I went out with Tim several times, and I became attached to his real self that he kept hiding behind skepticism, bluntness, and dirty language. He was very smart, highly educated, and heavily traumatized. Young, tall, and athletic, he had that college-kid look and quiet innocence that made me smile.
During our first meeting, he immersed me in a long political discussion, demonstrated profound knowledge of the world history and public policy, and presented as absolutely detached. He looked like a typical Anglo-Saxonian zombie, cold and smelling menthol gum and laundry detergent.
I was very positive he was not into me at all, we are peers, and I tend to attract older guys, accomplished and wealthy. But I received an email from him after, stating that he is not going to be respectful with me any longer, since all he wanted was to put his hands under my dress and check if I had my undies on. I was so surprised that he showed up that I did not even get upset.
I was more amazed at myself than at his sexual directness, since I kept responding to his endless vulgarism and lack of respect.
– Why are you so disrespectful with me, Tim? What am I doing wrong?
– I respectfully want you, can I come over now?
In reality, he kept presenting as cold and very knowledgeable of technical and legal matters. An engineer and a lawyer, he demonstrated his researched misanthropic attitudes about others when we met, and kept sending perverted texts after.
I told him about his Jekyll and Hyde nature, and he immediately lowed his voiced and started looking around, apprehensive about the humid darkness.
– Well, there are people here, and I do not want to scare you off. Do you really want me to tell you what I am thinking about you?
– You are going to write it to me later anyways, right?
– Yes, but writing is different
– Why don’t you give me your phone number?
– Sorry, my phone number is only for work
I left that date with the firm decision to block him for good, but I kept conversing.
– You like it, you like being treated like a little slut, you will be my little slut, and I will dump you after.
After two months of getting obscene messages through the email box and his constant begging for my explicit pictures, he gave me his phone number. I started receiving harassing texts in-between our cold and strictly educational meetings.
Months after I learned to see through his ongoing stop-wasting-my-time-I-want-your-pussy-talk, I sadly realized that the Tim I have developed a strong liking for is hidden under megatons of inferiority complexes, childhood traumas, and the pathological fear to express feelings.
He helped me with grocery bags to my vehicle, inquired about the safety of my son’s car-seat, and finally gave me a hug. I slowly stroke his arm and leaned against him trying to get to his smell through the superb cleanliness of his t-shirt and menthol breath.
I felt him, he was awesome, the problem was he did not feel himself, constantly suppressing everything through fake toughness
– You are very pleasant to touch and to smell, this is awesome. – He did not get it. He was chewing his gum while kissing, he was paranoid, nervously talkative, and desperately rude. I got into his vehicle since it started raining and was bombarded with his unbridled horniness and anxious efforts to cajole me into going down on him.
– I am looking for a long-term lover, Tim
– Don’t use ‘lover’, say ‘sex partner’
– Why don’t you call me by my first name?
He kept loudly chewing the gum hastily looking around
– I do not want attachment, I may be leaving the area soon. I am afraid though you will be attached to my cock
– Of course I will, this is the luxury of being alive and real
He looked at me in astonishment, he literary did not get what I was talking about. He was like a scared little kid, lonely, helpless, and extremely traumatized, and nothing could be done about it.
– Is it ok that I am touching you, Tim, or do you want me to take my hands away?
– You do not have to ask, do what you like.
– Tim, – I tried again knowing though that I won’t be able to get to him through his zombieism – You are very warm inside, but you freeze yourself so much
– Are you psychoanalyzing me?
– I threw my license into the Gulf of Mexico a year ago
– Good for you, but I have no idea what you are talking about. Shall we fuck?
I quietly got out of his vehicle and left. I liked him, I really liked him, I still text him back and miss his obscenity when he disappears. He is panicky about everything, and I do not need his emotional instability and trauma in my life. Sadly, he is a zombie with no interest in becoming a live human being.