I was introduced to Maybe, Matt by an Air BNB couple who rented out my condo in May 2016. My 'tenants' and I hit it off immediately and they told me about this dude who literally just moved two streets from me (how convenient!). "If anything, you two should be friends," the couple said. And so that's exactly what happened. We became insta friends. And I kept him as such for 366 days, to be exact. I wasn't immediately attracted to Maybe, Matt; there was something about his face that bothered me, if I'm being honest. But the more we hung out, the more I started to embrace his company, and the more I was intrigued by this human. I even talked to many friends (and mom) about Maybe, Matt and how I knew I liked him... but. There was always this damn but. Maybe it was because in so many ways he reminded me of THE Ex: that sincere, kind, gentle, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly, pushover, shy but confident, I'll-do-anything-for-you, non-jealous, could-send-him-on-Temptation-Island-and-wouldn't-have-to-worry, honest, kind of guy. The kind of guy that every girl dreams of -- the kind of guy I flew across the country to get away from.
I knew he liked me and made that subtly clear; asking my roommate about my feelings, inviting me to weddings and to meet his parents, etc. But, Maybe, Matt lives up to his name: all while asking me to do things with him, he would not ask me to do things with him. I'd go days, even weeks without hearing from him. Sure, being independent is a great thing! I'm independent and I embrace that quality in a person. But there's being independent and than there's being too independent. He'd do fun things, albeit, alone, and wouldn't think to ask me to join. "Maybe we could go watch a movie. Maybe I will see you later. Maybe we could go for dinner." Maybe, maybe bloody maybe. He's an excellent DJ and knowing that I love house music, and all things rave, he would spin a set in his home (did I mention he lives two streets away?) without asking me to tune in, or come over to listen. He'd tell me about these great bars he went to, which coincided with my days off, but never invite me to go. And when I did have days off, he wouldn't dare take the opportunity to see me. There were so many times that I would ask him to come over, or go for a drink and he'd respond he's too tired and would just rather stay in... alone. He'd go for walks alone, go shopping alone, go to the beach alone, ride his bike alone, listen to music alone, watch a movie alone, work out alone, eat dinner and drink... alone. So, where did I fit? Where do I fit in?
Naturally, I got hurt, insulted, frustrated and confused. A man that could spend so much time with me but yet, be so completely OK with living his life sans me, was beyond painful. So, I stopped trying. I started dating other guys. I started trying not to give a fuck. I wondered if he was seeing someone else, but my gut feeling that said that he wasn't. He's not that kind of guy; he's not into playing the field, or having multiple relationships, he's not...well, me. I wonder if he just doesn't know how to be in a relationship. Does it change anything to know that he's... 40? Remember all this time, we hadn't even hit 2nd base. We had kissed once, pretty sure I gave him blue balls a couple of times, too. Is it possible that men eventually just give up? I apologize for not being able to just spread my legs for the sake of spreading: I need to feel some kind of love. Some kind of assurance that you won't bail right after your P hits my V, which undeniably has happened to the best of us. And for some reason, with Maybe, Matt, it was important for me to establish a solid friend base with him before we did the dirty deed. Was it because I actually liked him? Or was it because he was just that... a friend? Either way, I couldn't help but wonder... in a kind of twisted, 21st century, somewhat insecure, sexist but unfortunately accurate thought:
If I fuck him, would he become more available?
One day, I snapped. I was (drunk) fed up and, finally, my own emotions, my confused feelings for him had caught up to me. I had kept him in the friendzone for so long, he knew it, I knew it. Despite his pathetic ways of showing me he cared, I was so genuinely worried about losing him as a friend that I would back away. Amidst my snap, he professed that he didn't know which card to play with me: Friend or lover. While his Houdini acts and lack of communication made me take a step back, my keeping him in the friendzone, made him take a step back. Catch 22. I was maybe-ing the shit outta him and not even realizing it: we were stuck in neutral. How could we overcome this? I knew I had to sleep with him, not just to sense a physical connection but, it was much more than that for me. It was a make or break moment in our non-existent relationship. It was a moment of vulnerability. It was a moment of stepping out of my comfortable, innocent high school crush zone to full on prom night into college love affair. Was I ready? Was he?
So, after 365 days plus one, I gave up my naked body and soul. And it was glorious. I immediately thought... fuck. I really like Maybe, Matt. But would he be willing to change his lonely ways for someone who sincerely wanted to share a future? Did he just want to get laid? Was this Game Over? And for a while, he was doing so well: no more Houdini acts. We spent a whole weekend together! It was something I secretly wanted for a long time. But how long would that last? At one point he told me "I'm the perfect girl for him... right now." I laughed. Right now. I repeated that phrase over and over in my head like a broken DJ record. I'm so sick of living in the now. I've lived in the past, the now, and now... I'm ready to live in the future. But is the future with him? Do I want a future with him? The fact that I'm even writing like this is a defining moment for me. To admit feelings, to talk about the future is definitely not something I'm accustomed to. But truthfully, I'm just so afraid that my past will define my future. With THE Ex, there were no games: he loved me and I loved him. But I took his love for granted many times. His constant phone calls, his relentless texts, his persistence in wanting to be around me, his "good night beautifuls". I miss those days. I miss that reassurance. I miss that comfort: it's all I know. Even if at times I was bored and annoyed thinking that was just routine behaviour, it is one routine that I yearn for today. Hell, I wonder if I'm cursed: will I ever get those repeat "sweet dreams" and those "good mornings" again? I don't think I'm asking for too much, am I? It may mean fuck all to some, but to me, it means everything. I hope to find that again. It may be with Maybe, Matt. But will I be around to find out? Maybe I'm just a fool. But had Maybe, Matt not pulled another mind-blowing magic trick tonight, and disappear into thin air perhaps this blog post would never have existed. I just wanted a "good night". Hey, it's only been a year. Call me crazy, right? I took you out of the friendzone, just like you asked, Maybe, Matt. But now the ball's in your court. Checkmate. Make your move, type your text, play your next track.
La Blonde xx