(The following was emailed to me by a friend)
Calij note (edits have been made at the request of the letter writer)Tuesday (June 3...new edits)
Dear S,
I'm writing to tell you what a great time I've had hanging out with you over the past nine months. In hindsight, I see now that all the signs were clearly pointing to ASSHOLE. I mean, I always knew you were kind of a player, no surprises there. And my friends always thought you were slime. But it turns out what was really going on behind-the-scenes is so much worse than I ever imagined.
When we first got together last fall, you were SO into me. Had to see me all the time. You were IMing me constantly—while I was working, studying, even in the middle of the night. Sending me those little winky kiss emoticons all the time ... I knew that meant you REALLY liked me ;-*. I was wary, and rightfully so, but you constantly allayed my fears: You told me to love you, don't hold back.
Soon I was over there several times a week. I love getting last minute IMs—"come over" (at 10:30 pm on a Wednesday? Really?)—it makes a girl feel really special. We'd order Thai/Sushi/Chinese/Pizza and watch episode after episode of House/The Simpsons/The Wire/The Office/Flight of the Conchords—even though we really should have been studying.
Oh! My favorite part was when little IM bubbles from other girls would pop up during our show—"hey," "what r u doing?," "can i come over?"—and you'd let them linger long enough for me to see, then close them without responding. "I don't even know that person," or “my friend so-and-so that I study with,” you'd say with a shrug, and casually light one of your Export cigarettes. Later, when I was sleeping, you'd be click-click-clicking away on IM till the wee hours of the morning. Who were you chatting with, sweetheart? I also liked it when you checked your email compulsively in front of me. That made me feel like I was really lucky to be hanging out with you! So many messages from your OKCupid dating site ... You must be REALLY popular.
The sex was fantastic. And you wanted to fuck ALL THE TIME. I got especially hot for you when you bitched and moaned and pouted if I asked you to put on a condom. Because that meant you really cared about me. Because, as you told me, we were in a loving, monogamous, committed, three-week-long relationship! And I was obviously an untrusting, paranoid freak. By the way, those weird stains on the sheets must have been from the Tom Kha Gai soup.
I have to say that after the initial thrill of being with someone started to wane, your foreplay skills were pathetically lacking. While sometimes your command for me to take my pants off had a twinge of domination to which I would submit with anticipation, your reaching across our pile of case books, outlines, and highlighter pens and roughly shoving your hand in my shirt moments after finishing a gut busting meal, with full bellies and onion breath, usually repelled me more than enticed me.
Ok, let's be honest. I was starting to get a little skeeved out. But really, as you so logically pointed out, we hung out all the time—when would you even have the time to be screwing around? Unless you were alternating me with other girls just about every night of the week and lying to all of us. (Hint: You were). That would be PATHOLOGICAL.
Around week four I found it odd that your technology started crapping out. Poor boy! I would text, call, or IM when your little chat light was green, but you mysteriously wouldn't respond. Two days later you'd apologize: You were studying, or your phone/computer/internet connection wasn't working. Actually, you hadn’t received the message at all. Glad you weren't just dissing me, phew!
By they way, let's not EVER talk about our relationship. That just stresses you out and is too EXHAUSTING. You told me on IM the other day that you loved me, remember the little <3?
"Ur no fun anymore" I get on IM. Who me? "Oops, sorry, meant that for someone else." Silly boy, getting your multiple chat windows mixed up.
Pretty soon your friend B was coming over an awful lot. You know, that guy from school? You had a LOT of work to do. Can't hang out Friday, sorry. What a hard worker you are, baby. He was your bestest friend, it was nice that you two could have a boys’ night study break and just go to a late movie together on a Friday night. Too bad I never met B, seems like you guys were really close.
In fact, school was so stressful we hardly saw each other at all anymore. But I still heard from you on IM. Just about every day. Those funny links you'd send showed you still cared. Like that Chinese restaurant menu with the hilarious bad translations . Or those silly shirts on Bustedtees.com. Or the Onion News Network videos. Someecards.com. And how many girls' photos could you crop out and paste onto that ridiculous dancing elf?
Sometimes I'd still come over for "naps." You like "napping" and "nooners"—the mid-day shag between classes. Hey, so do I sometimes, no complaints. But how many times can you use the line: "wanna nap together?" Do you have that on auto-complete?
I felt really special that day you IMed me to come test out your new mattress. "New bed!" your iChat status read—an advertisement for all the world to see. To me: "wanna help me break in my new bed? ;)" Hmm. Was that really just sent to me? (Actually, no. You sent that to several other girls, within minutes of each other. Ick.)
Then we broke up. Well, you said you wanted to "take a break." (You like to conveniently leave things open-ended, because, hey, ex-sex rocks!) Things were getting too stressful. It was perfect timing since it was Christmas break, we'd just finished finals, and we were both leaving town anyway. No contact for two weeks ... who were you chatting with that whole time, dear? Not me, I saw you on IM from my parents' house but you never even sent me a :* kissy face. (Turns out it was your ex-girlfriend, who you were sweet-talking into a reunion. And at least two other chicks you picked up online, who you were psychologically massaging for hookups upon your return).
I come back for New Year's Eve and send you a nice note: "Happy New Year, sorry we aren't talking." The next morning you IM me, saying you'd been at a party in the East Bay, but drank too much too early and went home and puked. (Psst, actually you'd spent New Year's Eve with your ex. The one you said was paranoid and jealous, but had a really hot sister. The one you broke up with a week before we hooked up because she "didn't trust you" enough. I can't IMAGINE why). Apparently she left at 10 am, I was there by noon, and you hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet or showered. We spent New Year’s and the next few days together in reconciled bliss.
It didn't last long. Things got rocky again.
Once, a few days after we hooked up, I discovered your blog and a brand new (5 minutes!) entry saying you were tired of the "usual suspects" and were craving new, exciting female attention. That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, thanks. We fought, then you deleted me on Facebook and Gchat. Again!
A few weeks later: graduation from grad school. We were nostalgic and you were drinking, a lot. Drunk off bourbon you came over to my place late at night. You actually said you loved me and that you'd been waiting for so long for me, that you wanted to be with me. You threw a fit when I wouldn’t sleep with you and spent most of the night on my floor. I was so worried about you. By 5 am I gave in to your pleas. We spent the next five days together. I gave you wine glasses as a graduation present. Everything was peachy.
Then I left town for a week. When I got back and saw you again, I noticed two empty wine glasses in the sink—you broke in my graduation present with somebody else. Of course, you told me that you’d been drinking wine by yourself—on two separate nights—how silly of me to think there was somebody else. You patiently explained to me that I was “fucking insane.” You were totally cold, said you probably shouldn’t be dealing with a relationship right now, that you want to focus on studying for the bar. You gave me a passionate kiss and wiped the tears off my face: "We'll talk later."
I couldn't believe you had duped me, again.
I am tired of your dirty sheets, your compulsive lying, all the cheap Indian and Thai takeout, and the FAMILY-size pump-bottle of lube that lives next to your bed. I'm tired of you reeling me in with sweet-talk and sex, just when I'm ready to move on, only to be shit on all over again.
I thought of your ex. If anyone could fill in the gaps for me, maybe she could. I felt a little crazy, but decided to contact her. I'd never done anything like this before and thought I would sleep on it first. The next morning I felt ill as I pushed the send-message button on Facebook. I told her I wanted to talk but would understand if she didn’t want to. I just wanted the truth that you would never give me, confirmation that I wasn’t crazy and paranoid all that time. She responded in minutes.
Over the next few hours we went over the minute details of our timelines. We pinpointed many times when you’d been alternating between us, sometimes within a day, even hours apart. You'd been lying to both of us the entire time that we'd known you—apparently you'd say anything to get what you wanted. But in the midst of my conversation with her I noticed something odd: I was googling something and saw that your Gmail account was signed in on my laptop. Apparently the last time you'd been over you were using my computer to go trolling for chicks—your online personals site was logged in, too.
Questions: Why would you do this on my laptop? Not just one, but BOTH of my laptops? You had your own with you, so why mine? I know you're not stupid, so was this all part of your game, or some kind of cry for help? I couldn’t help but glance at the list of messages. After all of your lying, please understand: there was no way I could hold back.
I counted nearly 30 women that you've been corresponding with/seeing/fucking since we first got involved. The ex was just the tip of the iceberg—almost a front for the kind of sleazy behavior that was really going on. Some are fuck buddies, some you are actually dating. There's at least one other girl from our grad school giving you "nooners." A few you apparently just sex-chat with and have not even met yet. Many you've picked up online, and new ones come and go like the breeze. You keep a steady supply of ex-girlfriends on hand for intimacy and the occasional nostalgic fuck. Often within seconds of IMing one girl, you'll be IMing another with the exact same pickup line.
This has been going on for the entire span since I've known you, possibly for YEARS. Most seem to be doing exactly what I’d been doing for months—running over to your place for takeout and a last-minute roll in your bed. And that was only from the one email and one dating site accounts you left open—I know there are a few others. Strangely, both our best moments and our fights were always followed by the same burst of activity—a flurry of picking up new girls and reaching out to old flames for a good time.
So, now, a few questions:
- Do you ever spend a night alone? How do you keep us all straight?
- How do you manage all the compulsive lying that is necessary to make this system work?
- Don't you get tired of so many women being pissed off at you all the time?
- Are you having unprotected sex with all of these girls? If so, that is terrifying. Do you have any STDs, really?
- Were you letting anyone else use the toothbrush I left at your place?
- Were you and that high school girl really just friends?
- Apparently you already have one child, how many others are out there?
- Obviously the person I’ve spent so much time with over the past nine or so months is someone I don’t even know. Do you even know yourself?
I left your accounts open and took a step back to digest the information I'd found. I barely slept a wink that whole night (neither, apparently, did your ex, who was similarly distressed). That night you logged on to set up a few sex dates for the coming weekend. Then around midnight you sent a message to a new email address—one of those anonymous addresses, something like lovelips87—there was no text, just a photo of your erect cock.
I am writing this letter because I truly believe you are troubled and you need professional help. A few terms come to mind: sex addict, sexual predator, sociopath, pathological liar? This letter is actually not just from me, but from several women you've been messing with. And, really, it's not just for you, but for all the other women out there who have experienced, or might experience, the mind-fuck of being with you. Ladies, you are not alone. And this letter is not for revenge—it's a warning. I truly hope some good can come of it.
Yours truly,
Anygirl415
