Hopefully this isn’t weeded out by some electronic evilry.
At any rate, I’m a 23 year old hermit of a man, living in Hick Town, Georgia. I haven’t felt an intimate touch in two years; though one grows accustomed to such things.
I forgot what a vagina was until last month-ish.
I was browsing a popular dating site that I’ve been on since 2006 and found someone who didn’t look like they were missing teeth and could spell their name. Very rare in these parts.
I message, wait a week, and to my surprise she replies. We meet for beer and tacos and talk about Chik-fil-A, philosophy, and Seinfeld.
Two more dates, and she invites me to a party with some friends.
It’s 3am, everyone’s blitzed, scrambling for a ride home. I look around, and where is she? Balling her eyes out on the sidewalk about her friends drinking and driving. Apparently they didn’t want to crash at her apartment, or thought she was a bitch, or something; whatever makes drunk girls cry.
I’m walking her 7 blocks through pitch black downtown to her apartment. She picks fights with the bums as they’re calling eachother names… I calmly extract her and keep her moving.
More crying, about how crappy the world is. She yells that she hates men and gives me a past account of being molested by some creep at a bar.
I have to piss.
We get back to her apartment, narrowly escaping her falling from the stairs.
Gives me the tour, shows me everything her ex-boyfriend ever bought her, showed pictures of them being happy.
Apparently I’ll never be good enough to replace him, and I’ve still got to piss.
I find her bathroom amidst a dozen piles of clothes and empty beer bottles. For someone without a job, she drinks really expensive beer. Hard stuff.
She announces it’s time to go to sleep. Demands I sleep in the bed and gives me assigned pajamas. Jeans will not touch her 800 count sheets.
While I’m finally taking a whiz and changing clothes, she walks in naked. Waits for me to finish then promptly forces me to watch her take a whiz. This friendship is going to be transparent.
At this point I assume she’s too drunk to care about general decency, but I have lingering doubts she ever cares.
I’m assigned to the right half of the queen sized bed. I have the light, which she promptly stretches over me to turn off.
Proceeds to drag me to the middle of the bed and spoon me so hard I could barely breath.
She says, in a black out drunk sort of way:
You are everything a woman could ever ask for in a man. You stood with with me when my closest friends abandoned me. You put up with my bullshit. You protected me from myself. I would marry you right now if I could. You’re the nicest person I have ever met. But you’re not my type.
Then the death grip tightened and she passes out.
I woke up at noon with her sprawled out across the bed. Breathing, yes, but incapable of being woken up. I have to be at work soon, so I cleaned up and left a thank you note. Left her a glass of water.
I get a text the next day that says, “you are the nicest person in the world.”
So, given all of that. Elaborate drunken charade, spooning, intimate life stories, and everything … I’m “not her type”.
What, the fucking, fuck?
Sorry for wasting a few minutes of your day with this, but my brain can’t compute this. Proper reaction, what to say… Anything.
Is this a normal thing?