No matter how much I may try to, there is one weekend I will unfortunately never forget. First, a little back story.
Once upon a time, I journeyed to Maine. My toddler nephew was getting baptized and it was my duty as his Godfather to be there and take an oath. I forget the details of the oath, but something about how I am supposed to make him a good person. Seems simple enough. Done.
Also for some reason I feel it’s necessary to disclose that the pastor was openly gay and exclaimed that the next week’s worship would be “Casual Sunday” because he would be returning from spending the weekend at his cottage with his lover and he wouldn’t have the energy to worry about what he looked like. True story, bro.
Anyways, this modern aged love story revolves around the Godmother, I’manevilpsychobitchwhopretendstobeacatanddoesn’tcomprehendthewordno, I know it’s a mouthful, that’s what she said.
I met the Godmother and thought she was pretty cool. We started talking for a bit and one thing led to another, a few times. After being completely honest with her I was sure it was over and I would only see her at family functions or when my nephew had Jesus issues (Not being remotely religious, I’m not entirely sure of the proper term for them).
Forward to the day after leaving Maine. I get a text with an ominous “Guess who?” My skin began to crawl, I knew exactly who it was, and so began the trek of a furious freight train hurling towards a fiery collision of awkwardness. For the next couple of weeks she became increasingly serious about “us”, and nothing I would say would deter her from the idea of “us.” Being too nice and having a hard time being completely blunt, I played out the next 2 weeks as awkwardly as possible hoping after enough time she would lose hope or interest, only the opposite occurred.
2 weeks pass. “I have a surprise for you, I need you to be at the airport on Friday at 9 PM.” My heart dropped, not because the girl of my dreams was coming to visit me, but because the oblivious psycho from Maine I regretted was coming to visit me. Deep breaths, everything will be okay. It’s only 2 days. “I’m staying till Monday”. SHIT! I can’t do this.
Now, before I go any further, understand that I have heard and agree with the age old wisdom, “Don’t stick your dick in crazy.” But c’mon, I’m only a man. I can only thwart so many sexual attempts before I succumb to the inevitable. So as my good friend, Vinny, said so began my brief stint in the “Sex Olympics”. Don’t get me wrong. I love sex as much as any other guy. I feel it’s vital to a healthy lifestyle. However, I still feel 15 times within 36 hours is fucking ridiculous. Whenever it hurts to even think about having sex, that’s when you’ve had too much. I feel like I’m a veteran having flashbacks of his time at war, how horrible it was, and how many good men they lost. In my case, the good men being my sex drive, of course.
I found myself pretending to be asleep for hours after I had originally woken up so I wouldn’t have to speak to her or staying at a company meeting for 5 hours after it had ended, just so I wouldn’t have to see her. I had grown terrified of the horrible growth that had become attached to my side, that was demanding my attention every second of every day.
It had to end.
On the last night of her visit, after rejecting her sexual advances for the 3rd or 4th time, I was asked one question, “What’s wrong?” A million answers came rushing to my mind. How do I tell her she is a a psycho sex fiend who needs to lock her vagina away for sexual assault on a perfectly law abiding penis, a chemically imbalanced cat impersonator who bestowed upon me psychic trauma and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, an overly attached, completely tactile attention whore who needs to give me space, an emotional roller coaster of pure craziness who I fear may try to kill me after I say what I have to say. I could go on, but we get the point.
I go with a classic, “It’s not you it’s me”. Everything seems to be going fine. She is crying into my pillows, as I assumed she would, and I am sitting in my corner watching movies on my computer. I’m afraid to sleep because I didn’t hide all of the sharp objects in my apartment. After a while I can’t take the crying anymore and try consoling her by telling her everything will be okay, and that she will find some equally crazy guy who will find her unorthodox methods completely appealing, and assuredly arousing. That’s when she attempts to seduce me. After telling her no again. I hear her softly utter in a menacing tone, “Do not reject me.”
“Um, I’m not. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” I attempted to reason.
“If you reject me, I’ll just rape you. Yeah! That’s what I’ll do. I’m going to fucking rape you!” She exclaimed.
Thankfully, she never got the chance. I quickly fled from my room, closing the door behind me. What seemed like an eternity later, I put her on her flight, and have been gleefully ignoring her texts and phone calls since.
One thing still troubles me though, she knows where I live.
I now sleep with a light on, she has become my boogie monster, the monster who waits for me in my closet.