The Devil is English

Our glances met from across a darkly lit room of a club – I caught his piercing blue eyes and his eyes caught my skirt, or lack there of. Wearing a very tiny mini skirt, with a crop top to match and knee high boots, one could say my outfit left little to the imagination. I was fixated on his 6”4 stature, blue eyes, and British wit. He was fixated on all five feet of me and lest we not forget… the skirt.

Captivated by his gaze, I was encouraged to introduce myself but something pulled me back from doing so. Normally, I’d have no issue brazenly introducing myself to anyone, but something about him was different. I was intimidated. Ego got the best of my mind and self esteem got hold of my body and suddenly they were at odds, fighting against each other, pulling me in opposite directions. One was telling me to go and the other telling me to stay. Lost in my head and cycling through my thoughts, trying to decide whether I was brave enough to say hello or coward enough to not say anything, I looked up and there he was standing right next to me.

He just looked at me and asked if I was lost. The shock of his approach crippled my ability to answer and his sexy British accent pulled me into listening. I was finally standing in the presence of a man who had the power to shut me up, with little to no effort. Mind you, countless brave men before him valiantly tried to put a nozzle on my motor mouth and my ability to spout total bullshit and unfiltered nonsense in any situation with little to no shame; and yet here was this man who did just that in a matter of seconds without actually doing anything.

He fully introduced himself to me that night. His name was Matt, he was 31, British, senior investment manager at a large European firm, relocated from London and living in NYC for ten years, on and off. He had a one bedroom apartment in Central Park West, and supposedly due to some unforeseen issues and hardships was currently housing a few friends until they could pick themselves up on their feet and leave his nest. Our initial conversation felt almost like an interview of sorts, where he flooded me with random information and I listened intently and absorbed it all. What impressed me most about him specifically, putting how handsome he was aside, was his British wit and banter. He felt absolutely no qualms just cornering me and saying, “How would you like to join me and my mates for a night of partying and drugs.”

He was fucking with me, I thought. But almost reading my mind he reciprocated “I’m serious.”

It seemed I was locked in time; in some Socratic paradox where I thought I knew everything and yet I knew nothing.

Minutes into just meeting me he was enthusiastically anticipating to take me on a whirlwind adventure filled with K holes, molly rolls, banter, and sex. His cocktail of drugs appealed to every part of me that loved all those things and loved them especially while having sex. A part of me was hooked. I was drawn in, I was listening, and I was curious to partake in a crazy night of debauchery with some Brit I had just met.

Caught in a daze of sex, drugs and music I overheard Matt whisper, “I really hope you’re into licking ass and all sorts of ass play” – and just like that I was quickly forced back to reality, mustering a very weak chuckle, maybe almost choking at his words I asked, “what?”

Taking a few moments to fully digest his question, I replied “Umm, to be honest I’m really not into any kind of ass play, giving or receiving.” Perhaps feeling disappointed by my response he quickly reacted by saying how he finds himself getting along best with very open minded, experimental and kinky girls. And he is particularly looking for a special girl to share great banter, friendship and drugs with on a consistent basis, but she absolutely must be kinky – His statement almost disqualifying me from the list of women he was currently entertaining.

Consumed with ego and pride and now coupled with a sudden desire to prove myself, I felt like my old self, the one that would snap back at men when they say stupid shit and retort to comments such as his. Fueled by a sense of anger, I replied “I have never had anyone in my life doubt my level of kinky, and I’m definitely not going to have you insinuate that I’m not because I don’t particularly enjoy eating ass.” And begrudgingly followed with “We’re both adults Matthew and we just met, let’s not play these little games, it’s not cute on you.”

However, I was still hooked. I knew I liked him and I knew I wanted him. I knew that a large part of me wanted to follow him on his drug quest.

Yet the sensible part of me was wary and reluctant because the reality was we HAD just met! Already he offered to take me away with his crew of male friends to get fucked up on copious amounts of drugs where I wouldn’t know any of them from a hole in the wall and could seemingly picture myself showing up on the ten o’clock news as missing or dead. This was a recipe for disaster, I was sure of it. So I painfully declined. We exchanged numbers and went our separate ways that night.

I was ready to write that night off entirely and forget the existence of Matt when a few days later I received a text from none other than him. We engaged in what I assumed to have been a very honest and funny conversation mainly revolving around sex, drugs, partying and more sex. Having met the guy once, I already planned my next few weekends to meet Matt, party with Matt and fuck Matt. In fact, he planned it for me and I willingly agreed. I didn’t just agree, I was excited for it. I had something to look forward to. But to my dismay, this plan had to wait ten days before coming into fruition.

Matt was going home to London in a few days to see his family and wouldn’t be back in NY until ten days later. In the meantime, however, he left me with an assignment to quell my anticipation and lust. He told me to secure a dealer in his absence for molly, Coke and E and be ready to meet him upon his return to NYC for a bulk purchase.

In fact, He planned our entire first week back in NY – he’d meet the dealer and make the buy, meet me Wednesday afternoon for lunch, and then have me meet him Thursday in Philly at his hotel, after his client business meeting. And then finally, we’d dedicate the next 24 hours to drugs, sex, and whatever else to follow.

For the next ten days, I scoured the city for people that could provide the type of drugs and amount of drugs to satiate Matt’s needs and wants. And I found them. I found two of them. There was a bidding war for Matt’s attention, except there was no Matt. We actively kept in touch those few days he was in London, and then the weekend before his arrival back to the states, we lost touch. I didn’t hear from him for an entire week afterwards either. He never called to cancel or reschedule our lunch date or update me on anything. Here I was lusting for a guy I’ve only met once and out doing his bidding, and he couldn’t even make a call.

I was furious. I was mad, I was livid, and I was vengeful. The week after our missed date Matt finally texted me. I didn’t respond. He texted again, and I didn’t respond. He called me and I didn’t answer, and he called me again to which I screened his call. I waited exactly a day to reply and succinctly say, “What Matt?”

Confused, he quickly apologized for our missed date, and for going MIA and how he’d like to pursue a lunch date with me the coming Thursday and plan out the whole Philly trip all over again. This time I was less than enthusiastic or amused. In fact, I was a certified bitch. I said to him, “We can have lunch this Thursday at 11 AM sharp. I have a doctor’s appointment at 9 and can meet you around midtown east. However, if you are late, even by five minutes, I will not wait. I will leave and I will dead you. So make sure that you’re able to make it this time and be prompt!”

From one alpha to another alpha, Matt wasn’t too happy with this and perhaps he almost hated me in that moment but honored his commitment to take me out for lunch.

Although described as militant by Matt in texts and “rude as fuck” I was very sweet and nice in person. I liked him, I knew I liked him and I also knew that I couldn’t let him know how much I liked him. We had a great lunch, great conversation followed by a brief trip to an art gallery. Leaving that lunch date on a positive note, I was under the impression that it was a great success. Matt saw the real me, who was calmer and nicer and less militant and rude.

Of course that impression only lasted for so long as I couldn’t help being myself who was unfiltered, uncensored and oblivious to the things I say. Somehow I felt that it would be okay to tell Matt to slow down on the drugs and the partying. Somehow I thought his ego was big enough to handle hearing that he was getting some wrinkles at just 31.

My exact words were, “I don’t mean to sound like your mother or even pretend I’m the adult in this, but maybe you need to slow down on the drugs, cuz unless you have some amazingly great genes; drugs will age you and well, Matthew, I think I was beginning to spot some wrinkles on your face.”

In my mind I thought I was giving him some great advice unaware of how offensive it came off. I wasn’t aware that he’d take me so literally especially because I’m five feet, I behave like I’m seven feet tall but ultimately I’m just a barking chihuahua that you can’t take too literally and need to brush off. I knew I was difficult and have been described as “too much” but I’m an acquired taste. Eventually I grow on you. I was like sushi, you’re not quite sure at first if you love it or hate it, but it’s interesting and exotic. So you keep eating and eventually you learn to like it, but in small doses, and if you eat too much you feel sick.

I was like sushi…

Matt didn’t see it that way. He had yet to discover the irony behind my “wit” and so that became strike two. Strike one, I was a militant keyboard warrior, strike two I was an offensive insulting bitch. There Matt went. I had already reconciled the fact that we’d never fuck, perhaps we’d never even become friends. I wasn’t even sure if he had liked me as a human being let alone a love interest, and I seemingly found closure and deleted him from my phone.

About a week passed and as I was commiserating over memories and fantasies of Matt, he texts me. His text read, “That party you’re going to Saturday night, I might be there with some of my mates and meet you.” Before having a chance to reply he sent a follow up text reading, “I want to introduce you to a girl who will be there as well, she’s really cool and you would like her…”

I paused for a moment and reread that again to fully grasp its meaning. It seemed like Matt was trying to set me up on a date with a girl. I quickly let him know that I was not a lesbian or bisexual and this wouldn’t turn into a threesome. He smugly replied that he thought I’d enjoy meeting her because she had molly and then I’d know her for molly, and we could all become molly friends. His “kind” gesture came with a forewarning. Evidently, she like most women, was very interested in him and would most likely expect to fuck him. Yet it was his way of phrasing all this via text that bothered me most. Specifically saying she would expect to fuck him and he’d have to fuck her. Somehow that line didn’t sit quite well with me.

Meanwhile this guy was spitting piles of bullshit in my ears about how picky he was with women, how he looks for connections and chemistry, how he doesn’t fuck on the first date, or has one night stands. This was the same guy who told me how he had just gotten out of a serious four maybe five year relationship with an ex about five months ago who lost her mind, went insane, threatened to kill her self if he had left her. All the while he’d never once cheated on her.

Could I believe that! He asked. He’d never once cheated on his ex girlfriend! This was the same guy filling my head with ideas of having a rare friend with benefits, because of the connection and the banter, etc etc etc…And now it was the same guy telling me that he wants me to meet some girl for molly, whom he’s expected to fuck just because she wants him, almost alluding to the fact that they’ve fucked before and this wouldn’t be a first or last time. And he wants me to meet her, under the circumstances that what? I’d be his wingman, hold his hand, give him permission to fuck her all the while having him lead me to believe that he is interested in me for something.

Confused, angry, and perplexed – I tried to control my emotions and my texting warrior skills to calmly ask him what the purpose of all this was? To which Matt replied that he was just not the guy for me. He believed I was looking for the real thing, and that’s not him and not at this time, but he liked me. We have good “banter” and he’d like to remain friends. In fact he expressed a great deal of excitement at the thought of us being friends, to which I reacted “if we’re friends then we’re strictly just friends, platonically, and never sexually.”

To my surprise, he openly and happily agreed.

In all my years of dating, countless dates followed by countless rejections of men never wanting a second date with me because no one wants to deal with an aggressive, matter of fact, painfully blunt pseudo bitch, was I ever friend zoned by a guy. Rejected yes, but never friend zoned. I did that to men, men didn’t do that to me. And especially I wouldn’t allow some British import do that to me. I was hurt, I was staggered, I was confused, but more so than anything else, I was enraged. And I wasn’t just angry, I spiteful. Fueled by anger, I was in game mode. If this guy wanted to play games, then let’s play. I didn’t like playing games, I avoided dating gamey men at all costs, but now I was challenged and triggered and I knew I had to win. I had something to prove to my ego.

Saturday night – as planned, Matt ditching his friends at his favorite club in the city ubered his way over to Bushwick to meet me outside the party I was attending and make our way to meet his infamous molly girl at a nearby after hour spot. Seeing Matt outside of a suit, on a Saturday night out, only further confirmed that I lusted after this man more than I cared to admit. But I had a point to prove and we were playing some game. Seeing me out of jeans and sneakers and essentially dressed as a girl more so than a Tom boy, definitely had him questioning things as well. So off we went to meet a girl named Kristina by an after hour spot. I saw Kristina from a mile away, she was the only girl standing outside the club waiting on someone, someone being Matt. Being as friendly as possible, I made every effort to conceal my true intentions for that night and mask all my feelings of lust for him. It was hard. I had to swallow huge amounts of pride which felt stuck in the middle of my throat, wedged between like a stiff rock of food, waiting on water to push it downward. But I couldn’t be that girl, I just couldn’t be the girl that pined after him like every other female in his life whom he’d befriend, fuck and then carefully place them in a category of friends with some benefits, at his convenience. I had to be the main girl, The it girl, the girl who garnered all his attention because he wanted to give it to me, and yet in that moment I felt remarkably small…but powerful. I knew what Kristina did not.

It was 3:40 AM and the after hour club wouldn’t let us in until 4:30 which was when their doors would open to let the party commence. Trying to kill what little time we had left until then, we meandered over to a local strip club. Matt got Kristina and myself vodka sodas while he was sipping on a cocktail. Watching Kristina and Matt chatter amongst themselves only forced me to remember that I was merely here as his friend and nothing more. Maybe this whole frivolous quest to prove something wasn’t worth it, and he wasn’t worth it. I decided to accept my role as his “witty scatty” friend and just go with it.

Entertaining myself with the club music and my drink, a random guy approached me. I can’t say I remember his name but for the purpose of that night let’s call him Patrick. Between Kristina and myself, Patrick thought I was cuter and really wanted to get to know me…and so having not much else to do I engaged him in some light conversation about as light as it could possibly be, given where we were.

Looking over, I caught Matt’s glare, blazing his way into my soul with his deep blue eyes. Suddenly whatever conversation he was engulfed in with Kristina had no relevance as he was more concerned with my conversation with Patrick. As we left the strip club to head over to the other club, Patrick followed me out. He actually more or less invited himself to party with us, under the guise that Matt was with Kristina and I was just there, tagging along, for who knows why because Maybe they adopted me somewhere in the middle of the night and now here we were. I could’ve literally said anything and it would remarkably seem less preposterous than the truth. But what was the truth. There was none, the truth was that this night was a series of mind games between Matt, Kristina and myself. And I just didn’t know who would be left feeling jilted.

Waiting in line at this club, Matt decides to engage a crew of random American guys in some British style banter mentioning his favorite body part, the asshole. Literally, discussing his anus in comparison to American anus, understanding the importance of the anal sphincter when licking someone’s asshole and of course mentioning the temerity of his asshole…and Somehow hearing him misuse the word temerity in the context of his asshole just really set me off. And I decided then and there that if he wants to be my friend, I mean my real fucking friend, then he’ll get the same exact treatment as all my guy friends get. And that is with come backs and sheer sarcasm. So I looked at him and said; “Matt I just want to know in what context you meant to use temerity in relation to your asshole. In fact, you guys should stop engaging him entirely or otherwise he won’t leave you alone for the rest of the night because he’ll try to take a peek at each one of your assholes.” As I said this, I felt myself reclaiming parts of my confidence and power and suddenly earn some street cred with a bunch of random guys just unassumingly waiting in line to continue the party.

Until this point, I thought I knew how the rest of the night would go, I was prepared for it already, and forwarned by Matt. But then something happened…Matt sent Kristina up with Patrick to get her ticket and had me walk downstairs with him to the ATM, where he cornered me and said he just couldn’t wait to get me alone all night but unfortunately he must fuck Kristina because she gave him molly. In that moment, I knew I won, and by the end of the night, Kristina feeling hurt and rejected by Matt decided to go home, finally leaving him alone with me. By 6 AM, Matt was openly lusting for me as much as I’ve been secretly lusting for him, and to some extent I thought I’d won him over. I thought I had him in my grasps, this little game he tried with me didn’t work, because I got him to admit he wanted me. He didn’t want Kristina, he didn’t want someone else, he just wanted me…and he did admit to all that, and he did tell me he couldn’t wait to send her home…but What was next?

I kept asking him to invite me over to his place to which he relentlessly refused. Pressing the matter further and further, I couldn’t accept that he wouldn’t invite me over. Why wouldn’t he? Why not? Because of his friends, his squatters, his current roommates? As if they’d care if I’d come over. I’m five feet tall, he could literally hide me in his coat pocket and keep me in a cupboard and no one would even notice. I don’t take up a lot of room! So why couldn’t I come over! With every possible attempt I made to invite myself, he retaliated with his own attempts to sneak into my parents house and have me sneak him into my bedroom. Pacifying me with the notion that he’d be extremely quiet and inconspicuous as I attempted to sneak him into my house and my room. Matt didn’t seem to understand that he was the least inconspicuous human being possible; he was a fucking giant, entertaining some bizarre idea of sneaking into a house of little people. There was no hiding Matt – and snapping back I said “Matt you want me to sneak you into my parents home in Queens who are probably awake having breakfast now, and you think they won’t see you? You’re a giant in a house of midgets, and you want to meet my dad? My little dad who looks like Stalin and would probably kick me out on sight. Yes! I could do that, I could entertain that idea as long as you realize that you’d have an extra and permanent house guest, because when my dad kicks me out I’ll be permanently squatting at yours!”

There was a long pause. He was lost in thought for a few seconds and he finally hit me with the truth. To start with, Matt wasn’t 31, he was 38 but since he was “so good looking, he could easily pass for 31” he argued. And Matt wasn’t just living with squatters and roommates who have fallen on hard times, he was living with his ex gf, whom supposedly was in the process of gathering her things to move back to London. And he didn’t just fuck around with random girls except he randomly fucked Kristina and licked her asshole for hours and hours, to which he didn’t fail remind me at every turn of the night. And Matt didn’t just sleep with everyone as he said, in fact he told me the last time he had sex was five weeks ago except he met Kristina three weeks ago and in that time frame they fucked at least a couple of times…it was lie after lie after lie.

It was all begininng to culminate – all the lies coming together and the truth unfolding. The whole night was a blur, the morning after was even worse. I had a headache and all I wanted was to go home. So that morning at 6:30 am, we parted ways and went to our respective homes, his in Central Park West, with his ex girlfriend and mine in Queens, with my parents.

I should’ve eviscerated the very thought of Matt after that night. His very existence should have disgusted me enough to have never wanted to see or speak to him again, and yet I was still drawn to him. Something about him drew me to him. He was magnetic, enigmatic, very attractive, funny, witty, a total utter asshole and I liked him. I lusted for him. I couldn’t explain it. I had more self respect than this and yet all sense of logic, pride, and respect went out the window, and in matters concerning Matt, I just didn’t care. I was convinced that I would not let him go and let this go, until I fucked him. Fucking him would be my final act of closure into finally closing the chapter on Matt.

After Saturday, we Actively kept in touch, more so than before. But once again, we couldn’t see each other. He had a sudden trip to LA to see clients and attend functions and dinners, and would be gone for a week or so. But when he’d return we would revisit that Philly trip he promised originally, and fuck. Again, I was excited at the sheer thought of us finally consummating whatever this was between us. We spent many nights, texting, sexting, talking on the phone etc, I really thought I had his attention. Then one day as his return to NY was nearing, Matt dropped another interesting piece of news on me. He told me how he lost his passport with his visa and could not return to NY until it was all sorted out . And as such, will indefinitely be flying out to London as soon as possible to file for another visa and passport. Also telling me that he didn’t know how long the process would take and when he’d be back. And of course apologizing for canceling our plans, yet again.

If there were ever signs to look for, they were definitely here. They were abundant and clear and being hurled directly at my face.

I didn’t know how many signs the universe had to send me warning that this union between Matt and myself was not a good idea. At every turn that we made plans to meet, to hang, to fuck, there was a clear and defining obstacle. Something in the cosmos didn’t want us together. Seeing and acknowledging those signs, I decided this was for the best and We just weren’t meant to fuck. The universe didn’t want me to fuck Matt.

But the devil had other plans and I soon learned that the devil was English.

A few days later, already in London and tending to business, Matt messaged me with a proposal. He suggested to fly me out to London for a few days to spend some time together, do copious amounts of drugs, and of course finally fuck each other’s brains out. He just couldn’t wait until he was back in NYC to do this and it had to happen sooner than later because the sexual tension between us was too thick to avoid. Here I was being offered a trip of a lifetime, all inclusive and paid for trip to London by a man I liked, and was attracted to – there was no way I could say no. Without hesitation, I said yes. The Morning before my flight – I woke up early to clean, to pack, and to get everything ready for my trip, when I noticed a very lengthy and very early text from Matt. Never having sent me lengthy texts before, I was pleasantly surprised and almost very quickly confused as I saw this text was not addressed to me. In fact, it was addressed to some other girl, in LA by the name of “babe.”

The text read:

“Babe, I was thinking about the time I was in LA and I’ve been talking to Chrissy and Chrissy and I believe that Lulu stole my passport. We were all in the cab together and Lulu was of course upset that I wouldn’t go home with her and I just don’t trust her. Chrissy and I have been friends for years so I trust her and her judgement and I’ll call Lulu later to ask. Can you ask mike for me?”

6 AM – it was Sunday morning as I was getting ready to leave for London on a 11 PM flight to meet some boy to do drugs and fuck. And of courseI get this text, and once again, another sign from the universe.

I knew a few things from this text as it was very telling. I knew for a fact that it wasn’t meant for me, and I also knew the names of the people involved. There was Chrissy, Lulu, Mike and babe? Who was babe. I wasn’t babe. So who was she. Immediately texting Matt, I said, “Was this meant for me?” Matt being a master prevaricator, master manipulator, master storyteller quickly explained that he was talking to Chrissy and Mike about Lulu stealing his passport etc etc etc…but never making mentioning of “babe.” He also quickly deflected and redirected and suddenly asked me how I’m doing and what I’m doing to which he never bothered asking me before but suddenly showing great interest, and then ending his texting rant with a closing statement stating “to whomever it was, it’s really irrelevant because I’ve never paid for any girl to fly over to me in London, so you should know you’re special.”

I didn’t feel special. I felt cheap and disgusting and disgusted. But I couldn’t think about these things. I couldn’t concern myself with thoughts of all these women in Matt’s life because I was the only woman right now in this moment that he was focusing on. So I made my trek over to London Town with lots of hope, zero expectations, no remorse, and guilt free. And to my detriment, Matt Was perhaps the perfect English gentleman.

Not only did He paid for my flight ticket to London, paid for my meals, paid for a man to hold up a sign for me at the end of the terminal upon landing, paid for my car service to the royal lancaster hotel which was a 70 min drive, paid for my food, my drugs, my alcohol, my stay etc. He took care of me entirely. There wasn’t a single thing during my stay in London that I wanted because he covered it all.

Arriving to the hotel at 2 PM, I meet Matt at our suite by 3. By 3:15, we’d already popped a few molly, E pills, and did a solid line of coke just for good measure. Completely consumed by him and the drugs, we finally fucked on a Monday. We fucked for so long and did so much drugs that I actually blacked out at some point and have very faint and vague memories of all that really transpired.

I know we did in fact fuck. I remember bits and pieces of that, but I don’t recall if it was amazing and if I liked or hated it. I remember having to pee a lot and having a lot of trouble peeing and then having Matt ask me to give him a golden shower. I vaguely remember him nestling his face and tongue in my ass and pussy, both places he loves to live in dearly and even have some vague memory of him convincing me to lick his ass. It all happened so quickly that when I woke up the next morning or really, next afternoon around 4pm, I had no idea of what we did and how long. According to Matt we spent 15 hours fucking each other’s brains out on drugs, and yet I can only account for one. I was leaving Wednesday afternoon, so we only had Tuesday to go out, hang out, and then fuck each other again and to some capacity more sober than the night before.

Tuesday night, he invited me to his other favorite nightclub in Britain and we had a great time. He gave me his undivided attention, while also feeding me glasses and glasses of vodka sodas filled with double vodka shots. I must have had three or so because when i left the club I was drunk, wasted and waiting to get back to the room to puke. We didn’t just return to the hotel room ourselves, however: Matt invited guests. He invited two awkward guys back to our hotel room, one confused about his sexuality and the other a transsexual. All three of them engaging in “banter” as I was in the bathroom puking my guts out. Finally emptying out all the contents from my stomach with the gastic acid burning my esophagus, I gather the strength to sink into bed and physically pass out yet mentally remain very awake. I was awake enough to hear the entire conversation unfold before me of these two strangers in our hotel trying to give Matt a reading – attempting to tap into his fucking soul, with little luck, and pressing him for personal spiritual data only to unearth details about Matt I wish I didn’t know. I learned that night that Matt was a self proclaimed womanizer. He was aware and he was obnoxious. He unapologetically loved all pussy. I dubbed him the pussy monster.

He had a roster of females lined up in every state, city, country, continent, county, village and town. All these women waiting for him to love them, but after he fucks them, they all take a back seat on his list and devolve into mates. They are all his mates…I could hear those words endlessly reverberating in my head, in my drunken stupor. Kristina is my mate, Lulu is my mate, Chrissy is my mate, you are my mate, yet I’ve fucked all of them, and now we are mates.

I’d be damned if I was going to be just another one of his mates.

Suddenly Matt closes the doors on our random guests, tells me to take my clothes off to fuck and like a fucking little pet I do as he says. Meanwhile he can’t get it up; and I can’t find the strength To suck his dick and somehow we just equally agree we need sleep.

Next afternoon I wake up and it’s time to go. I had no time to waste and just an hour to spend with Matt before catching a taxi to the airport to board my flight at 5 PM.

Everything happened so quickly, we ate lunch quickly, packed quickly, kissed goodbye quickly and then he sent me off. I boarded my plane sad, lonely, despondent, confused and feeling worse now than when I enetered. Ego and confidence depleted, serotonin depleted, and emotional beyond reprieve, I cried at least three times on the plane. I cried a few more at home, I entered a massive depression, didn’t shower, didn’t sleep, slept too much, and cried some more. I thought I was losing my mind. I couldn’t understand what I was feeling but In that moment I believed that I was in love with Matt.

There I was in love with a boy who didn’t love me back, but made me believe he did…

How could I love him; it was impossible. I knew who he was, he told me who he was. I was prepared to expect and receive nothing and because I received more from him than I’ve ever received from any man who had professed love for me, I was convinced i was in love. It was A one sided love, and unrequited. I wished I had never met him, entertained him and traveled to London all to satiate my lust and my curiosity for him, all at the price of my sanity.

Was it worth it? No.

When I returned, my life took a major standstill and Matt’s life resumed. He never once texted me after leaving, and the only communication we’ve had was If I’d initiate. In that moment I realized that the greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world he didn’t exist, but the greatest trick Matt played was pretending he cared.

He did care or so he said he did. When I was around him I felt like it was me and only me with him; subconsciously knowing that it was also him and so many other women like me sharing in my sentiments and angst. I wanted to hate him but how could I hate someone who never manipulated me, tricked me, or mistreated me. Was I experiencing Stockholm syndrome? I’m sure strong women everywhere would disagree with me and claim that he did manipulate me. yet I found myself was defending Matt and holding myself accountable.

I was in love with the devil and the devil was English. The devil was Matt. Was it the greatest trick the devil ever played doubting his existence or was it convincing us he was our lover, our friend, and ally. Was the actual trick to mind fuck us into thinking there is someone who wants to live out your every desire and fantasy while also wholesomely Loving and caring for you, only to reel you into his trap of falling for him and then dismissing you once he’s had you. I’d much rather know the devil didn’t exist than know he did and he loved me on a condition and for a short moment in time. He loved me as long as he didn’t have me and once he did, I was just another number, another girl, another conquest, another piece of ass, and another statistic .

Is there a moral to this story? Of course there is! There’s a few morals: listen to the signs, pick up on red flags, don’t do drugs with strangers, don’t travel to London to fuck a man you met three times and hardly know. The list went on.

Had I learned my lesson? I hoped I had but knew I hadn’t, for more adventures awaited and he would be back.

I was locked in my own world of “Sex and the City” and Matt was my Mr. Big. Somehow I was entertaining the notion that maybe In the end, I’d get the guy and we’d live happily ever after in our own depraved and tainted universe. I had a lot of questions and I didn’t have any answers.

I did know one thing for sure, I was at least capable of #SurvingMatt!

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