It’s Not You It’s Me
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The fucking arsehole just broke up with me two hours before my shift. And here I was thinking it was all going well. He actually said the words, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Like those sounds actually came out of his stupid mouth.
Arsehole!
Unfortunately, a month later, there was a party. Hosted by the one mutual friend who hadn’t chosen sides, my side that is, and insisted on inviting us both. So of course, I turned my outfit all the way up that night. Heels, perfume, red lipstick, and that lacy choker chain that I knew drove him wild. I planned to find someone I’d never met before, and, well, seduce him.
But it didn’t quite go that way ...
I have always been a sucker for shots. I can’t say no to the first, and well, once I begin, I can’t help but go for glory. On the one hand, I did make out with a few cuties, but unfortunately it was never in front of him.
After a few, I found myself alone by the fire. Not gonna lie, my head was spinning. Then he approached, offering a cup of water. I threw it in his face and slapped him hard. I let him know in no uncertain terms what specific features of the typical arsehole he exhibited.
Apologising, he pulled out a second glass from behind his back, “I’m sorry. I suggest drinking this one, but by all means throw it as well. We both know I deserve it.”
We got talking. He got vulnerable. He opened up. He cried.
It really was him and not me.
I knew he had a fucked-up past, but not the extent. He told me how my advances had scared him. He even told me the specific moment that he had internally broken. When the switch inside had decided to trigger itself and turn my label from ‘fun’ into ‘threat’. I had just given him a t-shirt with the words ‘save water, shower together’ printed on it. One of the jokes we flirted with before we got together... before we saved water together!
He apologised again, letting me know how sorry he was for what he’d done, or more specifically how he had done it. Well, that convo certainly sobered me. So I got back on the shots and danced some more. But I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
Later on, we were the last to head back outside. We were sitting on camp chairs on the blind side of the fire. We could see into the house but were, for all intents and purposes, invisible to those inside.
Then I really turned it on.
I told him he was going to show me just how sorry he was. I was going to make him work for his apology. I used the same words he did when we were in bed together.
I told him what I wanted, and I made him do it.
It really was quite naughty of me, don’t you think?
We didn’t get back together. I was too hurt, and at the time he was too broken. I’m glad we spoke, and perhaps the sex was cathartic as well.
It was fun at least.
This short story is from the book, ‘Kink, Volume 1’
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