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He’s Not Mr. Moon!

February 6, 2015

Fuck Fuck…..Fuck Fuck Fuck!!!

 

He’s fucking married. Married. Are you kidding me with this shit?

This is a new one.

He’s so perfect. Persian, for Christ’s sake. Age appropriate. Smart. Funny. Nerdy. Hot.

And married.

 

We met at Pamplona Wednesday night. One of the regulars was sitting near by so we couldn’t really talk. I was nervous. When we were finally somewhat alone-ish, he told me he had wanted to ask a question as soon as I texted something a few days ago. “What was that?” I asked.

“I was talking to you like a friend, like any other friend. Then when you were going to tell me your age you said, ‘Promise you’ll still talk to me,’ and I realized that you might be talking to me as a romantic interest.”

“Yeah, I am.” I admitted, surprised that he had not gotten that yet. Men are so stupid sometimes.

We were facing each other with our elbows on the bar. By then we had both had at least one glass of wine. I hadn’t eaten much because I was nervous. I was feeling tipsy. He was holding his liquor with surprising vigor, from someone raised in what I assumed was a conservative environment.

“Oh we drink a lot in Iran,” he claimed. “Moonshine.”

Then he dropped the bomb.

“I’m not able to get into that kind of relationship right now,” he said.

There it is. My shoulders slumped and I sat back in my chair.

“I’m not in a good place. I’m a mess. I’ll tell you why but not now.”

“Ok,” I said. I was so disappointed. He was so cute.

“Is it because I’m older than you?” I asked.

“No, no….not at all,” he said.

“I’m afraid to tell you. You’re going to hate me,” he said.

“Have you hurt anybody?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Then I won’t hate you.”

We talked more and he hinted at things he was escaping in Norway where he had lived. He really was a mess. Shit. We ordered food and drank too much wine and I looked in his eyes wondering why I wasn’t good enough this time, either. I felt rejected, again.

Sam, Lebanese Guy, Lennon Glasses…….and now this one.

At one point, he asked me what I wanted.

“I told you what I want,” he said. “I’ve made that pretty clear.”

I offered to show him the Gay Fireman. We walked outside and he put his arm around me. It was cold. That’s when he told me.

“I was married 4 years ago.”

“And you’re still married,” I guessed.

“Yes.” he said.

Left his wife 5 months ago, she was unfaithful, blaa blaa blaa. All I heard was, Here you go. Another friend that you’re attracted to. Another friend you’d rather have in your bed. Great. He was Mr. Moon incarnate. And he was un-fucking-available.

He asked me what I wanted again.

“What do you want me to say, I want to be with you and you’re telling me I can’t.” I said.

We walked to my apartment. He didn’t want to go home. I told him he could come upstairs and we could talk for a while. He was a married man, after all. Nothing was going to happen. I let him vent. I tried to advise him. I could see where he was. I’ve been there. He’s where I was just after leaving my ex. He’s lost. Confused. Still has hope. Alone. Frightened. Unhappy.

I’m on the other side of that mountain. I don’t want to go back. And I’m not sure I want to be around someone who’s way over there.

I told him he had to go. I had drank too much wine. I needed to sleep. I had work the next day.

He hugged me and when he pulled away he looked at me. He didn’t try to kiss me. He didn’t make any moves but if I had initiated something, he would have been a willing participant.

“You’re really not going to kiss me?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I like you too much. I can’t kiss you. I’m not going to be that woman. I’m not going to get involved with a married man.”

“I know,” he said. “I know that about you.”

“Good,” I said.

“Remember when we met?” he asked me. “We had only talked for a short while, but you came over to ask if I was enjoying myself. That impressed me. I remember what you were wearing. I’ll always remember that.”

Why did he have to be so fucking cute!

I pushed him towards the door.

“That’s not very polite in my culture,” he joked.

“We’re not in your culture,” I said.

He kissed me on the check and I pushed him out and on his way.

 

BR Guy is looking pretty good to me right now.

“When do I get to kiss you again,” he texted me this morning.

“Soon. I hope,” I replied.

“Me too.” he said.

“I can cook for you,” he offered.

“Thai?”

Why yes, Thai would be quite nice. 

 

 

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From → Rantings

One Comment
  1. Wow. that’s all I got. WOW!!!

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