I was on top of him in bed — naked and hungover.
You gunna blog about me? he snorted.
I rolled over back onto my side. No, shut up.
I had not intention of blogging about him. There wasn’t really a story there. We were drunk, we had sex, he asked if I’d blog about him — A Memoir. By Beth.
I rubbed my eyes. Fuck. It was bright outside.
Why is this actually going to be the topic of my memoir? I internally ask my fog-infested brain.
It was the perfect friends-with-benefits situation. He, your standard consultant in a buttoned up suit. Me, kind of a fucking mess.
I think it started in December. November, maybe. I’m not sure. We were so sexually in sync it kind of freaked me out — but not him. Well, it was awesome. The only “freaky” thing about it was the fact it freaked me out. Because, well, I’ve come to find out that I’m quite OK with being alone.
In fact, I’d prefer it that way. Leave me alone.
If you are a man in DC, you are either a service industry worker, consultant, or have some insignificant job on the Hill (sorry, someone had to say it). I date chefs. Well, more generally, people that I shouldn’t be dating.
So he was a consultant. With zero tattoos.
I gasp. GASP.
I don’t really know why he liked me. I blew him off all of the time for work, took 12+ hours to text him back, made it very clear (unintentionally) that he wasn’t a priority.
But he like…didn’t care?
His double texts weren’t annoying, they were kind of charming. He’d come over whenever I felt like it. He was sweet — but not overly. He’d give me shit and I’d give it right back. Fun, flirty, banter that I needed after a long day at work.
He was OCD about folding — he’d Marie Kondo the shit out of his overnight duffle. I know this is kind of weird, but I knew I’d be running late at the office and didn’t feel like going home to change first before coming over. I didn’t think packing an overnight bag was weird, I actually found it extremely sexy. We LOVE a man that is a better planner than I am!
Literally, the easiest fucking situantionship I’ve ever been in IN MY DAMN LIFE.
Kevin, Jared* is here!
Jared would buy Kevin toys, treats + really anything that just “made him think of Kevin.” Let’s get a few claps for this precious man.
What we had was simple. Fun. My best kept secret. He’d come over, we’d have great sex, stay up a little bit late with random pillow talks about mindless shit. He was easy to be around.
I had made it! This is what I wanted and needed! No strings but no disrespect. Just two peeps who enjoyed each other’s company. I lived blissfully in this relationship fantasy for several weeks — still trying to piece together myself as he stayed patient.
Sooo what’s going on here? With us? Ah fuck. The deep shit. I am usually one to dive into that stuff pretty early. I am open book — no surprises there. But I just didn’t want to.
I was exhausting myself emotionally. I had just exited one of the hardest years of my life and trying to piece back together the person I allowed to implode. I wanted Jared but I didn’t. I wanted to want his intimacy, his normalcy. His cool-ness and ability to make me laugh. I wanted to want the idea of someone to want to stay the night and pack an overnight bag.
THIS IS WHAT WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR PEOPLE!
My brain was on other people and places. On what my next career move was — dreams about making the Forbes 30 Under 30 List. I had meeting later that day that I’d rather attend then have this conversation. I don’t have time for this. I started to panic.
I had shit to do, places to be. Although, I had ALL the time in the world for fan-fucking-tastic sex just 10 minutes prior. I just didn’t want to have this fucking conversation.
I paused. I felt my body tense up while wrapped in his very very nice Persian arms. Too soon? He asked.
No, no it’s not too soon, I lied — well it wasn’t a lie, it was very much not too soon, I just wasn’t ready — I guess I just kind of liked what we had going.
Am…I…Beth Cormack…a fuckgirl?
I literally have never done this before. I didn’t even tell my friends about this guy. It was like subconsciously I knew it wasn’t going to work before it started. Did I just like, combust this kind of perfect relationship as a result of my own emotional turmoil?
HELLLOOO IT’S ME! The one who is usually rejected when asked the What is this? question (usually 5 vodka sodas deep). In fact, I have programmed myself to not event ask that question anymore because I have a crippling, tiresome fear of rejection.
Did I just fucking REJECT a perfectly decent, somewhat amazing human being who is very much boyfriend material and puts up with my shitty schedule and has the ability to have pillow talks about feminism?
I started to sweat. It wasn’t him. But I also hate the “It’s not you it’s me” saying but like, was it fucking true?
WAS IT ACTUALLY ME? This was fucking weird man! I can’t explain it.
Can we talk about this later?
I got out of bed handed him his shirt off the floor. Here, I don’t know how to fold it like you do. It was a break up that wasn’t a break up.
The next day we saw each other again to “talk.” UGH that question never gets easier. It’s like hey, can we talk? but it’s more like hey, can we do the thing that we do every single day except this time it’s going to be stressful as fuck?
I went to his place. We did the talking. He was lovely. I was anxious.
I just don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.
My mouth literally burned spewing those words. NOT TO BE DRAMATIC but it was like Satan bleeding from my lips lmao. I felt his awkwardness
— because I’ve felt it too.
I won’t spend anymore time attempting to define how he was feelings, because I’ve been known to dramatize and for all I know he was like “aight f*ck this bitch bye.” I’d like to think I left a more profound impact.
I left his house more upset than I expected. I felt defeated because it wasn’t the guy. It really wasn’t — I know I know some people will @ me and be like ~eventually you’ll find a guy worth making time for~. But ya know? I just didn’t want to make the fucking time.
I didn’t want to.
Sure, we were already in sort of psuedo relationship, but taking that next step would require about 64% more work from my end. Work that I just didn’t want to give.
The whole course of my long, winding relationship path I have barely put myself first. Choosing a career over a guy seemed stupid. I was convinced that some day, some man or woman will make me want to make the time. Maybe. I don’t know.
I just know that time isn’t now. I just don’t want to make the fucking time for a relationship!!!
If I was sappy, I’d tell you my lonely heart fluttered at the thought of Jared. Doubting my decision. Sitting, waiting, wishing I had a Quarantine Bae to celebrate and complain about the success of DC Is Blind.
Finishing a bottle of Tito’s is only depressing if you don’t have someone to share it with! It me!
Maybe it was my psyche fucking with me. All of this social distancing stuff bringing back old memories — apparently I’m not the only one, I’ve had like three exes hit me up. Smh.
Idk what it is. I’ve been extra sentimental the past couple of weeks. I think we all have. The idea of not being so socially distant from someone on a daily basis sounds kind of nice, but also sounds kind of annoying.
I go to text Jared, but then realize that it’s not fair. I just want to seeeeeeeee how he’s doing but also know damn well my intentions aren’t great.
I just want to see if he’s thinking about me, too.
I know I made the right choice. I know choosing me was what I needed — well, what I need. I knew I probably wouldn’t have given the thought to develop DC Is Blind or Virtual Wellness Week if I had a distraction and consistent mind-blowing sex keeping me occupied.
And I envy those who can multi-task in that department. For now, I just can’t — and tbh it kind of makes me sad. I want a person who wants me, for me — and Jared gave that to me. He was smart, kind, funny + knew when to shut up and just leave me alone lol.
When I went to his house that night, I selfishly wanted to continue what we were — even though I knew he wanted more that I just couldn’t give. Again, I craved the intimacy, the normalcy. I wanted to want all the things I say I want — ya feel me?
What’s the story now? I’m well, still focusing on my career. Trying to navigate this new normal we’ve all been forced in. I’m working on believing in my ideas enough to not question myself when I pitch them to someone else — because I know what the fuck I’m doing…most of the time.
Men/women are on the brain and I sometimes wish I had a Quarantine Bae. I’m cultivating friendships more than anything and trying to take better care of myself — “own my brand” as my mom says. I’m developing and creating new ideas, trying to take this new world as we know it and turn it into something pretty fucking cool.
As for Jared? He’ll probably read this. We actually had a really intimate night one night where we sat and he read my blog posts as I read The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls for the 100th time — a memoirist I aspire to be like one day. We joked about the blog post I’d write about him — thinking back, somewhat grim that we had already settled on a timeline on what this would end but whatevs.
Anyways, he will probably read this. And smile. Because he’s Jared and that’s what he does. I’d then probably make fun of his vampire tooth that could literally kill an elephant.
While brief, I thank Jared for a lot. He was the first guy in a long time that actually made me really think about what I want. I could’ve entered into a more serious thing with him, but I just…couldn’t. He taught me that it’s ok to not to apologize for choosing you. Your career path. For recognizing that someone might hold you back even if it’s nobody’s fault but your own. For just not having the fucking time…and accepting that.
I write that and it sounds really harsh and also kind of eye-roll-worthy. I just don’t know how else to put it. I think about Jared (and our sex because tbh it was the best I’ve had in a LONG time), but I also pat myself on the back because, well, I chose me.