Ghosts, BDSM, and Other Disasters

Do you have genuine, kind eyes? An inclination to talk about your loving family? A great relationship with your father?  Great, supportive friends? A job and various passions? A working vehicle? A social security number? 

Then, you are probably looking directly for marriage, a house, a mortgage, and a family of 5. You have the kid’s names picked out and have looked into a summer home in Aruba.

There should be a special terminal at LAX called BDSM: bad, dumb, scared men. Instead of benches, there are beds. Crying stations instead of charging stations. A fully stocked gym with carnival mirrors and Taco Bell catering. Talking is prohibited, grunting is encouraged. No females allowed. No texting, not even ghosting, gentlemen. Letters are encouraged. There’s a spa in back, masseur’s only. 

The real question is, what happens when you get the truth behind why he ghosted? Plot twist: what happens when that truth is so vague steam blows out of both ears?

I went on two dates with this man, or more accurately a boy, and the second date I really was not feeling it.

Our conversations couldn’t grow past witty banter. We just saw Parasite, a very intellectually stimulated film, and I wanted to talk about my figurative take on the movie. He pulled back. It was like talking to a 5-year-old. 

When a conversation can’t grow past what type of alcohol you drink, you know the guy needs a one way ticket back to college. 

So I stopped talking to him for a couple of days.

After hearing radio silence, I texted him and said I’m sorry if our date went bad and I would like to be friends.

He proceeded to say our date was really fun and he had a great time but we had different ideas on what we wanted in a relationship.

Feeling confused, I had many different conspiracy theories. 

The first one was maybe there’s a secret relationship gang sign that I uncovered that only occurs in his hometown. Commitment gang or die!

The second was maybe holding hands during the movie and holding his ring finger really got him thinking. Was bringing a wedding ring on the second date too much?

Maybe he thought my silver jewelry indicated that he should propose on the third date.

Maybe I took his manhood when he didn’t bring a jacket so I offered him mine. 

Maybe when he tried ceviche for the first time at my suggestion, he got severe food poisoning and ended up in the hospital in East Hollywood. Now he’s delirious and half brain-dead. 

Maybe he’s just allergic to fish.

I texted him back just to ask why he thought I had wanted a relationship in the first place. I just wanted to know what happened so the next guy doesn’t end up in BDSM.

He never answered.

Then I finally figured it out, We just didn’t fit. 

Sometimes you don’t need someone to ghost you to tell you it’s wrong, or to give you some semblance of an explanation. You just know. You know when it’s wrong and you damn well know when it’s right.

Why push something when it pulls you backwards? 

I have in the past pushed relationships just as on the basis of being wanted. Having someone there for validation was what I craved.

But now, I realize I deserve more than that.

Men pushed into BDSM are just scared of being tied down, especially by someone who could be worth their time. They don’t want to be spanked by emotion, hit into romance, or choked by hurt.

While men are shivering in their terminal, you are figuring out who works for you. 

I am worth more than 2 dates. You barely remember their name after the 2nd. 

What was his name again?

Boys would rather flight than fight.

Don’t worry, all the men that ghosted you are manhandling each other at LAX.

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