Things with Ethan, the guy I met in the film shoot, seemed pretty promising. The day after the snow day I won tickets to see the show “Next to Normal” and took him. We met for coffee in Tribeca and he bought me an espresso, and we laughed, played, and kissed until we got to the Broadway theater. In the performance, we both openly sobbed and I thought “wow, how cool to date another artist who is so emotional and impulsive!” After the show I had a date set with a new Okcupid boy (I’d scheduled it earlier in the week) and I told Ethan I had plans to hang out with someone. He started asked questions like “guy or girl?” “what are you two doing?” “is this a date?” and I didn’t want to lie so I basically just told him it was a friend and earlier in the week it would’ve been a date but now my mind was elsewhere. He asked me to cancel it and said yes, he was jealous, and wouldn’t I also feel bad if he was seeing some girl? And so I called and canceled the other date, we rode the subway together and made plans for Saturday night (aka, Valentine’s Day eve). I was fucking ecstatic and planned for some Valentine’s ecstatic fucking.
Saturday night came and Ethan canceled on me, saying he was really tired. I was sad but we made plans for the following night (actual Valentine’s Day). Then he canceled Sunday too, leaving me at the last minute sans Valentine. That was the first time in many, many years I spent the holiday alone (much less fun). I sent a text saying he could call me when/if he was free in the future but the ball was in his court so if I didn’t hear from him, no big deal, it was nice to have met him. The next day he sent a text saying he did in fact want to see me and apologizing for canceling. Then he also facebook chatted me and told me he was actually sick and so I should stop hating him. We made plans for Thursday and again I liked him, despite his flaky performance on Vday.
Thursday comes and he texts me around 10 that he’s done with work. I text back, assuming we’re going to meet up. He hardly responds until finally at 11:30 he says he’s ready so I go to meet him. I wait outside in the cold for over 30 minutes before he actually shows up. Moment #1 where I should have left.
Ethan's beautiful bitchy friend
He arrives and is immediately charming and so I forgive him. We decide to go back to his place but he wants to grab a drink at a sports bar first to catch the end of the Boston basketball game. As we’re walking to a bar we run into one of his friends, a gorgeous girl who is in his theatre company. She is on her way to a bar with her friends and invites us to join them. Ethan accepts and I say “sure,” because I want to make a good impression. At the bar, Ethan proceeds to not buy my $2 drink (instead buying himself and his beautiful friend a drink), sits nowhere near me, does not speak to me, and is all over his friend (who is a total bitch to me when I attempt to make conversation with her [though we did realize in conversation that we both made out with the same guy--her while in college, me while in high school. Weird]). I try socializing with the other people there, dancing, etc. but it is not fun and I am extremely insulted by Ethan’s disregard for my feelings. Moment #2 where I should have left. I figure I’m far from my apartment and I’ve already invested this much… we’ll leave any time now… right? We stay for almost 2 hours (Ethan proceeded to get multiple drinks without ever checking if I was having fun) before finally leaving around 2 am.
The kid who the bitch and I both made out with
At this point, I’m pissed, but I’ve set my mind on getting laid and so I stay with it, hoping everything will be worth it when we get back to his place. As we leave the bar I say it was a bit hypocritical that he was jealous of me seeing another guy when he was all over a girl right in front of me and again he worked his charismatic magic–explaining that they are just very good friends and it’s totally not like that but it’s cute I’m jealous. I’m temporarily soothed, again.
On the train we start talking about the basketball game–I know a decent amount about the NBA and so we start to banter. He insults my team and my hometown and so I playfully start to mock Boston. He does not find it funny. In fact, he gets pretty upset and says how when I talk about Boston fans I obviously don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. I tried to say I was just teasing him and what I was saying was just based on the few Boston fans I knew but he was angry and wouldn’t let me touch him. It was absolutely absurd. Clearly wanting a sensitive guy had backfired.
We finally arrive at his place, deep into Brooklyn, and upon entering his apartment he immediately gets into a fight with his roommate. It’s intensely awkward for me, and I keep telling myself “He’s still really hot… Hit it and quit it. It’s just one night. Do what you came here to do.”
We enter his room and he remarks on how much drama there’s been, not acknowledging the fact that he has started it all. I laugh and say it’s just one of those nights and we finally start hooking up. It’s good and it’s fun and for a second I think it might be a decent night after all. Then the Frenchman arrives.
Apparently one of the things the fight between the roommates had been over was the fact that a random couch surfing Frenchman was still there. The futon where he is staying is directly beyond Ethan’s door, which does not completely close, and against which Ethan is pressed as I flaunt some skills on my knees. This is insane. We decide we need to get more fucked up and so we open a bottle of wine and smoke. Ethan asks what music I want but quickly asserts that commercial rap is the only option. He puts on something awful and we again start making out, this time on his bed. I pause and say we should briefly discuss sexual history, something we’d mentioned on our previous date. He agrees and I ask when he was last tested. “Uh, about a year ago,” he replies. “Well…” I ask, “have you been with people since?” He laughs and says “Of course! How many people have you been with?” I shyly tell him my low number and he says “What? Really? That’s it?” and so I ask how many people HE has been with. “Oh, I don’t know, guys don’t count that stuff.” “Well, like 10, 20, 50, 100?” He laughs and says “I don’t know” in a way that suggests he does know but doesn’t want to freak me out. “Ok,” I say, “well, like, when was the last time you had sex?” Suddenly the conversation switches. “Why would you ask that? That’s none of your business. That is completely inappropriate and irrelevant and none of your fucking business.”
I took a picture of the bed when he went to get the wine, not knowing it would play a later role
Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were about to have sex… Why would I think the recent whereabouts of your dick affect me?
I tell him that he asked a personal question and I answered openly, but he still angrily refuses. Suddenly the answer hits me. Of course, it had to be last weekend when he bailed on me, otherwise it wouldn’t have been an issue. I say this to him and say it’s ok because he didn’t have any obligation to me but I want to know the truth. He doesn’t refuse my claims but says anything he tells me will not be the truth so I should just let it go. I try to reason with him and say that I don’t care about the actual answer but just the fact of him answering shows openness and trust and I don’t want to have sex with someone I don’t feel I can trust. “Well, maybe we’re just not meant to have sex then,” he says, turning over moodily on the bed. A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. Moment #3 where I should have left.
“I just want an answer” I try again, “Jesus, what is wrong with you!” he exclaims. “I swear, I will have sex with you either way, no matter what the answer is.” I insist. He pauses, then says “Fine. It was a month ago, before I ever met you.” I timidly ask, “Is that the truth?” He turns away, clearly unable to lie to me, “It’s what you want to hear.” I insist to him, “I only want the truth.” Harshly he ends the conversation, “Well you’re not going to get it.” Another few minutes pass, he goes to the bathroom, and while he’s gone I decide that I either have to just leave or I have to fuck him, the tension is just too much. Because it is 4:00 am and I’m pretty drunk and pretty stoned, I decide to just complete my mission. He comes back and we have sex. It is quick, uneventful, he makes no attempt to make it very good, and he pulls out as soon as possible. Overall, a huge waste. Serves me right for putting sex over pride.
I lie down on the bed while he proceeds to go to his computer–he seems upset, angry, and he turns up the rap music. After a bit he remarks on how late it is and I suggest we go to bed (I have work at 10 am). “Maybe we could turn down the music?” I ask, but he replies “No. I need this right now. I NEED this music. No one is going to sleep yet” and he turns the music up even louder. I am confused, he’s obviously angry and I feel like he is punishing me in a weird way. He leaves the room and I hear him loudly say “This fucking chick is–” before his voice falls from a shout to a level I can’t hear through the walls.
cute but scary
When he returns, he is crazy. My guess is he did coke or meth or something because he comes back in frenzied and laughing and says how we can’t go to bed on an unmade bed! “This is the worst bed I’ve ever seen! Where is the fucking sheet? Where is it? Seriously, where the fuck is it, did you take it? Did something happen to it?” He gets really panicky and I luckily find the sheet which has fallen behind the bed. He grabs it from me and starts fanning it out over the bed. I go to help adjust it at the corner and he yells for me to stop. “IF YOU SO MUCH AS FUCKING TOUCH THIS SHEET I SWEAR TO GOD I–” and I do not tempt his patience. I back away against the wall, terrified, as he finishes making the bed, which consists of laying the sheet out and throwing a blanket over it. “THERE!” he says “Isn’t that the best bed you’ve ever seen! We have to remember this! We should take a picture!” He gets his phone out and he takes a picture of the bed and laughs maniacally. I slowly get in as he proceeds to go back to the computer. “I have to leave for Boston in the morning” he says quickly, a fact which I know to be a lie since a few hours ago we’d discussed his upcoming trip to Boston. “No problem,” I say immediately, “I have to work so I set my alarm to leave by 7:00.” At this point, the alarm is only two hours away. “Good” he says to himself as he continues chatting and the rap music continues to blast. I lie as close to the wall as possible and refuse to let myself sleep, just in case Psycho boy flips for real. I should have taken comfort in knowing that the Frenchman was only about 15 feet away and so probably I wasn’t in danger, but I was also in an area of Brooklyn I didn’t know (where there were no cabs) with a house of male strangers, intoxicated, and it was still completely dark out. Finally Ethan turns off the music, smokes another bowl, and comes to bed. I pretend to be asleep and we do not speak or touch.
At last 7 am arrives and I grab my things and bolt past the insane ex-scene partner and the sleeping Frenchman. I do not wake either of them to say goodbye.
Eight hours later that day while I’m work I receive the following text message:
“LOL did you leave??”
Yes. Yes, I did, you creep.
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