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Someone that I Used to Know



"Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over   
But had me believing it was always something that I'd done
But I don't wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know"

{Lyrics by Gotye}


It's going on five months since I drop kicked someone I used to know. He tried a few times to contact me via email the first week because I blocked him on phone and text. But they were tepid, quasi-attempts. Except for his anger that I, a "56 year old with one deaf ear and the other going deaf," had the temerity to end it with him, a 32 yo wack. Once I shot out an email notifying him that any contact with me constitutes harassment, ha! he disappeared in a flash.

We met last summer when he made a trip to my town to film his documentary. He caught up with me a few times after filming and we spoke for hours. Then he spent an entire day filming me. I thought he was gay and welcomed his text messages after he left under the impression I made a new friend. And that's what I wanted, a friend. After two weeks of constant texting, I asked for a picture with him smiling as he sent scores with scowls. Imagine my surprise when he sent one of his erect cock.

"Is it smiling?" I asked in disbelief while displaying the pic on the iPhone to my girlfriend.

"It is rather pretty," she said. "And now you know he's not gay."

"I'm quite puzzled," I said, "the way he talks, the way he acts..."

"Send him a text and ask him outright," she recommended.

So, I texted him, "Are you gay?"

He responded, "No, even though I'm gay friendly because of my profession. I'm 100% hetero. Why do you ask?"

"Am I the first to ask you?" I shot back.

Things changed when he sent texts sexual in nature. I wrote the funniest come-backs. When he promised to visit, I panicked. "I like the guy, he can keep up with me conversationally because he understands what I'm talking about, but how do I reconcile that with his physicality?" I whined to my girlfriend. "I don't find him attractive at all. And let's not get into the age gap."

"So why are you sexting him back?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I like the attention and it's a fun distraction. Mine are mostly comical. Great material. He keeps bragging about the size of his dick. I'm writing about using cranes and shoe horns to accommodate his girth. Besides, I doubt he'll return."

He did return. I stupidly put myself into the position of fulfilling all those sexual delights I promised, albeit humorously, to a man for whom I felt zero chemistry. Talk about pushing the envelope! Awkward doesn't adequately describe the first night we spent together. Although each successive evening there was an improvement in our inter-relations, I wasn't comfortable with or around him in and out of bed. For he acted a bit.... aberrant.

He had a nervous tic where his lips trembled, his arm shook. He got overwhelmed by too much liveliness and froze into immobility where he trudged around like a zombie and only snapped out of it when I snapped at him. He had mood swings from giddy joy to despondency which he called "contemplative." All along, overly solicitous while maintaining an emotional distance. And he reacted very strangely in bed...

Mind you, this was supposed to be a romantic week. I didn't sign up for... whatever the hell that was!  The day after he flew back home, I ended it via text - I ain't that stupid! I told him I preferred the friendship. He scoffed at my reaction and continued texting, phoning and emailing with a new twist of events: his precarious mental health that would devolve should I break up with him. A giant hint of suicide.

Now I was emotionally blackmailed. I felt sorry for his irrational reactions to breaking up. And caved in when he begged me to refrain until the next trip, thinking he'll never return again.

By this time, however, he made plans for me to move in with him, 3,000 miles away.

"You'll spend winter months with me and summers at your place," he decided in a phone call. I didn't say a word. "Okay, how about starting off with a month with me..." He waited for my response. Receiving none, he said, "Okay, two weeks..." Again I was quiet. "How about a long weekend?"

Then, we had a giant argument via text. Of all things, him not friending me on Facebook.

"What are you hiding?" I asked.

"Nothing, I barely use it."

"Then, what's the problem?"

"Any time you have a question about me or my life, just ask me and I'll tell you," he said. Superficially, it sounded reasonable. And then it didn't. For me, it was a great way to end this ado over nothing.

I didn't understand his virtual co-dependency upon me. And his panic when I threw out my back and later on when I thought I was having a heart attack. Both times he acted as if I were going to die on him. You'd think he'd relent and FB friend me? Nope. Intrigued, I became very curious as to what truly was going on in his life and rammed the point home.

In the heat of this back and forth, he texted that he loves me and is falling deeply in love with me. "I can't believe I'm texting this to you!" he wrote. I couldn't as well. Perplexed, I had a suspicion it was to throw me off the FB track. A minute later, he phoned.

"I wanted to phone you so you can hear my voice. I love you," he gushed. "I'm falling in love with you," he added.

I sat there at my kitchen table in shock. I can hear the hesitancy and expectation over the phone. "What's this about?" I thought. And wondered again about his mental state of mind. Lamely, I repeated, "I love you," and prayed I won't go to hell in leading him on.

"Get rid of him," typed my sister-in-law on chat. "He'll come up there and make a leather jacket with your tattooed skin. And no one will find your body until the April thaw."

"He can't afford a surprise visit," I typed in response. "Just in case, I booby-trapped the house."

Convinced he was hiding something (that was my interpretation because he never fleshed out as a person), I gave him an ultimatum to admit me into his life by sending me pictures of his place, his office, his friends, where he goes. Or friend me on FB. That seemed the best way to end it.

"It's unfair of you," I texted him. "You've been in my home, in my town, you met my friends. I don't want to go cross country to find out you're married or in a relationship."

That almost did the trick. He groused, he threatened to end the 'relationship.' Relieved at my exit strategy, I went on my merry way. Until I received a few pictures via text. Then, he totally opened up and voluntarily sent me tons of pictures every day of everything I asked. There was nothing earth shattering about him or his life - it was mundane beyond belief. He almost became three dimensional to me. Still, it didn't cut it.

So, why am I bringing up all this dirty laundry AGAIN? A few days ago, I bumped into the Town Supervisor aka Mayor of my village who I hadn't spoken to socially in six months, outside of town meetings. You'd think that with a population of 250, we'd be crossing paths more often? Funny enough, no!

"Say," I inquired, "has that guy contacted you since he filmed you in March?"

The Mayor laughed. "No! What happened to that guy? He just disappeared." He looked at me strangely and I could swear, reached for his gun.

I groaned. "No, you won't find any bodies in the lake. He boarded the plane back to wherever he came from."

Relieved, the Mayor smiled. "I had no idea the two of you were that close."

"It was a mistake I recovered from."

Well, his royal weirdness provided me with oodles of short stories, blog posts and a mini ebook about my mis-adventure, "Arc of Passion." I'm grateful he lives far away.


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This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.













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