20nothing.com

My boy dramas know no boundaries. Domestic boys, international boys, [alien boys]. I’m like Virgin Atlantic. Except that, you know, by multi-level definition I am not.

 

It is very rare that I commit social suicide by ten o’clock on a Monday morning (aside from the year when I had black hair. That was deadly twenty-four/seven). But occasionally, I momentarily loose control of a certain aspect of my life, which results in awkwardness, hysterical laughter and a great conversation piece when someone raises the topic of, “Have you ever had a stalker?” (In my circle of friends, this discussion is frequent).

 

About six weeks ago, I was very drunk and met a French boy, whom we shall know as Le Freak. Like any alcoholic, I tightened my scotch goggles, pretended I could understand what he said and eventually gave him a kiss good night because…well…I could not think of the French word for “no”. (Aside: Evidently, it is…”no”).

Apparently, in the three hours that I was in his presence and drunk, I also gave him my phone number. Now, it may be hard to believe, but I rarely give that number out. In fact, there are many digits I will exchange on a common basis before I part with my phone number. Everyone has someone sacred: that is my one thing.

 

Also, lets be honest, I’ve had enough stalkers to learn a lesson or two.

 

In the month and a half that has followed, I have received countless invitations, chats and compliments from Le Freak. He has always seemed sweet enough, but I have never been interested.

I started by politely turning him down – despite everything I do actually have manners. But the messages continued to arrive in my inbox. I started ignoring them because, well, what else was I going to say? (“Fuck off” was the routine suggestion. Some even translated for me.)

In the mean time, I continued living my life: studying, perving on hot twenty-year-old boys, planning trips to the US of A and generally orchestrating a life that seems so much more fun on paper.

 

And then, today, Le Freak decided that Enough Was Enough and it was time to…

 

….well, actually, I am really not quite sure what he was thinking.

 

I was sitting at the Laptop Bar (which I passionately want to turn into a real bar) in the university computer labs when I felt arms wrap around my waist.

“Oh. Who could this be!?” I wondered. Seriously, the list is almost endless.

I turned around slightly and was met with Le Freak.

“Oh! Jesus!” Sometimes my tact misses the ride to school and I’m left alone to make situations even more awkward.

He started smiling at me, asking me when “we can do things?” (“What things?” The mind boggles) and telling me that he “loves how aloof [I am].”

“I am not being aloof,” I managed to say.

And then he started kissing my neck. Kissing my neck. At ten o’clock on a Monday morning. In front of the twenty-year-old who I was, until very recently, getting to know in the biblical sense. At least thirty other people were witnesses.

I stiffened immediately and then shot away, getting as far away as I could without actually leaving my seat.

“Excuse me,” I was exasperated. “What do you think you are doing? Listen, I am not being aloof. I am just not interested. At all. You’re nice…bla bla bla. But I am just not interested. I’m sorry.”

He continued to smile at me, with almost glazed eyes, and began attempting to move my head in-line with his so that he could go from neck raping to face raping.

“Please leave me alone.” I really do hate to be mean. Especially when a French lover sounds so good in theory.

 

He left and retreated to his laptop…three seats down from mine. I was left sitting at the bar (I cannot articulate how much it needed to be a real bar at that moment in time), surrounded by looks and smirks from thirty people who quite obviously don’t give a shit if someone is being face raped in public.

Could no one sense my need for physical violence?

 

I spent the remainder of the morning either perplexed or washing my neck in the bathroom.

“Since when did it become acceptable to just walk up to people and face rape them?” I thought, over and over again. I couldn’t come up with a specific date. (Aside: Possibly before Lindsay Lohan went gay? I have no idea).

 

But then I realized: This is a classic example of you having a greater affect on someone than they have had on you. I have certainly been on the other end of this little ditty – spending hours, days or weeks obsessing over every exchange between Us, contacting them sporadically and thinking that the entire “relationship” is much more significant than it actually is. But I have never knowingly been on the receiving end.

Either that or Le Freak is simply fucking insane.

 

Sometimes I long for the days when my boy dramas only involved One Californian, or One Texan, or One twenty-year-old. My dramas are going bi-lingual and I fear that my limited relationship resources are going to suffer even more.

Funny, though, that I never actually long for the days when it was really simple and I was a virgin.

 

 

Post By Salium.