If you’re following along at home, you’ll recall my deep distain for all things religion. Having never been one for fairy tales, I just couldn’t get into the Bible. I really did try, but even as a child, shit just didn’t add up. I have been a Godless heathen since the age of five, but just as Durian isn’t for everyone, neither is atheism. There’s a certain amount of intelligence required in order to challenge the status quo. It requires an even greater amount of discipline to police your own behavior, and infinite, inconvenient honesty in order to self-correct. As much as it pains me to type, some people really do need Jesus. They are simply unable to perform at an acceptable human level without fear of consequence.
Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t necessarily bad people. They aren’t all sadistic killers or criminal masterminds. The majority are more like Walmart on Black Friday; inconsiderate jerks whose immediate gratification and ability to justify poor behavior allows them the freedom to leave their shopping cart in the middle of the parking lot or not-so-gently shove an old lady on their way to Electronics. These people need a manager. They need a reason outside themselves to behave appropriately. Simply put, religion makes up for what they lack in character.
Sleeves needs Jesus. His convictions are fluid and his morals are situational at best. For instance, he recently participated in a wedding. He stood in front of strangers and condoned the union of two people knowing full well the groom was and still is, cheating on the bride. The groom has no intention of stopping and the bride has no idea. He justifies his indifference by claiming that he doesn’t want to ‘judge’.
“No. Sorry. You are an accomplice. Your plausible deniability is fucking garbage. Go get in line with the rest of the shitbags.”
Wait, what? What’s that? The same hoe who got involved with a married man has the audacity to criticize someone? Yes. Yes I do. The right thing is never not the right thing; it doesn’t matter who’s doing the talking. It is this truth that has created the shit storm currently taking place within my skull and the same truth that will ultimately lead to my exit.
For now, we are friends; close friends who happen to do the dirty on occasion. We are not ‘in a relationship’ and have never agreed to be exclusive. We have, however, agreed to be truthful regarding our sexual exploits, so when he told me Tumblr Trophy #1 would be visiting, I appreciated his candor. Did it sting? Yes. TT1 was the Captain of his nosedive down the rabbit hole of kink. She is also still very familiar with his cock, a tidbit I only recently discovered. I was less than enthusiastic, but still supportive.
“Have a good time.”
I did what any grown up with baggage and a bank account would do, I decided to drink about it. As I pressed send, I debated whether to ask.
I thought, “His plans must have changed. He wouldn’t text if he were with her. He wouldn’t request my usage of a toy in public. He definitely wouldn’t request photographic evidence.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes please. A double this time.”
It didn’t feel like I had imagined. I wasn’t angry. I didn’t feel the pang of jealousy. I didn’t immediately look to find a Band-Aid. At first, I thought I’d discovered his end game. It would’ve been genius. He’s always wanted two.
“Does she know about me?”
I guess when he said “I always want you in my life” he forgot to include, “but only when it’s convenient, and only if it doesn’t fuck up my chances of nailing random girls from the internet.”
I thought about Three. I recalled every time I felt like a second class citizen. I remembered how I used to feel when I had to pretend I didn’t exist. I remembered invisible. I remembered secret. I thought about how TT1 would feel if she knew what he’d been doing all night; he knows she’s in love with him. I wondered how many times he’d done that to me. I remembered the first night we’d met, when he told me they were all just experiments. I remembered the story about the woman. He had convinced her to photograph herself masturbating in public. I remembered the way he laughed as he told me about her. The way his face ticks when he’s lying.
I don’t know what happened to him.
This isn’t BDSM. This isn’t FWB. This isn’t even friendship. This is fucking twisted. This is an emotionally vacant body masquerading as a human. This is his ego at an all-you-can-eat buffet. This is a game and I don’t need Jesus to tell me it’s time to stop playing.