Rebound

So before I write about my last relationship that (as all the ones preceding it) was followed by a miserable break-up, I will first tell you about my first rebound that happened just a few days after the separation. I guess I am not in the mood to write about the break-up itself yet.

Sometimes I am not sure which of the two is worse - the break-up or the first time you have sex with someone new after you break up. Of course this dilemma is only applicable to serious (hopeless?) monogamists like me. My last long-distance relationship lasted almost a year - we were on the opposite hemispheres, between 14 and 16 hours away (the actual time difference depending on Daylight Summer Time). Always in different seasons of the year and usually I was one day ahead. The longest we had not seen each other was 8 months and guess what... I was totally faithful. I did not even feel seduced to cheat on him. I didn't even kiss anyone. I didn't flirt and I didn't make out. If you know me well enough you know that flirting, kissing and making out are on the top of the list of my favorite activities and I embrace them every time I am single. But not when I am in a serious relationship. So the break-up was quite traumatic and so was the post-relationship sex with a new person. Again - it's hard to say which of the two could be more dreadful.

It all happened because of Internet dating. Of course - blame the Internet. 5 days after the break-up I wanted to have a fast rebound experience to forget about the pain for at least a few hours. It was a Friday night. I went back home and decided to reopen (for the n-th time) my on-line dating account. After a few minutes, it resurrected. I was going to spend 1-2 hours on-line and then go to my friend's place for some drinks followed by a night out in town. One of the reasons of going out on that night was to help me forget the suffering and was suggested by a friend. However, one must take into account that on-line dating is quite addictive. You just don't stop easily once you start. Or at least I don't. I was chatting with several guys at once, trying to hook up having a ray of hope of being invited to one of their places. Mine was not that good for hosting. I also had to be quite practical. It was a rainy night in a big city in the Southern Hemisphere so I did not want to go too far to avoid using public transport or paying exorbitant prices for taxis. My choices were geographically limited. There was that cute Asian guy and he wanted me to come (as in - arrive at his place) but he lived too far. Others who were in my neighborhood did not feel very sexual on that night and they did not seem to be up for any fun.

Suddenly, I bumped into that older (37 or so) guy. He seemed cute on the pictures, his body was nice, he was practically my neighbor and he was available. We quickly exchanged numbers and I said I would be at his place shortly. He lived 15 minutes away from my house. I quickly dressed up and rushed off. I did not even save his number. I had it in the last received calls. I was not sure what his name was. I arrived at the door and I rang him. He opened the door. I was a bit disappointed because he did not seem as good-looking as on the photos. He seemed older and his hair was starting to recede. I entered anyway. It was a nice townhouse in the middle of the city. 'He must be quite rich' I thought to myself 'or at least he inherited it from someone' I continued in my head. The interior design was very nice and fashionable. A lot of white, black and beige. Not too many items used to decorate the place - quite an ascetic house. He did not offer me any water or any drink. He offered me a kiss. We started kissing and heading towards the bedroom right away. His kisses were quite dry. I did not enjoy them too much. The whole game did not last long and I did not like it too much either. We finished and it was awkward. He asked me what I was up to on that night and at that moment I was not sure if it was a gentle request for me to depart or if he was actually inviting me to spend a night at his place. I said 'I have no plans' and he said 'You should stay over here'. And I did. We lay down in his bed and started talking. The conversation was even drier than his kisses. 'Where are you from?', 'What do you do here?', 'What kind of guys do you like?' etc The questions were not very profound. It felt even more weird than right after we finished making love (or let's simply call it 'sex' since there was not much love involved in that act).

At some point he fell asleep. I couldn't. The house was very quiet. It seemed empty. The design was very nice but it was also very heartless. Hardly any colors other than white, beige and black. It felt very cold and heartless even though at the first sight it looked nice, chic and classy. I could hardly sleep that night. It was not easy to get used to a new person in the bed. It was a sleepless night. I looked at the man sleeping next to me and I started thinking about my ex boyfriend. Even a week back he was still my boyfriend and how could I even think I would be sleeping next to some random guy less than 7 days later. It hit me that I was single again. I would have to start dating again at some point. Going through the same process with someone new - slowly getting to know another person, his habits, his little insecurities, the small things he would enjoy. First date, first movie, first sex. It felt sad to be on the single side again.

Later during the night, I noticed a picture of 2 boys at the night stand. I realized that he must have 2 sons and that he must have come out fairly recently. He used to be in a closet most probably. Somewhere there, there was a woman bringing up 2 children while her (ex?) husband and their father was having sex with another man. It could not be long time since he confessed to his wife he was gay (or at least bi) and was interested in meeting men. I was sure he loved his sons but he just could not live the lie anymore. It made the whole experience even more bizarre for me.

Around 8 AM, I said I would leave and go back home. He did not object. I dressed up and went downstairs. We said goodbye, smiled and I left. We both knew we would never see each other or hear from each other again. I started walking back home. I felt like shit. I had the worst headfuck ever. I called a friend and talked to her all the way back home. I almost cried. She comforted me and I started feeling a little bit better. I grabbed a take-away coffee and went back home. I was trying to distract myself with some housework but it did not quite work out. I also received a text message from my friends who were quite disappointed that I ditched them and did not go out with them. I just lied saying I had been tired. I guess I had no courage to confess the truth about the terrible night. I did not even remember the name of the guy. I had to check the history of our chatting to retrieve it.

'Everything happens for a reason' as they say. I believe that once you do a thing you feel you should not have done, there is no point in plunging into deep sorrow or regrets. Shit happens. Better accept it for what it was and acknowledge its presence. The best thing is to learn from that mistake. That experience taught me that sex is hardly good if there is no intellectual/emotional connection (some people might disagree of course but this is the case for me). I can have better sex with a physically unattractive and intellectually seductive person than when he is a hot person but there is no connection at all. In the case of my night, the person was not even hot and we did not speak a lot so I could not even tell anything about him. A lesson for the future - try to at least like/get to know the person before you sleep with him.