God, where do I even begin with this one?! I guess the right word to describe the entirety of mine and Jimmy's "relationship" would be "mistake." I generally tend to make bad decisions when it comes to picking men, but this was a cut above the rest. Or maybe the more appropriate way to put it would be it was a new low in the shameful depths of my dating selections. But I am always up for something new when it comes to the opposite sex, and he was:
a) Asian,
b) skinny as hell,
c) really rude and sarcastic within 5 minutes of meeting me, and,
d) mysterious.
None of these things were qualities I had experienced in a man before, and I was curious to say the least, especially seeing as he was, god, such a fucking asshole- from the very start. I guess there is some legitimacy to that whole “if you act like a dick then she’ll sleep with you” theory. I may not have slept with him but I did give him a chance. We had met at a bar for a mutual friend's birthday celebration and Jimmy seemed to take to me right away, in his odd sort of making fun of me way. He came off as cocky and confident, argued with me about everything, and had a great speaking voice, real deep and resonant. I don’t know what it was, call it instinct or perhaps brief spell of insanity, but when I left and he ran out of the bar after me to get my number, I gave it to him.
He called about a week later asking me to dinner. He did it in a very roundabout way, meaning he didn’t exactly ask me to dinner so much as he said, “I was gonna go out with this other girl but she’s busy so I decided to call you and see if you were free.” No, I am not lying and yes, I agreed to go out with him. Regardless of his wooing style, and even though he acted like talking to me was an extreme waste of his time not to mention something I should have been infinitely grateful for the entire duration of the phone call, I was looking forward to going out with him the next weekend. It was still winter break from school, so we were both home and he took me to this great little tapas place in the village area of Manhattan. I had a nice time with him, somewhat. During dinner he reprimanded me repeatedly for not making constant eye contact with him, rolled his eyes in frustration at my dietary requests, like asking for lemon in my water, and laughed with pity at my foolish mistake to walk a few steps ahead of him to let people pass us. Because, silly me, that clearly means I have no idea of how to treat the one I’m with, with respect. But for reasons I can’t explain, I felt attracted to him and let him kiss me goodbye when he walked me to the subway. We kept in touch the rest of winter break, and continued to talk after we both returned to school- me in upstate NY, him to Pennsylvania.
After a few months of talking for hours a day (not like, real talking though- we did the online Instant Messaging thing since he hated the phone), he asked me to be his girlfriend and I said yes. Yeah, I don't know why either. I think he had mind control powers because no matter what we were discussing, I constantly felt like I had to prove myself to the guy. I was always feeling intellectually inadequate during our conversations, and constantly trying to gain his approval. Of course I never suspected that this negative, months-long cyber relationship with a rail-thin Asian kid that treated me like garbage was affecting me. I had met him at a point in my life when I already knew I was feeling un-confident and depressed, so I attributed my poor decisions to that. I didn't stop to think his dominant and manipulative personality could possibly be the reason I felt compelled to unenthusiastically say, "Yes." I mean, goddamn, was he lucky he met me when I was in settling mode, because… holy shit. I never would've agreed to be his bitch now. I am writing this story, years later, and I am amazed at how all of this happened simply due how down I was feeling. But at the same time I’m not really amazed; I am quite impulsive, always have been, and let us remember I was at a college with 2,000 students, more than half female, and about a third gay males. So it’s not like I had a lot to work with. Granted, it should never have reached the point where he became my only choice but, combine poor self-image and no straight male options in throwing distance, and there you go.
But aside from those minor issues, our newly official relationship had all the makings of a decades-long love affair that storybooks and Hollywood films are made of. So of course I was as shocked as anyone when it fell apart fairly quickly. Jimmy had always been aggressive and confident, and I liked that about him. But one night we were talking (i.e., typing to each other and reading words off a screen) and somewhere in the conversation he mentioned the words "sex tape" and I said something along the lines of "yeah, been there, done that." Because I had, with an ex. And that's when he flipped out. I mean, really, he went off. First he was in shock, and didn’t believe me, then started asking me about it. So I patiently explained it was with a boyfriend, it was a private thing (private, with people watching; po-tay-to, po-tah-to) and what does it matter, anyway? He would not calm down. He called me a slut, whore, bitch, you name it, and said he could never be with a girl who did that sort of thing. He went on with his judgmental tirade for a good five minutes and at first I was stunned, because let’s be honest here, what guy is really against having a girlfriend who'd be open to doing that?? But then I got mad, because fuck you Jimmy, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to. Pissed off and annoyed, I ended the conversation then I didn't hear from him for 3 days. I, a Jewish Italian neurotic girl, was getting the silent treatment from her boyfriend. You can bet I apologized to every ex I ever had after this experience for ever putting them through that bullshit.
When he finally decided to talk to me again, he wanted an apology and I laughed in his face. Wait, I think this happened online so I typed, “LOL HAHAHAHAHAHAHA” in his face. Then I refused and said I would never apologize for things I did, especially anything I did before I even met him. Instead, I expected him to apologize to me for being a fucking douche, which he admitted he had been and finally did apologize. He told me that it had made him feel really bad about himself, that I was so much more experienced and had done something so wild and crazy. It made him think he could never live up to my expectations, nor to previous guys I had been with. I said that there was no reason to feel that way; every relationship is different no matter what. And besides that, it hadn't been my intention to make him feel bad, I just kinda blurted, without thinking, about a sexual experience I had had. That’s when he said, "Well, since you made me feel so bad about myself I think it's only fair that you deserve to feel bad too, so I'm going to tell you the real reason why I was so upset." Ok...so, none of that tirade you just spewed out had been the real reason? Then he dropped the bomb: "I'm a virgin." I remember the conversation continued after that for a bit, with me sort of in a haze and saying that it didn’t matter. But after we had both signed off, I had a lot to mull over. Later that night, after thinking about it, I wasn't sure if it bothered me or not. To be honest, it was only a shock since he had some of the dirtiest thoughts of any guy I've ever known, and was not shy about constantly voicing them to me. Especially since the bulk of them were about my ass, which was, at the time, weird for me. (Back then,my only previous foray into the land of butt play had been with Bob, since we were so horny for each other that my periods became a week of torture for us. So we attempted butt sex. In short, he showered his thumb with lube and stuck it in my asshole, and the whole time I kept saying it felt like a shit going backwards. So, the sexy lingerie and candles was for naught, and we never tried it again.) But after consulting with my closest friends (a random cluster of opera majors from my class during lunch the next day in the cafeteria) they all said to drop him. They knew how sexual I was. Surprisingly the only one who was in Jimmy’s favor was Madio, who said I couldn't end it now, since I must like the guy enough to still be talking to him. Who cares if he's a virgin? So I stuck with it.
A few weeks later, Jimmy and I made plans for me to go visit him at school. He'd come pick me up at my campus, and I'd grab a bus back at the end of the weekend. I was excited/nervous in the days leading up to it, and even more so when I was getting ready and packing the night he was arriving. But when I ran out to the parking lot where he was waiting, I saw him in the driver's seat and instantly wanted to vomit, everywhere. Oh no. I didn't wanna go, I wanted to flee. But, I brushed aside my instincts, swallowed my chunks of fear, and got into the passenger seat. The first few seconds I was in the car with him felt all wrong. He seemed diminutive, less impressive then when I had first met him. The confidence that radiated out of him to the point of being obnoxious, was gone. That good ol' "throw-up feeling" was in full effect, but I had made my choice the second I opened the car door and got in. There was no turning back, especially since every hour was bringing us another 70 miles closer to his college campus, and my possible impending doom. I was truly freaking out inside, I mean, I don’t panic often but this was it, I was actually panicking. What the fuck could I do though? I had to sit in my proverbial self-made bed and bear my heavy, Asian cross. It was starting to dawn on me how very real the past few months had been. It’s odd, when a relationship built off AIM crosses over into the physical realm. You are no longer talking to a box, an Arial font word machine acting as a human facade. You can't turn it off or leave the room when the conversation is over. You're face-to-face with an actual face who, let’s face it, you would never pick in real life. Oh but wait, that’s right. I had picked him. I created this whole mess. And instead of nipping it in the bud, I made it worse. I had dug myself into a hole so deep that it led me to being trapped in car with this guy who was making me feel physically ill. I was locked in a mobile four-wheeled cell that was transporting me to a three-day inescapable "vacation" - with just him. But since he had driven the 6 hours to come pick me up, I tried my best to swallow my nausea, and my pride, and enjoy myself.
Back at his place, I still hadn't loosened up. The one thought that was running on repeat through my mind was WHY THE HELL AM I HERE / STILL HERE? Oh well, at least his apartment was clean. I again tried not to vomit when he changed into old man slippers that he definitely must have purchased in Chinatown. While I started to change into my going-out clothes, I was forced to watch him shuffle around in front of me, shirtless and hunch-backed like a stereotypical 85-year old Asian grandpa. Is this really my life? Since my compact mirror could only block so much of this oh-so-enticing eye-porn, I thanked god for small favors when distraction arrived in the form of his friends. It says a lot that they were able to overpower this depressing scene. I don’t know how many things could have better shifted my attention from the ever-sharpening realization that this boy was MY BOYFRIEND. I didn’t realize I signed up to date grumpy 85-year-old Charlie Chan and his Canal street inside-shoes and bony spine. Before my entire being and soul could be consumed by my fever-pitch nausea, his friends noisily burst into the apartment, shouting from the living room, "Where is she??? Is she here?! Where?". I was still in Jimmy’s room, putting on the finishing touches of my mascara. Just as I finished, they collided in a slapstick pile-up in the doorway of Jimmy's bedroom. I had changed into a mini skirt and boots, and got up off the bed to introduce myself. Gaping, they shook my hand and slowly all their faces turned into smirks. "Dude," they said, "Oh man, she's wayyy too hot for you." Well, we’re off to a good start here. Luckily, no seriously, thank god none of his friends were hot or appealing in any way; very white trash for the most part, which was something new in my world. They were like no boys I had ever known or met before. Brooklyn has it's own type of "trailer", but it’s very different than other cities and states. I’m not sure if I could explain it well; Brooklyn trash is, I guess, for lack of a better word, urban-lite. You know, the girls tend to totally over-gel their hair and still wear velour sweat suits and brown lip liner, while the guys tend to try to dress like Fubu ad. But it’s not even about the clothes; it’s a whole vibe they just have. And these friends of Jimmy’s had that trash kind vibe. I could totally see them having bonfires in the backwoods of some southern town. But I will always be thankful for them not being hot white guys; I would have done something very bad if that had been the case. And given what happened when we went out, you’ll understand what I mean.
To hopefully get a breather (and a drink... or 12), we all went out to hit the bars. Oh man, for a girl like me a college town like Penn State's is like putting a kid in a candy store. Everywhere I looked there were beautiful specimens of white males I had not seen since high school, or maybe ever (reminder: this was a 50,000 student school with frats and athletes. I went to a 2,000 student body performing arts college with guys who have drag queen competitions.) I have said it before and I’ll say it again, white guys are my kryptonite. They suck in a lot of ways, but when it comes to initial attraction and general horniness, I fucking love ‘em. I mean, I must have made excuses to go to the bathroom at least 10 times just to be alone and walk around to look at these hot guys. Annoyed that I couldn't make a move on any of them, I unwillingly forced myself to head back and sit/stand with the sad little Asian boy that was my boyfriend, or whatever. Damn it! Ok, I was admittedly being a bit of a selfish, whorish brat at that point but Jimmy was quickly disintegrating into a disgusting, overly affectionate creepy person. For example, while sitting at the bar in a packed place, he would try to make out with me in an incredibly wet, sloppy style; or, literally lick my cheek. This would throw me into such shock I could watch, frozen, as he'd stare deep into my eyes, without blinking, face devoid of expression, about 2 centimeters away from me. If his breath had been bad that would have been the absolute end, because I either would have punched him or choked to death. It was weird, annoying, gross, and I was starting to hate my life with each passing tongue lick to my visage.
So what was a girl to do? You guessed it- get shitfaced. Well, at least drink enough to endure this painful situation. Unfortunately, when I drink, I get turned on by anything. So I convinced Jimmy to call it an early night and go back to his place, since everyone else was still out and we'd have some privacy for a little while. Once we swung open his apartment door, I stumbled in, kicked my boots off, and kinda pounced on him, pinning him up against the wall. All of the sudden, what little coolness and aloofness was left inside of him vanished entirely. Here was a guy that instantly became practically Michael Cera-esque in awkwardness, who could barely hold me or kiss me back at all. But always the eternal optimist, I led us into his room and after we undressed, we started to fool around. It was a bizarre experience, to say the least. We didn't talk much, if at all, but mentally I could actually feel the distance between us, experience-wise. I felt older, wiser, and the leader sexually, which doesn't happen often. Not because I'm super young or inexperienced, but I've been lucky to have lovers with whom I been really in tune with. But not Jimmy. All those months of feeling inadequate was now reversed. This time I felt like he was trying to keep up with me, and earn my attraction to him. Everything about his body language screamed fear and nervousness, especially in that one key part of his body. You got it- there was no boner in sight. This of course is something that's happened with a couple of the guys I've been with, usually potheads, so I really do think it happens to every guy at some point (except for Gym James, Superman and Avery- those boys had god-like libidos that qualified them, in my eyes, as heavenly gifts sent to earth to please vaginas.) I was very patient; I mean, I'm all for some great foreplay. So there was no pressure, I just wanted him to relax and have fun and maybe work off some of my own pent-up sexual energy. So into the second hour of this everything-except-actual-sex marathon, as we were fooling around in the buff, Jimmy accidentally kneed me, hard, right in the baby maker. It hurt for a moment but it passed quickly, given my drunken condition, and I was still willing to continue. I was not going to fail as a woman with a virgin; that's double the insult and self-disappointment. But alas, about 3 hours later, with no wonderful wood poking me anywhere, I had to just throw in the towel and call it a night.
The next morning we started to fool around again but when he started to finger me a little, it stung painfully. At my gasp, he withdrew his fingers fast and we both saw they were bloody. "Babe," he said, "You're bleeding!" Confused, and a little panicked (considering I was not expecting my period anytime soon), I ran to the bathroom. After patting the area with some tissue, I saw there was a decent amount of blood so I grabbed a compact mirror to get a better look. A quick check-up led me to conclude that after shaving down there, I must have gotten a little nick or something. However, when I got kneed by Jimmy, he had done it hard enough that it re-opened the wound. Great. Sooo, there I was, holding a compact mirror to examine a vaginal wound while standing ass-naked in a bathroom in freezing cold Pennsylvania. All I had waiting for me was a bedroom with a flacid, unnattractive boyfriend who not only can't get it up, let alone give me an orgasm, but also manages to knee me hard enough in the vag to bring forth blood. Yes, I broke up with him that night (but he agreed it was for the best) and left the next day with a much-lightened heart, along with his copy of Tucker Max (hey, I at least owe Jimmy thanks for that hilarious book.) But, as my very gay friend Matt once said, "You know the saying 'once you go black, you never go back'? Well, my friend John has another: ‘once you go Asian, you never go back - to Asian’." And oh, how true it is. Because I haven't.
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