never would've invited me to his place if he'd known this was going to happen.

And I'm wishing he wasn't saying nice things, making me contemplate anything beyond what I'd already determined would have been the course of this would-be non-relationship, were it to be. Wondering what part of the 'let's have fun and keep this casual' memo he missed to be saying what he is saying.

I tell him he doesn't need to apologize. Tell him I hope things work out with them.

I even mean it.

He says he hopes he still gets to see me... around. I tell him I'm sure he will.

And, unfortunately, I am absolutely certain of it. It would be far too convenient and neat if he just faded out of my life as quickly as he made his appearance, as permanently as he made his impression.

In the end, I'm out one perfectly good fuck buddy AND left thinking, wow... this guy is sincere, and nice, and he likes me, and his career is in the same field as my passion, and there might've been something there if things had time to go further...

Now I'm just wondering why he contacted me again at all.

And even pondering that just seems to point to the fact that he's a good guy. That he didn't want to leave me hanging, to find out he's back with an ex via a friend (or worse, in person at some inevitable future gathering).

Ugh. Apparently, all it takes is a little 'adios, Belle' from a dude to whom I'm relatively unattached to make me start weighing his merits and slip into gaga mode.

And then there's that nagging voice, planted and nurtured in me during my conservative, religious upbringing. Telling me I'm getting what I deserve for wanting 'bad' things. For being greedy and superficial and driven by self-satisfaction.

But, seriously, y'all. I'm out a perfectly good fuck buddy and have to add yet another one-nighter notch to my proverbial bedpost.

Fucking hell.


* Pun intended.