“Oh girl, I hope you don’t think that I’m rude when I tell you that I love you boo. I also hope you don’t see through this cleverly constructed ruse.” – Bo Burnham
I’d like to say the wait to fuck Mr. Mimic was worth it. That he actually was as good as he advertised himself to be.
He wasn’t.
The sex itself was clumsy, mediocre & sweaty as shit. I’d waited two weeks for this guy to get in STD tests because of his intense breeder kink & my love of being cum in only to have no motivation to really try while fucking him once we started the actual act.
Damn near a month of beating his chest about his level of sexual prowess, Dom-y tendencies & love of pussy eating for me to realize in the middle of sex I was fuckin’ a sub who liked to top from the bottom & sucked at eating snatch.
Christ, what a waste. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t mind shatteringly good. I was (again) willing to overlook this. Maybe he was just nervous again, right? It was his first time fuckin’ in the same room as another guy & while X was as accommodating & kind as he could be in the situation, he still could be weirded out by it, right?
After the first & only time we hooked up, his attitude towards me became a blend of weird possessiveness & negging every time we talked. I was simultaneously an object of his desire & something to be scorned at the slightest show of NOT paying attention to him & him alone. My infatuation was waning faster and faster with each conversation.
While sitting with X at a family function, fucking around on my phone & trying to ignore how much the people in the room actually annoyed me, I found myself casually complaining to Mr. Mimic about it over Snapchat. After a little back and forth of how hard family can be, he abruptly confessed that he “loved” me in a Snapchat message. My hackles were instantly raised. Every red flag that had accumulated on the scales that exist in my head to help me figure people out, seemed so much heavier & burdensome the second he spat those three little words at me.
As soon as we got a free moment away from the family function, I told X about it & we had to have one of the famously long talks that goes into maintaining a somewhat healthy open relationship.
“I don’t think he actually loves you.“
“Hell, I don’t either. We barely know each other…how could he?“
“What did you say in response?“
“I panicked! I said it back. Maybe he meant it platonically?“
I knew I wasn’t in love with this dude, no where near close. And given how little time we’d had to get to “know each other” a.k.a. him just liking whatever I said I did, I didn’t really think it was possibly he was confessing this now as anything other than what he thought I wanted to hear. While I was definitely infatuated as fuck, the feelings of LOVE like Mr. Mimic was claiming to have for me hadn’t even had enough time or information given on his part to form in my mind.
Fuck, this guy REALLY was a narcissist.
I was pretty sure it was downhill from there, but part of me wanted to get out of this weird situationship without tipping this guy over the line to rage. I needed to start cutting him off & find a way to get the fuck out of this shit with causing myself (or anyone else really) anymore drama than there needed to be.
You see, I have a history of people I tell to kick rocks never fully leaving if I give them even a single shred of myself to hang onto & I wasn’t willing to risk that with this douche canoe. If I was going to properly break whatever fucked up bonds Mr. Mimic & I had formed in the short time he’d done his little song & dance, it was gonna have to be HIS idea and I knew that.
His shitty behavior only continued to build after his confession of “love” came out seemingly at random (spoiler: it wasn’t). He constantly tried to dominate my time & if I ever took too long to talk some new development over with J, I was the bad guy for wanting to include the other person in MY relationship on everything that was he was throwing my way.
The last interaction we ever had with each other was the most ridiculous & while I’m sure he’d disagree, the most comical.
As I’d said, in different “covert” ways, Mr. Mimic had spent the majority of his time with me trying to convince me I’d be better off with him & his little harem of white trash sister wives. I was in no way convinced, but I was still entertained enough by the attention he threw my way that I was willing to keep holding my hand to the fire & seeing if did anything other than burn. If you haven’t picked up on it yet, my lovely pervs, I seem to really only hold onto lessons I have to learn the hard way.
While I was very much still going along to get along, in some respects (usually the ones harder to hide long term) Mr. Mimic had been pretty open about his life and given me hints to how this would all end if I’d bothered to pay attention.
He only told me two things that were true the entire time we were fuck friends: he had two kids, two baby mommas.
Okay, average for someone in their late 20’s/early 30’s now a days. Nothing weird there, right?
But couple that information with his admittedly large breed kink & the fact that his kids were both insanely close in age and what happened next was completely unsurprising.
One sleepy fall evening while I was about to do my nightly hangout with J, I looked down at my phone to see Mr. Mimic had sent me a message. It’d been about week since he professed his “love” to me & started acting like a petulant child every time I required more than 5 minutes to respond to his messages or had better shit to do than pay attention to him.
Curious to see what nonsense he was throwing my way now, I quickly skimmed the message to see it was a half-assed apology/confession about how he’d gotten one of his fuck buddies preggers & needed me to be “patient” since it’s going to affect the time and attention he’d be able to give me. A cackle of relief & lack of surprise erupted from my body like an explosion of giggling magma as I read the last sentence.
The universe had given me the perfect way to get the fuck out of this guy’s life once and for awhile without him feeling the need to ever “check back up on me” like many a creepy ex is wont to do.
I should probably preface my response to him with a Fun Fonda Fact: I have experienced pregnancy twice in my life, I hated every minute of it. I would even go as far to say, I even have a fear of ever getting pregnant again because I was so miserable. This guy seemed to be handing out the status of baby momma like parade candy I wasn’t looking to be next in line. Ever.
“That’s a bummer.“
My revulsion was instant, as was my amusement. “Wow.” I giggling to myself “This guy takes his breeding kink really seriously.” Any remaining infatuation I’d had left for Mr. Mimic, immediately flew out of my body like a demon in an exorcism as I read his little confession over again.
I didn’t feel anger or sadness. Not really. I felt a “sucks to be you” laughter-tinged sense of relief in knowing this was the universe showing me an easy out of this weird forced trauma-bond Mr. Mimic had tried to create.
I put together a timeline pretty quick & realized just how much lying/prepping he’d done to keep this to himself for as long as he did. Huh, funny the timing of that. Almost like he knew he’d eventually have to tell me (and soon) & was hoping his piddly shit cooking & a couple awkward love bombing sessions would do the trick to keep me on the hook along with the other women he’d managed to clip to chain of bullshit.
Not so much.
After I made it painfully clear that I wasn’t going to try and play house with him & his baby mamas just to get thrown a weak fuck game & barely disguised insults.
The conversation was short after that & we agreed to “stay friends and see how things work out”.
Ha! Sure. Yeah, totally.
Someone who won’t even respect me enough to respect my relationship isn’t worth keeping as a friend. I waited a couple days to see if had anything else to say to me & thankfully he went quiet so I blocked him on everything I could & am thankful as hell I haven’t heard or seen hide nor hair of him since.
Leave a Reply