So, I travel a lot, and I was on a job in Wyoming, and she lived in Colorado; so I called and told her drive up to see me.  We meet at a hotel, she changes into her lingerie, and we begin.  Like I said, she’s an amazing lay, multiple o’s and all.  Round 3 comes around like an hour or so later, and mid-thrust she says “I Love You”.  I stopped.  Immediately.  Mid-thrust.  I closed my eyes, laid my forehead on her shoulder. I thought to myself ‘f~~~’.  ‘F~~~ F~~~ F~~~’.  ‘This bitch doesn’t even know my last name. I sure as hell don’t know hers’. ‘Godmutherf~~~ingdamnit.’  ‘Had to go and f~~~ it up’.

I sighed, rolled over onto my back, sat up, put on my pants and shoes, grabbed my keys, phone, and wallet, and walked out the door.  She didn’t say a word.  I didn’t say a word.  I left my favorite t-shirt and a good pair of socks behind.  I wish I had looked for my shirt.  She can keep the socks.

She texted the next morning that she was sorry.  I did not reply.  She called after lunch.  I did not answer.  She left a short voicemail saying she understood.  Like I said, really cool chick.  I deleted her number and erased the txt thread, slut-shots and all.

I’m glad it happened, because it’s hard to walk away from good sex.  But if I had said it back to her, I’d have been fuct.  If I didn’t say it back, I’d have been fuct.  I played it the only way I could.  I got the hell out.  Though, she is at the very top of my spank bank, and probably will be for awhile =)

I almost fell into the abyss on her gold-digging ass.  The only winning move was to get the f~~~ away from her before I did something stupid.  She has no idea how close she came.  I sometimes regret not telling her off, but it was not an option.  I’m sure you understand. =)

Finally, she broke up and I stayed broke up. Naturally, she marries the next guy who agrees to go out with her, after only a few months of dating. Within a few months after that, she’s downstairs at her (2 story) house drunk dialing me at 3 in the morning while he sleeps upstairs… ‘Called to tell me what a horrible mistake she made… how miserable she is without me… how I was the best thing… blah, blah, blah (insert usual drunk woman BS here). I talk to her for a few minutes finding this alternately both comical and pathetic. She’s alternating between bawling, frustration, and trying to flirt, or guilt-sympathy me into taking her back (like how the hell is that supposed to work now that she’s married to someone else?)…

Finally she bawls, “WE’RE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER… I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY WE’RE NOT TOGETHER…!!!”

To which I responded, “Well dear, you broke up with me 8 times… and I only got back together with you 7 times… so if you JUST DO THE MATH, you’ll understand why we’re not together…”

Her: “Bastard!!!” (Click)

Me: “hehehe….Zzzzzz” 😀

Her: “Bastard!!!” (Click) Me: “hehehe….Zzzzzz”

What a psycho, the best thing that ever happened to her was, in her words, a bastard.  ForF~~~sSakeBitch, here’s a bottle of wine, a bottle of ludes, and a copy of ‘The Bell Jar’.  Go run yourself a nice warm bath.  It’s ok to go to sleep for just a little while….