I Pay for Sex in Damages

I feel heartbroken by Alex, not about him but because of him. I feel used and discarded. Since I’ve returned to London, I have heard nothing, received not a single word. There was no molecule in his body that cared in any way at all. I was his toy; I was his plaything. I was tossed away as soon as he found something else to occupy him. I do not care for Alex himself in any way because there is nothing in him for me to like. I am hurt because I was only a warm body for company, a vessel for him to achieve sexual gratification but he did not see me as a person. I am forgotten and thrown out on the roadside.

I knew there would be some sort of consequence – a fallout – that I would have to deal with from my Spanish adventure. I had prepared myself before I left; I had even prepared myself the moment I decided to fly back to Valencia. I had expected to be disappointed if we didn't like each other, to spend my time alone because we didn’t really get along, to be satisfied if we became friends with no sexual attraction or to even miss him if things had gone well and we’d gotten along like a house on fire. This, I did not expect.

As Hey Francesca states:

I regret nothing, though this does not spare me from grief.

I do not regret my experience; I do not regret following my heart; I do not regret living and leaping. But I am human and it does not mean that it hasn’t hurt me. I try not to view it as failure because I will hold my head high and look you in the eye, daring you to judge me, and say that I tried. How many people can truly say they’ve done that in their lives? And I had to do it. I knew I had to jump, at least just this once. Otherwise I never would have been completely satisfied with myself. I would’ve regretted not taking the opportunity more.

Yet this satisfaction comes with a price: I feel I paid for sex through damages to myself. I am not shattered but I do not feel whole. I am together and I am okay. Nevertheless, I feel a hairline fracture running through my being. Something which is going to take time to mend and bond and repair itself. Because this was sex, what else was there to it? Primal and animalistic sex was the only somewhat positive experience I got from this even if this is greatly marred by his selfish demands.

I used to be so good at picking and choosing men. I never wavered in my resilience to suss first whether they were worthy of my time and my mind and later, my body. That was three years ago, prior to the most important relationship I have ever had, and since that has ended, I seem to have lost my gifted radar. We are halfway through 2016 and I have slept with two undeserving men. There’s a record right there: I’ve never slept with more than one man in a year and we’re not even close to ending the year.

I just don’t get it. What’s happened to me? The parallels between both men are perversely humorous. With both of them, we had a long gap between the first and second meeting so there was a lot of messaging in between. I slept with both of them on our second date, both were very good-looking, both had divorced parents, both had bad back problems, both were selfish, both had slept with a fair few amount of women, both said I was the best blowjob they’d ever received, both had never tried costumes and/or sexy lingerie in the bedroom, one was Spanish and the other was learning Spanish and wanted to move to Spain. Seriously, I need to start writing an ad — plastered to my forehead — stating: tall, attractive, selfish men with back problems and divorced parents who are Spanish or interested in Spanish culture and have never experienced sexual lingerie/costume foreplay need not apply.

I have no heart left to date, especially not in London where the amount of commitment-phobes seem to run rampant. I don’t know how to find anyone decent that I’ll also be attracted to. It hurts to see men because all I want to do is punch them all! Now wouldn’t that be a sight considering I’m a petite of a thing and I’m currently nursing a fractured thumb. Don’t ask. I think I need to remain celibate for the rest of the year or impose a strict no-sex-before-three-months-of-dating policy. I need sex that enables emotional bonding; I can’t do no-strings-attached. It’s not me. Regardless, I think I’m too disheartened to date anyone right now. I still have men asking me out from when I’ve chatted to them previously but I’ve turned them all down. So I think option one it is.

Welcome to the latter half of 2016: celibacy. Here’s to a new chapter!

To follow the story of what happened with Alex in Spain, please read: A Valencian Story: Following My Heart and Falling, Not Failing