“You lied to me!” she says, with certain anger in her voice.
You look at her, completely naked on your new mattress. Witnessing the wind coming through your fully opened windows, softly lifting a few of her light blonde hairs in the air. Her eyes penetrating yours, as your dick is halfway inside her. Instantly, you get it out and sit back, by her side. Sensing the mood, observing the atmosphere… and her. She’s got the frame of an Olympic weightlifter, the hips and breasts of the Norse goddess of Fertility, and the ass of a 90’s Latina pornstar. Suddenly, you snap out of this lust-induced trance and focus your gaze in her light blue eyes, staring back at you.
“You lied to me…”
I know about lying, you see? For years I’ve been fighting to survive the abusive make-believe relationship I had become entangled with my latest ex, C. She knew how to lie. She was a natural, and it came as easy to her as breathing. She started with subtly selling me the idea of becoming a couple. Slowly manipulating me into falling for her, by sending mixed signals and contradicting subliminal messages. But it was just the beginning of the ruse.
She said she had feelings for me, and not a week later she fucked her married colleague in the same bed where she confessed these feelings. Then she said she wanted to be in a monogamous relationship with me. Her first “girlfriend” statement after that? She nonchalantly told me that she was gonna go travel abroad and “not fuck” one of her old flames. The same old flame she was gonna share a hotel bed with for an entire long weekend… “As ‘friends’ do.” Way to set the scenes to come, huh?
A lie you say, kiddo? By now I’m well trained about those. My ex really motherfucking lied to me.
It’s very warm in your bedroom, regardless of it being almost midnight. Danish summer at its fucking prime. There’s no bed, just a fancy Dutch mattress set on top of all the pieces of an even fancier wooden bed that the moving guys couldn’t put together. She rests her big viking butt on the wrinkled up duvet, her small juvenile titties pointing madly at your face. But she doesn’t care. Not about that, at least. The problem is elsewhere.
“You lied to me…”
Piece by piece, lies layered on top of more lies; my ex crafted a narrative in which I was a delusional, pathetic jealous little Latino. Sexist, ignorant and disgusting. And, although she took pride in her job and working, hanging out and fucking men with clear misogynistic, xenophobic and bigoted behaviour (which she excused by saying they were “poor victims of toxic masculinity;”) I didn’t get the same sympathy. No, I was shit, along with all my values, my culture and language. Of course she didn’t cut me any slack. Toxic masculinity was way above me. I was something else. Something worse. Lower, inferior, barely human. Hence, I had to be grateful for even being around her and getting to call myself “C’s boyfriend.” Thank god for her, damn! For her “respect.” For her “sacrifices.” For her “love.” I could be nothing but humbled and thankful for them. Because, as she clearly stated every time she had the chance, I didn’t deserve anything, for I was worth close to nothing. In return for all her goodness, the least I could give was my everything, starting with blind trust, tireless obedience and eternal faithfulness. And I believed her, to a big extent, because already before we met, I had been feeling that punishment was on the way. I had been an abuser, after all; and though that was in my past, the self-deprecation and shame that came from my fuck-up was still there. She used this knowledge against me, mercilessly, the second she learned about it.
But now, here you both are, in your dimly lit bedroom. You tenderly caress her curly hair, down to her left cheek. Finally, you dare to ask. “I’m sorry, but… I don’t know what I lied to you about.” The tone of her voice changes slightly. “You said you had a micropenis…” You don’t know her that well, but you can tell now that she was being sarcastic all along. “… But this is the biggest dick I’ve seen in my life!” You both laugh out loud. You, of course, had forgotten about that lie. A harmless one, for a change.
With the air cleared out, passion starts over. You begin kissing her and resume the love making. It’s the best you’ve had since your ex. At times, even better. But, quickly after that, she’s back in her clothes. She’s no longer that warrior viking goddess you were fucking just a few minutes ago. She’s become S again; the good, responsible girl studying at uni. The mature-for-her-age, 22-year-old Danish young woman that you shared some wine with in your backyard, just a few hours ago. You are still naked, standing in your living room, watching her putting on her sneakers.
“Okay, I’m ready to go,” she says.
“Look, as I told you before, I don’t know how to be casual,” you say, timidly. “I’m very intense, so expect lots of texts. Very soon.”
She smiles and comes forward to you. You try -and kinda succeed- kissing her lips, while all she wanted was hugging you. But it’s okay, as she briefly kisses you back and gives you another smile as you break the embrace. And, right before you close the door, you say “Nice ass!” out loud, as she walks downstairs. She looks up and glances at you, laughing. In an instant, her face disappears around the corner. “Don’t you fucking dare, Eduardo,” you say to yourself, as a familiar warmth settles within your chest.
The next morning comes and you notice a big sperm stain on your big gray sofa. As you try to remove it with water, you think about her. Then you do some useless math in your head: “My ex C is eight years younger than me, and S is eight years younger than her. Hmmm…” In a way, that’s relieving. C convinced you that she was done fucking around and she wanted to settle down with you. It made sense, considering her age. Nothing could have been further from the truth, though. But, was it such a terrible thing in the end? She likely saved you from a life that would have made you even more miserable than her falsehood. Do you truly see yourself living in a fucking tiny, remote town deep in redneck Denmark? With kids and a house and a boring job and no escape? Seriously? While S, on the other hand, can’t bullshit you. She’s safe. She’s nowhere near wanting to settle down nor having the urge to push out babies. She even likes it in the city. “Fuck the suburbs!” she said. Understandable, coming from a girl from the countryside of Jylland.
Needless to say, you and I know that you are glad to have lied. And we’ll definitely be happy if she comes back to see, again, how much you did lie. We old dirty bastards!