Ghosted, Cat-fished, and Heartbroken Again
When do I get to the good part?
“Adultery is not for weak hearts. This shit hurts.”
Words of gut-wrenching advice from MonalisaSmiled. I often seek out her brilliant writing and hard-earned experience pieces when the latest blow is delivered. There is solace and comfort in realizing you’re not alone in the heartbreak that adultery so often brings. Reading MonalisaSmiled pieces here or on her Substack can help ease some of the pain.
What doesn’t help? Reading r/adultery or articles written here where women celebrate their seemingly constant out-of-network sex lives. How hot their partners are and how toe-curling their shady encounters are. Don’t misunderstand; I celebrate anyone’s success in finding extramarital satisfaction. Honestly. I’m genuinely happy for them.
But fuck, it hurts, too. When your dead bedroom gets into years of duration, when you decide you have no alternative but to search out sex, when you put your emotions on the line, and still the rejections, the lies, the deception, and the heartless torment continue, it hurts.
Decent men, genuine men, get flicked to the gutter daily. We post our Ashley Madison profiles. We post our r/naughtyfromneglect ads. Every day dawns with new hope:
“She’ll be there today. That kindred spirit I crave, that smile I yearn to see, that caring touch I long to feel. She’ll answer my ad. She’ll wave, wink, message, catch my drift. We’ll connect, and we’ll complement each other, and we’ll thrill in our discovery….”
And by midday, your heart is torn from your chest and held in front of your darkening eyes, while you’re laughed at for being emotional. For caring. For being fucking human. Every day.
I refuse to be cowed. I will not give up. Because giving up resigning myself to a future devoid of passion and empathy, of intimacy and shared moments, is a future I will not contemplate. If that is all my future holds, then I have no reason to forge on. So forge on, I do and will continue to do.
But, holy crap, this shit is hard.
In the world of in real life affairing, or online affairing, women hold every Ace. And that’s exactly as it should be.
Safety, self-preservation from predatory men, heartless, mean bastards or sick weirdos lurking in every dark corner, men with no idea how bad their breath smells, or how picking their nose in public really isn’t a panties loosening activity, means women have to be absolutely sure that anyone they expose themselves to is operating on a level somewhere close to their expectations. I get it. I fully support it. I want women to be safe and satiated.
“Men are automatically negative 2"
MonalisaSmiled explained. In other words, a man who might optimistically consider himself a 6, is actually a 4. Throw in that you’re not “earning” six figures, and mate, you’re getting closer to a zero. (Earning is in quotation marks deliberately. You work out why.) And the lower your number, the less likely you are to attract feminine attention.
I’m fully aware that’s the case. I get it. I’m not some babe in the adulterous woods. I’m also old enough, having been around the sun for so many consecutive cycles, to know that good men, decent, caring, gentlemen, are crushed daily for simply being guilty of hoping that their futures might hold some promise.
At the risk of sounding bitter (raw lemon to suck on, anyone?) some women have deluded themselves into believing that a suit and a gold Amex equals happiness in an AP. Hate to break it to you: There’s just as many nose pickers and misogynist assholes wearing Armani as there are wearing Target.
What’s prompted this, Bedswerver, you ask? Well, dearest reader, this wasn’t the piece I was planning on writing. But then it happened again. Flicked to the gutter again. Heart torn from chest, again.
I don’t have the slightest problem with women being choosy. As I wrote above, I think that’s as it should be.
But is it necessary to be so fucking cruel? When a man behaves with respect and restraint? When he exposes his own vulnerabilities? When he is polite, caring, and demonstrating that he’s invested in making a new friendship, a new potential relationship work?
“Send me a photo….”
Boom. Blocked, ghosted, ignored.
“What do you do for a living….?”
Boom. No contact. “Profile not available…..You cannot contact this person….Not seen recently… (when you were conversing seconds earlier)”
Maybe not every man wears a heart tattoo on his sleeve, but some of us do. And it fucking hurts when it’s sliced off your arm by the sharp, but cruel blade of no explanation, no sorry, no reason.
I could take the “I’m sorry, but you’re too old, too grey, too tall, too short, too ordinary, not a gifted self portrait photographer, don’t like the same music….”
I could take that, and respectfully move on. I was raised, a long time ago, to be respectful. A gentleman. So I enter every potential connection with an open mind as well as an open heart. If she doesn’t like me, for whatever reason, that’s totally fine, I will step back, leave her alone, and try again. But shit I’d love to know what that reason was.
Maybe seeking affairs in the wild is a better option? At least the first hurdle of mutual physical attraction is already laid bare.
Any other men reading this feel your heart racing, or sinking, when she asks for photos?
“Here it comes. Instablock. Before I’ve even had the chance to demonstrate how much I would adore her, care for and about her…..boom, Profile can’t be found…”
Fucking ouch!
The cake eaters don’t help. The men who are not living in DB’s but still playing around. Neither do the miserable fuckwits, the losers who abuse, plead, beg, or get seriously creepy and nasty when rejected, and are the primary reason women simply block and nuke their ads & profiles.
For fuck’s sake, man, just move on. So you got rejected. Deal with it. It doesn’t give you the right to act like a total fuckhead, to abuse her, or worse, threaten her. Grow the fuck up.
So I get the “why.”
When faced with some of the behaviour described above, the simplest and safest option for women is the ghost. Of course. And perfectly fair enough.
But, because of the attitude of some loser men, other decent men are left wondering where they went wrong. Was it the photo? The sense of humour? Did she just find someone younger, taller, more handsome, bigger bank balance?
Sometimes, genuinely, it would be nice to know. Hell, it might even help a decent bloke up his game a bit more for next time.
My most recent unfulfilled connection was a toe dipper. And that’s completely cool. She decided that “roaming” wasn’t for her but that “the last few days have been quite exciting.”
I really liked her. She was clever, and the conversation was easy. I completely respect her decision to go no further. I hope her life is filled with joy.
The last few days would have been even more exciting had they led to another future day spent in a hotel bed, but so be it. Maybe because she hadn’t been bitten badly by the experience of so many women, she wished me well, and there was no ghost or animosity, just respectful, engaging conversation between two adults with a reasonable grip on their emotional states, polite farewells.
Prior to that, though, there were two completely less pleasant, sudden, and painful disconnections.
The first was catfishing and good at it. They got under my guard, which is pretty well-honed these days. There were clues in hindsight, and I realized just before she/they disappeared, off looking for a less cynical or less prepared victim. My OPSEC these days is tightly screwed down, not just to minimize the possibility of being caught but also to minimize any damage from being scammed. Throwaway email accounts are easy, and I’m super careful about photos or revealing details. My socials are not easy to find unless you really know what you’re looking for.
But, for several days, hopes were built. The phone was checked regularly. Optimism reigned. Then, there is the realization that you’ve just wasted time and credits on fiction. (One day, Mr Scammer, we’ll meet. The conversation won’t be pleasant. For you.)
Before that, I was approached by someone near perfect to my search criteria. Right age, local, attractive, engaging. We hit it off. The conversation moved over to Telegram. Photos exchanged, and genuine interest is developing. Hopes are building even higher. Like the best comedians waiting two beats to deliver a punchline, I held off for a day before asking her to meet for coffee. That one day paused and something changed. The response to a message took much longer than previously and was monosyllabic, such a contrast to previous, chatty exchanges. Something told me to wait. Then the killer text arrived —
“There’s another man I’ve chatted to, and he’s just confirmed our status. Sorry but bye”
Or words to that effect. And boom, ghost.
“…just confirmed our status….?” What the hell does that mean? You were waiting for him to decide if he could be bothered stringing me along. First reserve? Ouch, babe. Again, good luck to you, but….
And here’s the “but.”
It hurts. Call me weak, sensitive, soft, whatever. I don’t care what you think. But some of us, well, me at least, take this shit hard.
And I like to think that people who are able to admit to having their heart broken are usually pretty decent people. Something to consider in a pAP, maybe? Yeah, you can hook up with that guy who is cool, doesn’t show emotion, and just moves on when it suits.
That guy isn’t ever going to really invest in you, though. He doesn’t care.
