Why I Don't Commit

October 24, 2011 by

 Why I Don’t Commit At this point, I’m so interested in Elba that I’ve taken the major step of agreeing to be monogamous, so we both went and got tested and both came back clean. Always feels good.

It’s probably the anticipation, but I find myself thinking about her a lot. Not just the physical stuff; other things, too. Where’s all this going? Will we visit her faraway homeland? Will she like my friends...?

My excitement gets the better of me and I find myself knocking on her door 15 minutes early on date-night. I think "surprised" is the mildest word to describe how I feel when a man answers her door. Suspicious, but polite, I ask if Elba’s around. “In the shower.” The guy lets himself out, apparently pretty comfortable in her apartment. A few minutes later, Elba emerges, saying, “I’ve gotta get going...” but trails off, startled to find me waiting instead of the early shift. She recovers quickly: “Did I leave the door unlocked?” “Uh, no. Was that guy who just left supposed to lock the door behind him?” This rattles her a bit more, so now I know shit’s going on. I wander into the washroom as she tries to explain that he’s her ex, they’re still friends, they hang out.

I don’t snoop in other people’s homes, unlike others I might mention. However, I do have really good vision. Like, creepy good. Sometimes I just notice shit that other people miss. For instance, as I stand over the open bowl, relieving myself, I notice a cute little pair of panties on the counter. I don’t look right at them, but I still see a coarse hair sticking out of them. A pubic hair, kinda long. It’s over between me and Elba.

Elba gets a Brazilian on the reg, remember? Like a baby’s ass.

I walk out of the washroom and head to the door, not wanting to argue. “What’s the problem?” From the doorway, I quickly explain my disappointment that she wasted my time, my energy and my enthusiasm. I tell her that I have passed up on other women because I thought we both were gonna try monogamy. And I tell her that I know she’s been fucking the ex, most likely after coming home from our dates. I say all of this without losing my cool.

All innocent, she asks, “What makes you think I’m still sleeping with him?” I know that, in some miniscule way, it is possible that my suspicions are wrong. So I choose my next words carefully.

“You are an evil bitch, and I’ll tell you why...” I let her have it both barrels, and as I leave, she’s frozen on the couch, a look of shock pasted on her face. I doubt that she’ll do that to another guy again soon.

And people wonder why I don’t have a girlfriend.

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