The following is a submission from a new guest writer, we’ll call M. The girl I was before I met Remi had a lot in common with our new writer. I hope you all enjoy.
I always assumed that I was too funny and too intelligent and too intimidating for men, and that this was the reason they were never pursuing me. The only men who did look in my direction were either people I only saw as friends, or players who saw my intimidating features as a challenge. A mountain to climb, a warrior tribe in need of conquest. The previous claims to my character are not ego giving you overstated projections of self image…these were the things that I heard repeatedly from men I was interested in, or from friends trying to justify why I was still single.
Then two years ago, at the age of 27, I met a woman. And I fell in love almost immediately. (Within three days.) I had found women attractive before, and frankly, assumed that one day I would have a threesome, but I had never wanted to date one. I realized, through her, that I had never given men any signals that I wanted anything from them other then sex. No real signals, anyway.
But she was different. She was beautiful, and shy, and she thought I was hilarious. We had the same humor, hit it off right away, and I could see she was as nervous around me (at times) as I was around her.
Nervousness quickly faded, and we were always together. We were working at a summer camp (cliché cliché cliché) and spent all of our free time, as well as a lot of working time, together. We would fall asleep cuddling, we would have private conversations in crowded rooms where people clearly felt out of place.
After a month, I left and went to a different camp. Over the course of a month she sent me 25 letters. After I returned home, we would Skype a minimum of 4-5 hours daily. I was understandably under the impression that we were kind of in a relationship. One friend described it as a “romantic Victorian friendship.”
I forgot to mention she was Mormon.
So when I told her I loved her, my first time saying those words to someone, she told me I was confused. Now, I may have just come out of the closet, but I was not confused.
She outed me that night to my mother, in a facebook message.
The next day when she told me she loved me more than anyone, that she wanted to spend eternity with me, that I had shown her what a real relationship was and what she wanted, but that she wanted it with a Mormon man, I was devastated. So much so that I tried to continue a friendship, with the ulterior motive of her realizing just how gay she was (pretty darn gay) and running away with me to live in sin for all of our days.
I forgot to mention that she was super Mormon.
We had never kissed or anything like that, just falling asleep holding hands. Cuddling. You know, the totally normal stuff that friends do.
We were best friends. She knew what I was thinking by a raise of my eyebrows. What my pauses meant. What my subtext was. She messaged me to wake up and to say goodnight. She loved me too. I never doubted that.
After a few months of emotional push and pull from her, she resorted to emotional abuse as a method of getting me to fall out of love with her. So as to save our souls and such. She had to talk to her church elders about me, to help figure out this confusion I had thrown our relationship into.
I thought I was broken when I found out she started dating a Mormon guy from a Bible study class. That’s when we cut all communication. They were engaged in 9 months and married three months after that. She looked beautiful on her wedding day.
I may have facebook stalked her.
She was my coming out story, and she fucked me up. But she was just the first, the calm before the storm. Coming out is easy. Relationships are hard.